Blushing at Both Ends (18 page)

‘Cruel tyrant!' exclaimed Emma. ‘Alas! I have yoked myself to a monster!' But there was a sparkle in her eye that belied her words, and she made little resistance as Mr Knightley, taking her by the hand, led her towards the bed. There he kissed her warmly on the lips and then, having sat down, placed her once more over his lap in the posture generally agreed most suitable for the administration of domestic discipline.

Once again he was able to observe how enticingly a fine fabric could shape itself around the contours of Emma's lovely form. But now, in the privacy of the marriage chamber, he need no longer let even this flimsy barrier impede his pleasure. With a sensation of inexpressible delight, he took the hem of her nightgown and slowly turned it up, until all his bride's rearward charms, up to her waist, were revealed to his enraptured gaze.

In the warm glow of the candle flames, the beauteous globes of Emma's hinder parts were displayed to particular advantage. Mr Knightley beheld them with unalloyed rapture and, emboldened by his newfound uxorious state, ventured to caress the tender flesh-cushions.

‘Dearest Emma,' said he, ‘truly you were formed for this. For not only, sweet girl, does your saucy and wilful nature render you most deserving of frequent chastisement, but these lovely orbs, so soft and rounded, were
positively
made to be spanked. Such posterior charms should be done full justice; and I am determined they shall receive it, abundantly and often.'

At this, he raised his hand and, pausing only for a brief moment of joyful anticipation, brought it down hard on the plumpest part of his bride's defenceless curves. Emma gasped and squirmed at the sting of it, only to gasp again as another stroke smote her quivering flesh, followed by another and another. Each smack resounded in the bedchamber like a pistol shot, mingled with Emma's gasps and squeals. Even a light layer of muslin, she now understood, could make a signal difference. The punishment Mr Knightley had inflicted upon her in the dell at Box Hill had hurt a great deal; but a spanking applied to her bared bottom stung yet more vividly.

After only a dozen strokes, a warm blush suffused the fair cheeks of Emma's naked rump, much enhancing their beauty. Mr Knightley paused to admire it, then resumed his attentions, spanking his sweet young bride hard and lovingly. Already it was evident that this was to be no token chastisement, given in play; Mr Knightley intended that Emma should suffer her wedding-night spanking in full earnest.

‘Oh, my dear Mr Knightley,' cried she, ‘how you hurt me! Ah! Oh! How can you use me so? Oh please, dear husband, spank me no more, I beg of you! Truly I repent; I shall never more be saucy or wilful, that I vow! Oh! Ah! Oh take pity, please, no more!'

But in vain did she protest and plead for mercy. Still her remorseless punisher's arm rose and fell; still her trembling mounds bounced and blushed beneath his hearty slaps. And while he spanked her Mr Knightley talked to her, not angrily but gently and with affection. ‘I start as I mean to go on, dearest Emma,' said he even as he smacked her with relish. ‘Think of this as but a token of events to come. For you may count on it, my
love
, that during the course of our married life you will frequently find yourself turned across my knee like this, to have your bare bottom soundly spanked. Often it will be because you have deserved it, sweet wilful girl; but at other times it may be simply for the pleasure of the game.'

So saying, he proceeded to unleash upon Emma's quivering flesh such a fusillade of stinging strokes that she squealed in dismay, kicking up her legs and imploring him to spare her further punishment. Yet he showed no inclination to desist, but continued to spank her unmercifully, deepening with each smack the carmine blush that now adorned the full expanse of her lovely naked posteriors; a blush that presented an exquisite contrast with the whiteness of her waist and thighs.

Yet, for all her pleas, deep within her Emma felt delight in submitting thus to her husband's ardent mastery. For to lie across the thighs of a man in whose excellence and judgement she had perfect confidence; to feel her soft bare hinder parts tingled and enflamed by the loving punishment of a man of Mr Knightley's proven sensibility; this to her was true joy, and furthermore a source of deep and secret pleasure.

So, when at last, having administered to her a spanking even more thoroughgoing than the first, Mr Knightley ceased chastising his beloved Emma and raised her up into his arms, she embraced him in no sprit of resentment. True, she pouted at him reproachfully, with tears in her eyes, and murmured ‘Cruel!' and ‘Heartless monster!' in his ear; true, she rubbed ruefully at the becrimsoned mounds of her suffering backside. But she knew that what seemed cruelty on his part was in truth love and cherishing, a tribute to her intimate charms; and the warmth engendered by the correction she had undergone readily transmitted itself into the ardour of her embrace.

Of the exchanges that followed hard upon this first chastisement of Emma's married life, we need say little. But it may perhaps be pertinent to add that, in this matter as in all, Mr Knightley was as good as his word, and Emma's wedding-night spanking was far from the last she would receive at her husband's loving hands. Quite the contrary; in the years to come Mr Knightley would find frequent occasion to place his sweet Emma across his knee, bare her bottom and induce a roseate hue into her lovely cheeks; and when no occasion offered, it was not unknown for him to devise one. Such disciplines did nothing to weaken the affectionate bond between them. Rather they strengthened it, and enhanced the lively regard each felt for the other, so that the wishes and hopes of their friends were fully answered in the perfect happiness of their union.

11

Bikini Line

‘BUT I
WANT
to!'

Julie glared indignantly at Daniel. Her full lower lip stuck out petulantly, and a hint of angry tears moistened her blue eyes. She even stamped her foot, though the thick pile of the hotel carpet rather ruined the effect. You couldn't have called it a first-class stamp.

Dan suppressed an impulse to grin. Instead, he sighed quietly. Julie was nineteen, nearly twenty, a grown woman. But right now, he had to admit, the petite blonde looked like nothing so much as a spoilt little girl throwing a temper tantrum.

Dan and Julie had been married only a few months, and he adored his pretty young wife. And he had definite views on marriage. A husband and wife, he believed, should be partners, setting forth as loving equals into the great adventure of married life. True, Julie was younger than him by a year or two, but what of that?

These days, of course, such ideas are nothing new. But this was England in 1960, when husbands were meant to ‘wear the trousers', women were expected to ‘know their place', and brides at the altar promised to love, honour – and obey. Dan McIntyre, though, prided himself on having modern ideas. There was a young queen on the throne, and in this New Elizabethan Age
a
lot of things were changing, in his view mostly for the better. Especially in relations between men and women.

Still, he had to admit there were times when he found it hard to treat Julie as a rational adult. And this was one of them. Besides, she did look extremely sexy, posing there in the ultra-brief sky-blue bikini that showed off all the delectable curves of her nubile young figure. Dan was sorely tempted to grab her there and then and make passionate love to her. But then it would be impossible to refuse her anything. No, he had to be firm – and not in the way a certain part of him was getting firm, either.

So he set his jaw and repeated quietly, ‘Sorry, darling, but no. You can't wear that costume here.'

‘Why
not
?' wailed Julie. ‘It's the latest fashion!'

‘I'm sure it is, sweetheart. But this isn't the south of France, nor even Brighton. It's Bournemouth – and you know how prim and proper they are here. You wear that bikini on the beach, you'll cause a riot. Respectable old ladies will have heart attacks.'

‘Don't care!' sulked Julie mutinously.

‘Well, I do. This is our first real holiday together, darling, and I don't want it spoilt by people pointing and sniggering. It's a lovely bikini, my sweet, and you look terrific in it. But you've got to admit it
is
scandalously brief. Look, it leaves nearly all your bottom bare!'

‘You said I had a delicious bottom,' pouted his young wife.

‘You do, my angel. But I'd rather you didn't display it to half the South Coast. No, sorry, darling, but my mind's made up. You can't wear that bikini on the beach here, and that's final.'

‘It's not
fair
!' wailed Julie. ‘I hate you!' Bursting into tears, she stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Dan sighed again. When Julie was in a good mood, she was the sweetest, most enchanting companion – and
bedfellow
– that a man could desire. But when things didn't go just the way she wanted she threw tantrums, and sulked, and generally made his life a misery. It hadn't often happened before they married. But just recently the tantrums had been getting ever more frequent.

Not for the first time he recalled what Valerie, his mother-in-law, had told him just before the wedding. Valerie was a warm outgoing woman whose affable nature concealed a core of steel. Widowed by the war, she had run her own business and single-handedly raised three spirited daughters, of whom Julie was the youngest. ‘She's a sweet girl, Dan,' she said, ‘and I know she'll make you a good wife. But I'll tell you one thing for free, if you've not discovered it already. She's a headstrong little thing when she wants to be. Likes her own way, does our Julie, and can be as stubborn as a mule about getting it.

‘Now what you do about it, Dan, is up to you. Maybe you'll just give in, for the sake of a quiet life. But if you don't mind a word of advice from the mum-in-law – well, I've always found a firm hand works wonders. Surprises you, does it? Oh yes, many's the time I've had to put that young madam over my knee and take a hairbrush to her saucy little backside. Her sisters too, come to that. But it's always Julie who's needed it most. Call me old-fashioned, but I believe you could do worse than likewise. I think you'd be the happier for it, my dear – and so would she, though I bet she wouldn't admit it.'

Dan smiled and nodded politely. Inwardly, he resolved that such primitive methods would have no part in his marriage. But now he found himself wondering if Valerie might not have a point . . .

In the bathroom, Julie moodily admired herself in the full-length mirror, peering over her shoulder to inspect the rear view. She
did
have a sexy bottom, no question
of
it – she didn't need Dan to tell her that. Pert and lusciously rounded, her ripe young cheeks peeked provocatively out from under the scanty blue triangle, inviting attention. She'd been counting on getting a near-all-over tan she could show off to her girlfriends back home – not to mention the glances, envious or lecherous, she'd attract on the beach. And now Dan thought he could spoil her fun, did he, the rotten old stick-in-the-mud? Well, he couldn't, so
there
!

Julie gave her reflection a secret grin. Then she took off the bikini, put on something more modest and went out to act the dutiful young wife.

The hotel was the smartest in town. At the time they married, Dan's new business had been at a critical stage, and he'd only been able to spare a long weekend for the honeymoon. But things were running smoothly now, he'd landed some lucrative contracts, and to celebrate and make it up to Julie he'd booked them two weeks at the Grand. ‘No expense spared, my darling,' he'd told her. ‘Terrific food and drink, sun and sand – and a lovely big soft double bed where we can do all the naughty things we like, day and night.'

Julie had giggled delightedly.

As it was their first evening, they went to town on the dinner. The Grand boasted a French chef and a lengthy wine list, and the young couple did full justice to both. They got to bed very drunk and very amorous, and fell asleep fully entwined.

The next morning, despite the drink, Julie woke early. While Dan lay snoring she eased herself out of his arms and crept into the bathroom. There she quickly pulled on some clothes, grabbed the minimal bikini, a towel and a bag and headed for the beach.

It was a beautiful morning, clear and windless and already warm. Julie had hoped the beach would be empty, but though it was early there were quite a few people about. She was starting to have misgivings, but
her
pride wouldn't let her turn back. Finding herself a secluded spot beyond a breakwater, she changed under her towel. Then, standing up and gazing defiantly out to sea, she revealed her bikini-clad form in all its glory.

A piercing wolf-whistle split the morning air. ‘Oi!
Cheeky
!'

Julie swung round in alarm.

Above her on the promenade, three young men were leaning over the railing, grinning lasciviously. ‘Careful you don't catch cold, darlin',' shouted one of them.

‘Nice dumplings, love!' bawled another.

Julie's first impulse was to make a dash for the sea. But as luck would have it the tide was out, and she quailed at the thought of running fifty yards under the barrage of the yobs' raucous comments. Instead, she lay face-down on her towel, took out a book and affected to ignore them. Surely they'd soon tire of their moronic game and move away?

But her feigned disregard only spurred them on. Their shouts grew more boisterous. ‘Nice bit o' rump steak there!' yelled one.

‘
Two
nice bits!' his friend chortled. Julie gazed fixedly at her book, feeling her face turning red. Other beach-users stared, or came to see what it was all about. Soon a small crowd had gathered. Some angrily told the lads to move off (which only encouraged them to further subtle witticisms) but others added their own comments on Julie's costume, couched in more genteel terms.