RED RUMPED!

The following is a new avenue for me, a foray into spanking fiction which has its origins in reality - well, sort of, anyway. The story is dedicated to the wonderful Penelope Hasler, who is both the inspiration and the 'star'. Back in March, she portioned out to me a very thorough virtual paddling that had me all agog - you can read it on her blog here: I'll Give You a Red Rump, My Boy! (it's in the comments section, but be warned - it WILL make you jealous). Further, she promised I was in for the real deal if we ever met offline, so this is my fantasy on how that encounter might play out. Without giving much away, I can tell you that I do not fare particularly well in it...

My sincere thanks to Penny for allowing me to turn her into Miss Hasler, and for proofreading the story and fixing all my errors -

PART I

The cafe was nestled among the willows that lined the bank of a wide pond. Swans and ducks carved lazy trails through the mirror waters, while Sunday strollers tossed them morsels of bread.

Only the discordant shouts from the cricket field beyond disturbed the tranquility of the scene. I approached the cafe patio, scanning the crowded tables for the red purse Penelope had told me to look for. Unsuccessfully - a pang of disappointment and foolishness took hold, until an elderly couple rose to leave, revealing a patch of vivid scarlet on the table behind. The woman seated there wore one of those big round beret-type hats and was facing away from me, watching the cricket match.

'You can still get out of this,' the warning little voice in the back of my head urged. 'Turn and go before she sees you!'

I have a long sad history of NOT listening to that voice. I went forward.

"Uh, Penelope?" I asked, almost whispering as though just uttering her name would reveal our purposes to everyone in the cafe. She turned, and my butt cheeks clenched. Between high cheekbones and the dark bangs poking out from under the canted brim of her cap, a pair of hazel green eyes greeted me. Now, I'd had a weakness for green eyes ever since Miss Ballantine, my seventh grade geography teacher - well, suffice to say, this young lady already had me at a disadvantage...

"RR, is it? Hi." She smiled and stuck out a slender hand. I took it, wondering how that hand might feel landing hard on my bottom.

It all began so innocently and commonplace as I bought her teas and we exchanged the usual pleasantries and small talk - how did I like London? What sights had I seen, that sort of thing. I could almost have forgotten the reason we were there, when she gazed across the pond in reaction to a commotion on the cricket field.

"Ever had it from one of those?" she asked wistfully.

"Beg pardon?"

"A cricket bat, silly."

"Uh, no. Looks like they would hurt."

"They do. A lot. But they're heavy. Not for the faint of heart. I remember one time, bent over a chair in my fav schoolgirl skirt, one of those things almost knocked me and the chair onto the floor." She looked back at me, a little evil grin at the corner of her mouth. "Maybe you'd like to try one yourself?"

The notion was a daunting one. She chuckled. "You blush easily, don't you, RR?"

"On all four cheeks, Miss."

She laughed, and, reaching into her purse, withdrew an envelope. "I need to be somewhere for supper, so let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

She tossed the envelope before me. "These are your instructions. Follow them to the letter. Do you have the package I told you to bring?"

I nodded.

"Right, then. I'm off. I'll see you a little later." She rose and leaned down close to my face, lifting my chin. "And RR - don't be late. Understand?"

Those green eyes transfixed me. "I won't. Promise."

She smiled, patted my cheek, and strode off. I watched her go, admiring the slim figure that made her bouncy knee-length skirt sway so sassily.

Ten minutes passed while I gathered my wits about me, then opened the envelope with trembling fingers. The paper inside showed me an address and a time - 4pm. Beneath that was a rubber stamp in red ink of a paddle with a little heart in the center of it. It was signed P.H.

I checked my watch. Almost 2 now, and so much still to do...

I paid the bill and hurried away from the little cafe. Behind me, the crack of a cricket bat clapped the air.

The cab ride from my hotel to the address in Hammersmith Penelope had provided took longer than I'd expected. Recalling her warning, I'd wanted to be early, but it was 4:05 when it finally pulled up in front of a three-storey building. Should have taken the Tube, dammit! "Here y'are, mate," the driver said. "Sorry I couldn't quite make the time. Hope it doesn't cause too much of a pain in the ass." I almost laughed as I thrust his fare at him. If he only knew how apt his choice of phrase was...

"Hey," he called as I started off. "Don't forget this!" he reached into the back and handed a large manila envelope to me.

The package! Damn! I could only imagine the reaction of someone finding and opening it - not to mention Penelope's reaction if I showed up without it.

"Thanks," I said, snatching it and hurrying to the front entrance. The instructions had said to buzz 207, but my finger hesitated over the button. Was I sure I wanted to do this? The old inner conflict surged anew inside me - wise discretion vs. foolhardy desire, the chill vs the thrill. But even that inner voice had to concede it was too late:

'You promised.'

I pushed the button.

"You're late, RR," the speaker scolded me.

"I'm sorry, Penny, the cab -"

The door buzzer interrupted me. "Second floor. Third office door on the right."

I hesitated a bit too long and the buzzer went silent. The door remained locked. Dammit! Not good. I buzzed again.

"What, you're still outside?"

"Sorry, Ma'am..."

"Yes, you are. Now get in here!"

This time I responded instantly when she buzzed me in.

The interior was dim and a bit musty. The smell of varnish permeated the air. A steep old oak staircase loomed before me, beckoning ominously. The apprehension was starting to gain ground on my ill-considered desires. But I was already in trouble for my tardiness, and as I did not want to make Penelope any more cross with me, I ascended the stairs. The steps groaned resentfully.

Atop the landing a long narrow hallway yawned, peppered with office doors. The third one on the right lay slightly ajar. Courage, lad, my voice said, suddenly acquiring a ridiculous English accent. You're supposed to be a spanko, aren't you? This is what you crave. Remember those green eyes...

I swallowed back my fear and entered the office, resigned to meet whatever fate Penelope had in mind for me.

The office was empty.

What the heck? Was this all some elaborate joke? Then I noticed the array of spanking implements arranged neatly on the desk. Slipper, spatula, several small paddles, a rolled up belt, brushes of various lengths, and -

- a cane with a curved handle.

I stared at them all with no little trepidation. They seemed to stare back with an eager menace. A cane?! Holy crap. What was I getting myself into? I thought suddenly of the park earlier. There, and all over the city, people were out basking in the sun, laughing and playing and enjoying the fresh air. I could have been there, amongst them, but no - I’d chosen to be here, standing foolishly in the half-dark of some empty office waiting to be punished like an errant schoolboy by some virtual stranger I'd only met online and for twenty minutes in a cafe.

Remember those eyes...

"Do you like my little toy collection?"

I wheeled to see Penelope leaning against the doorway to an inner office, arms folded. If I thought she was attractive at the cafe, she was breathtaking now. She'd discarded the park-going outfit for a businesswoman's jacket, white blouse, and tight, almost knee-length skirt. Stockinged, elegantly-curved calves dragged my eyes down to a pair of stiletto heels. A pearl necklace and matching earrings completed the ensemble.

"I - uh, um..."

"Speechless, are we?"

"Uh - yes, I guess I am at a loss for words."

She came forward, high heels clacking loudly on the ancient wooden floor. She perched her butt against the desk directly in front of me and fixed me with a stern stare. "Well, you might start with an explanation of why you're late."

I swallowed. "Oh, yes, of course. I'm sorry..." I explained about the cab and the traffic, but she put an impatient finger to my lips. "I didn't ask for excuses. You should have made an effort to leave early just in case, shouldn't you?”

I bit my lip and looked sheepish, as I often did when I was scolded. It was a poor ploy for leniency, but nothing of the sort showed itself in those hazel magnets she glared at me with. I muttered a lame apology.

"Frankly, you don't sound very sorry," she admonished. "But I think we can take care of that before we are done. At least you thought to put on a decent shirt and tie for this. Let's have a look at your nails. Hm. Cut and trimmed. All very well, but don't get it into your head that such gestures will earn you any credit against your punishment, understand?"

"No, Ma'am, of course not. That was not what I'd intended, really."

"I should certainly hope not! Now let's begin by having a look at that package of yours, shall we?"

My brows lifted, and she couldn't help but laugh. "I meant the envelope you brought. What 'package' did you think I meant, Mister?"

I blushed as I handed her the envelope. "Sorry, Ma'am, I thought -"

"I know what you thought. Now, lose those trousers - trousers only, mind you! - and hang them on the door." While I did that, Penelope pulled out the contents of the envelope: several sheets of paper.

She leafed through them, her face darkening with each successive one. I reddened when she turned a look of indignant distaste upon me. "What the -" she thrust one of the sheets in my face. It was a copy of my drawing 'Beyond the Threshold', with a woman delivering a harsh hairbrushing to a clearly suffering man. "You want to explain this to me?"

I thought the drawing was pretty obvious, but of course I didn't say so.

She pushed another drawing in my face - several sorority girls had a guy held fast over a stool and were about to give him a double paddling, with a cane waiting in the wings. "And how about THIS?!"

I stumbled over my words, genuinely taken aback by her tone. "I - you asked to see them - they're for my blog..."

"I gathered that! But that is NOT what I'm asking, is it? I want to know why you would draw such nasty things in the first place!"

"Well..." I shrugged and gave her my best coy smile. "I guess I'm just a naughty little artist. Ma'am."

Penelope took hold of my chin and stuck a finger in my face. "Don't get smart with me, young man! You are in a lot of trouble!"

A sudden defiance rose in me, sparked by the injustice of her outrage. "Well, you call yourself a naughty little writer. What's the difference?"

Those wonderful green eyes flashed hotly. Her palm struck like lightning across my face. It shocked me - not only the unexpectedness of it, but the intensity of the pain and the fury that fuelled it. "Are we here to discuss my habits, or yours?"

I gaped at her. If I had entertained any illusions that this escapade was going to be just a game of harsh words and playful smacks, they were quickly dispelled. "Mine, I guess..."

"You guess rightly! Now remove that shirt and tie and we'll get down to business. It's time Red Rump lived up to his name!"

Plunking a wooden office chair in front of the desk, Penelope sat down and patted her lap. Her skirt was short enough to reveal more than a hint of lovely thigh; I admired the sight a moment too long.

"Now you listen up. If you're not over my knee by the count of three, you forfeit any warm-up spanking. ONE."

I hustled to prostrate myself down over her lap. It was warm and feminine and I suddenly felt right at home.

"That's more like it." She rolled back my underpants to expose my bare bottom.

"Is that a cologne you're wearing?"

"Ralph Lauren. I put a little on my lower back. I hope it's to your liking..."

"Very thoughtful, I must admit. But, sadly for you, it won't stay my hand." She patted my bottom lightly, grabbing each cheek and shaking it, assessing her 'canvas'. "Now let's get some ground rules straight, dear. I know how you like to squirm on a lady's lap, but I won't have it, understand? If you -" she stopped, sighing in apparent exasperation.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"What do you think is the matter?"

"I don't -"

"You're getting hard, aren't you?! You think I can't feel that against my leg?"

I blushed anew. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I can't help it..."

"Do you realize how inappropriate that is?" She reached down, pinched my ear and turned my head to look back up at her. "You're being punished, remember?" She landed a swift SWAT! on my bared bum. For a slender gal, she had some core strength in her shoulder. "Now get yourself under control and learn your lesson!" She proceeded to lay into me with hard, alarmingly painful swats that soon had me fretting. It was glorious, but did little to address the issue which had ignited her burst of temper. Unthinkingly, I tried to squirm as well, which earned me a hard tap to the back of the head.

"I told you not to squirm, didn't I?"

"I know, but -"

WHAP! "Didn't I?!!"

"Ow, yes! But it's hard not to - you said there would be a warm-up!"

She let out an exclamation of indignation. "Ohh! You're giving me backtalk now?!" She reached for a hairbrush, laying its deceptively cool surface on my buttocks. "Warm-up spankings are for good little boys who cooperate and do as they're told. Do you think you're co-operating?"

SMACK!

"OW! No, Ma'am, I'm not!"

WHACK! SMACK, WHACK! WAP!!

"So do you deserve a nice, slow warm-up?"

"I, I..."

Another flurry of poignant STINGING swats 'encouraged' me to answer properly: "No, Ma'am! OWW! I don't deserve - AAOW! I'm sorry! OW-OWW!"

"Go ahead and bawl all you like. It's Sunday. There's no one in the building but us. Now hold still, will you!"

I tried - really, genuinely tried - not to wriggle and squirm away, but Penelope had a knack of delivering each swat to an unexpected spot, always keeping me on edge. I couldn't predict where the next would land, so I could not mentally brace for it. All I could do was try not to clench, which would only concentrate the impacts and cause deep bruising. A particularly severe blow to a patch of previously untouched skin on the outer edge of one buttock evoked a heartfelt yelp of pain that I think startled even her, for she put down the brush.

"Really, RR, I didn't think you would be such a cry-baby about this. I thought you liked getting your rump reddened. Or was it all an act? Is your mouth bigger than your bottom?"

I set my jaw and felt a stab of indignation myself. "No, Ma'am. I need my rump reddened. Please don't stop."

She took up the spatula. "Who said anything about stopping?"

The silicone spatula had a small blade and did not deliver the same 'punch' as the wooden hairbrush, but Penelope had a technique that made up for the difference. She chose a spot in the middle of my left cheek, and built up a series of targeted swats there, beginning with light taps, but each a bit harder than the previous one, until she was laying it on as hard as she could. Then she chose a new, fresh patch somewhere else and began again. This method had me in some genuine distress after half a dozen or so directed pastings, so that I was murmuring desperate little gurgles and gasps.

Relax, the voice said. Don't resist. Let the pain flow out and wash away. Don't try to hold it in.

During the next several minutes, I ascended to that state of mind where the mind deceived itself into interpreting the pain as pleasure. I glanced back up over my shoulder to watch admiringly as Penelope raised the spatula (so high!), then brought it down in a blur with a resounding CLAP!. I winced, shuddered with delight and exhaled a deep sigh of joy. This was where Red Rump belonged, over a woman's knee getting a well deserved, good old-fashioned spanking. I felt like a kid again, getting that licking that I should have had from Brenda.

We were approaching that time when the spankee's bottom was rapidly numbing and the spanker's arm was starting to give out. Looking down to see the blissful smile on my face, Penelope realized it too.

But if I thought I had won, I had another think coming...

Stay tuned for Part II, when Miss Penny gets serious...