The Baker's Dozen – Februs

I have always been intrigued by the thought of a very sexy young lady getting a public spanking, and that is why this story will remain one of my all time favourites. Please enjoy!

Sallie visits the tiny bakery in The Square twice a week. It's a craft bakery, run by a real enthusiast, who does most of his baking on the premises. The shop, and its neighbours, have a Dickensian feel and the old lop-sided timber-framed buildings, three storeys high, are part of a group of other genteel shops selling knitwear, designer dresses, antiquarian books and souvenirs for tourists who visit the cathedral in this tiny city. The Cathedral Green backs onto the bakery, and the medieval west front with its magnificent crumbling stonework looks down on them all.

It's a very pleasant place to shop. Undeniably English. Proper - that's how Sallie describes it in her latest novel. A rare bastion of old-fashioned values which seem to exist here in state of arrested development. Once a year the city holds a literary festival, which Sallie organises, and classical music is played on the Cathedral Green on midsummer night. In summer it becomes a little overcrowded. But in winter, the smallest city in England is silent and its population seems to go into hibernation.

That January Tuesday morning Sallie went into Mr Tuphall's as usual. She wore a black faux-mink coat, matching gloves and a small felt hat. She always dressed to look attractive, relishing the fact that for her twenty-eight years, she turned many a male head. It gave her great power to be so desired, and not to give her affections to anyone. That way there was always someone to boost her ego, but he was kept, frustratingly, at arms length.

The shop was empty apart from Ben Tuphall. He was around fifty with a dark complexion and wore his hair in the style of a 'forties shopkeeper. In fact the shop had that feeling too. It was well known Ben and his ex-wife were obsessed by the 'forties and belonged to a retro club where they dressed up in the styles of the time and danced the jitterbug.

Ben looked up as Sallie entered. She was a pretty young thing, he thought - sometimes a little hoity-toity, but with an underlying innocence he found intriguing. He often fantasised what she would be like if she lost that self-possession for a moment - if she could be made to lose it perhaps....he had a sly and growing interest in her since his marriage had ended a year before. But Sallie was just out of reach, and although there was an obvious mutual attraction it proved harder to take it any further. The baker and the writer. He the artisan, she the artist. A little in awe of her, he was also annoyed with her flighty dismissal of his intentions. She'd lead him on but was never serious. She lived too much in her head, in her books.

Somewhere under the skin of Little Miss Intellectual there was passion, he just knew it. He just had to find the right key.

He was arranging cakes in the bay window when a group of small boys ran past and one threw a stone, breaking a small leaded light pane. Fragments of glass flew onto the window display. Ben rushed out of the shop but the boys had run away.

Sallie stood rigid in a state of shock and horror as Ben came back inside.

"Well," she said hotly, "I've never seen anything like it! I can't believe it!"

"Are you alright? No harm done?" Ben touched her arm and gave it a squeeze before walking swiftly past her back to examine the shattered window.

"I'm fine, thank you. What an awful thing to do."

Ben's face was dark. "Too much of it about these days," he said. "If I got my hands on them...." he shouted through the strip-curtain into the bakery for someone to come and clear up the mess.

Sallie, still wide-eyed, nodded her head vigorously. Why she'd..she'd..she couldn't think what she'd do, other than grab the offenders by the scruff of the neck and..... But you couldn't do that anymore. The law was on the side of the offender. If you defended yourself, hurt your attacker, he'd sue you for assault. Sallie, being small, blonde with porcelain skin would merely be laughed at for such an attempt, no matter how feisty she was.

Ben sighed, and smiled at her. "Let's forget about that for a minute. What can I get you from the back of the shop? The glass didn't fly that far."

Sallie asked for a wholemeal loaf, but the act of vandalism still hung in the air and she went back to the subject as soon as he had wrapped her bread and handed it over the counter.

"I think it's all down to lack of parental discipline," she said.

Ben made a rueful face. "And don't I just agree with you!"

"When I was a child," she went on, her face pink, " parents used to smack their children - but they're not allowed to any more. I think that's crazy!"

"A very old-fashioned point of view," Ben observed, his lips twitching, " from one as young as yourself."

"I guess I'm just living in the wrong age. I'm what' s called an 'anachronism' "

Ben poked out his tongue and licked his lips. "So what would you do? Spank them?" he said casually, lingering on the words to see what effect they had on her.

"Well...someone should have." She paused, looking straight past him. "It never did me any harm." She stopped, blushed, and made a little kiss with her mouth, spreading red lipstick over her mouth. What was she doing telling him that?"

"So you were spanked then?" He held her gaze.

She took a breath. "Yes, when I was naughty."

"And were you often.....naughty?"

Sallie laughed and tried to turn away so that he wouldn't see her flushed face. He was teasing her. But she wouldn't let him win the point.

"I still am," she said, boldly turning back to meet his eyes with a laugh and a flirtatious flick of her blonde hair. "So all that spanking did me no good at all."

There she was again, twice the match for his teasing. Just begging for it. "Well we can't have that!" He went to the back of the shop and wrote something down on a piece of paper. "We have a little spin-off from our 'forties club," he said, handing her the paper. "Bearing in mind what we've been talking about , you might find it interesting to come along - you and your writer's mind. But if you do come, you have to promise me - no reporting. We are very discreet and intend to keep it that way."

"OK. Sounds like fun. What's the club called?"

"The Spanking Club. I've written down the time and day."

Sallie paused before replying. "This is a joke, right? I've never heard of it."

"Of course you haven't. It's a private club. Invitation only. So keep it to yourself, or else," he added with a low laugh.

"Oh I will, I promise. It sounds fascinating."

She said goodbye and left the shop. A spanking club.....here? The very idea! It was a joke, it had to be. Ben was always teasing her about her insistence that he write poetry for the literary festival - and he always wrote something rude just to wind her up. This was another bit of revenge. But she had always managed to keep one step ahead of him. Always the customer, she could flirt but he mustn't overstep the mark. The customer was always right. No doubt he'd think she wouldn't have the courage to turn up. She'd show him!

Thursday evening, 7.30 pm, she arrived at the back entrance to the bakery and climbed the stairs to the flat above. She could hear voices as she went up - women's voices. Its a W.I. meeting, she thought with a smirk. Baby showers and cakes. Concealed in her pocket was a tiny tape-recorder to record the event. She could write it up as a short play for the literary festival. Nobody need know.

A note on the door directed her to the top floor. She climbed the stairs and the hubbub grew louder. At the top two rooms branched off from a hall. One door was open. Clearly the adjoining walls of several properties had been dismantled to create this venue and Sallie was astonished. The room reminded her of a church hall with rows of wooden chairs in the back, then a space and a small raised platform on which was a single chair. The women, in 'forties-style dress were standing in the middle, talking animatedly, drinking tea from old-fashioned china. A young woman of about twenty-five came to Sallie,a welcoming smile on her face. She wore a tight skirt with a kick pleat, a matching jacket with flared peplum, a small cocktail hat with a long black feather. Her shoes were red suede heels and she wore seamed stockings. Very authentic, Sallie thought. Most elegant. It must be the 'forties social evening, not a Spanking Club. Trust Ben Tuphall to lead her on!

The woman introduced herself as Joanne and went to get Sallie a cup of tea from a little kitchen. Sallie followed.

"I'm the odd one out," Sallie looked down at her loose pleated skirt and blue silk blouse and cardigan. At least she was wearing high heels.

"Oh don't worry. But I hope you're wearing stockings. They are de rigueur."

Sallie nodded. She was - seamed grey ones. She hated pantie-hose.

"Are there any men? Is this a women-only club?"

"Ah, wait a minute," Joanne said and tip-toed out into the hall, taking Sallie with her. At the opposite door they stopped.

"The men are in there. Can you hear them?"

Sallie listened and made out the rumble of male voices.

Joanne tapped on the door and put her finger to her lips. A moment later came the command 'enter' and Joanne opened the door and waited. "The new one has just arrived," she said.

Ben Tuphall came to the door. He wore a suit styled in the period of the 'forties, a white shirt with tie and braces. He looked at Sallie quizzically and smiled. "Good. I hope you enjoy our little evening."

There was something very odd about the situation. When Ben appeared, Joanne had given what, to Sallie, looked like a curtsy, and this room, in contrast to the bare floors and chairs where the women talked, was luxurious in decor and furnishings, like an old smoking-room. She glimpsed large comfortable armchairs, side tables, newspapers and whisky glasses. She looked up at Ben and gave a weak smile. He looked different, darker, more threatening. And he was wearing a suit. Sallie had a weakness for men in suits. She felt a new respect for him. The oneupmanship game was suddenly redundant. What mattered now was that he was a man, she a woman - nothing else. She gave a little shiver. A warning tingle ran down her spine.

"We'll be out when we're ready," he said to Joanne

"Yes, Sir."

"Make Sallie feel at home."

And with that he turned away, leaving the door open, and sat down in the nearest armchair.

Sallie hung up her coat carefully on a coat-stand in the corner of the hall and arranged the tape-recorder inside the pocket so she could press through the material and switch it on without anybody knowing. So they were waiting for the men. She stood politely and listened to conversations. There was much talk about 'values' and 'the old way' and phrases like 'I deserved it' came up from time to time. She saw Jane Tuphall, in a floral tea-dress, laughing and patting her bottom. Everyone seemed lively and enjoying themselves. In a while Ben came into the room and positioned the chair to the front of the platform before giving the ladies a meaningful glance and going out again. Sallie's curiosity at last got the better of her.

"Excuse me, can you tell me what's going to happen tonight?"

Joanne lowered her eyes and giggled like a girl. "Oh," she said, "It'll begin soon, but we don't know who it's going to be. They decide. That's what they're in the other room doing right now."

"Decide? Decide what?"

"Who's going to get a spanking this evening, and who's the lucky man to get the ball rolling." Joanne looked at Sallie in surprise. "Didn't you know that?" She gave a little giggle of excitement. "No one comes here under false pretences."

"Um...yes..Ben did tell me."

"I don't think you'll be chosen. It's your first time. You can just watch, and feel sorry for us."

Sallie was taken aback. "You mean those men actually spank......grown women?"

Joanne laughed. "Of course! See the chair at the front? That's where 'it' happens." She gave Sallie a conspiratorial smile. "Don't tell me you've never been spanked!"

"As a child, yes - but not as a grown woman!"

Joanne's face gleamed. "Oh, it's much better to be spanked as a woman. Some of us are really addicted."

"Oh really?" The thought of getting all this on tape made Sallie feel quite excited.

"Some of us actually have..have..well..an orgasm while it's happening." Joanne whispered.

Sallie opened her mouth but closed it again. Unbelievable! Were such things possible? In front of an audience? How would it feel, she wondered? Horribly humiliating. Oh! One would have to try and conceal it rather well.

But humiliation was kin to tease and Sallie had been teased a lot, and played along too. Teased by Ben Tuphall. She had to admit she suddenly found him overwhelmingly attractive. And if any woman went too far, he clearly was not shy of dealing with them. Would that apply to her? Maybe that's what she wanted.........

Sallie thought about what it would be like to be spanked by Ben. And she blushed deeply, guiltily - and right at the wrong moment.

For Ben and his fellow men had left their snug and come into the room, and she hadn't noticed until his strong male presence walked past her. When she looked up, her unguarded expression met Ben's intense stare. He had read her mind. Sallie reddened, Ben's lips gave a twitch of amusement, and then he walked past her.

The men sat in the front, like an old-fashioned church. The women sat behind them. Quickly, before Sallie found her seat, she nipped to the coat-rack and pressed the record button on her tape-recorder.

Ben stood beside the chair on the platform. The lights dimmed, and a spotlight shone down on the chair. The atmosphere was hushed and electric. For a moment Ben scanned the audience and then he spoke.

"Good evening. Welcome to our little gathering. We meet to redress some of the balance in our confused society, and think back to a time when men were men and women were just as disobedient as they are now..." There was a ripple of laughter and then silence as Ben looked with some theatricality, among the rows of women. "Joanne Smith"

Joanne, who had been sitting next to Sallie, dropped her handbag then got up slowly, her face a mixture of nerves and excitement. The other women looked at her with sympathy and envy as she made her way to the front.

Joanne's hobble skirt was so tight that Ben, in a gentlemanly gesture,helped her onto the platform. He sat down and she stood, rather like a miscreant in school, in front of him, her hands respectfully clasped together.

"Joanne Smith, it's confession time for you, my girl. What do you have to say?"

Joanne looked at the ceiling for a minute. "I ..er..was late cooking breakfast twice this week and I made my husband late for work."

"Oh dear me. And do you consider this slackness to be just cause for punishment?"

"Yes, Sir" She looked down, her head bent.

"What punishment do you deserve? And speak up, woman."

The words came out slowly. "The punishment...of...having...my...bottom...smacked."

"Soundly spanked," Ben said with relish. "Get across my knee for the spanking you richly deserve!" There was brief applause.

Sallie watched, paralysed with excitement, as Joanne lowered herself down across Ben's ample lap. She had a voluptuous figure with a big bottom and this was elevated to an almost obscene roundness as the skirt material strained itself taut. Ben smoothed his hand over her bottom for a minute while he gave a little homily to the audience about Joanne's disobedience. Then , without warning, he raised his hand and brought it down on her right buttock with a crack like a pistol shot. The women gasped and Joanne gave an involuntary jump. He raised his hand again but brought it down merely to smooth her rump; then raised it and ...crack! He repeated this many times, until she didn't know when the spanks were coming, and almost lifted her bottom up to him between each slap, inviting him to thunder his firm hand down.

Sallie could hardly breathe. There, in front of her, a woman about her own age was being spanked by Ben Tuphall, the baker - and clearly enjoying every minute!

It was then the disaster happened. In a silence between spanks, Sallie's tape recorder malfunctioned and a loud whirring noise came from her coat pocket.

Ben stopped spanking, looked to the back of the room, his eyebrows raised. Sallie had gone scarlet and there was no hiding the fact that she was the culprit. She had never hidden blushes well.

Ben spoke quietly to Joanne and told her to go to her seat. She did, walking stiffly, smoothing the skirt over her bottom and trying not to rub there. Ben sauntered down past the men at the front, flicked on the main lights and walked through the ranks of women - straight to Sallie. All heads turned in her direction.

Ben looked down and smiled evilly.

"The perfect culprit gives herself away every time," he said, his eyes dancing. "I like to see a woman blush as you're doing now, Sallie. Tell me, what was that noise? A tape-recorder?"

"I'm sorry." She stared hard at her lap, conscious of her burning face and all the attention she was getting. "You did say not to..and I did." She looked up, stricken. "I'll go now."

"Oh no you won't!" Ben stood at the end of the row and beckoned her out. "I couldn't let you do that. I know you wouldn't want to get away scot-free, now would you? Remember our little chat in my shop when those boys broke the window? Remember what you said you would do, Sallie?"

She looked at him helplessly, in confusion. Ambivalent feelings...horror at what might happen, yet an unmistakable erotic thrill. Meeting his eyes, she knew he too was fired by the delicious prospect of dealing with her.

"Give her what she deserves!" came a deep husky voice from among the women. There were murmurs of agreement. Everyone waited.

"Get up, Sallie, and come with me." Ben said.

She had no choice. And she did not want one either. Her thighs damp with fear and strange excitement, she followed him to the platform. The lights dimmed and the spotlight came back on.

Ben sat down, spread his thighs and patted them. "We know the crime, my sweet, so you don't have to confess anything. Now what do you think I should do with you, hmmm?" Sallie licked her dry lips. In a barely audible voice she said, "Punish me?" He nodded. "How? You tell me. You are a writer. Make it descriptive, Lots of detail. Make it interesting."

She was scarlet. "I am..standing here..with.with my hands..er..clasped in front of me and looking at your lap, knowing that in a minute I must..must lie across it...in front..in front of all these people..and you will.." she paused , hearing how the humiliated feelings affected her voice, making it small, like a child's, ".....sp..spank me."

"Spank you indeed. And I will enjoy every minute of it! Come , Sallie, over my knee!"

Making sure her skirt was well down, Sallie lowered herself carefully until she was draped across his lap, her blonde hair brushing the floor. Her whole body prickled with shame and embarrassment, but something else too. She felt the heat from Ben's embrace as he hugged her tightly to himself and she began to melt. The shock of being so physically intimate had unlocked feelings for him. She wanted him simply to take her.

Ben arranged her skirt, spreading out the pleats, smoothing her bottom, and at the same time, pressing his erection against her. And then he started to spank her. Not token slaps, not breaking her in gently, but heavy, well-aimed slaps on the summit of her skirted bottom, at a rate of one a second . She grimaced and held back cries, and was glad of the hair over her face so the audience could not see. He knew how to break her tolerance - by spanking her on the same place repeatedly. The warmth engendered soon became heat, nigh unbearable without some verbal venting of the extreme discomfort. And it was difficult to keep still. Hard to keep her legs and thighs tight and not give in to the temptation to fling them wide apart and break down altogether. So far she managed to control herself - just!

Ben had other plans. Before she knew what was happening, he yanked up her skirt to reveal an indecent white thong underneath - hardly ample 'forties style underwear - but then she hadn't exactly been warned to dress for this! The garment was so brief that it was hardly worth wearing, affording her no protection at all, just like the thin ruched suspenders that held up her grey seamed stockings. But how they set off her bottom! Not too plump but so womanly, with the soft voluptuousness of a ripe pair; the suspenders delineating a neat area on softly wobbling flesh. And pink, such a pretty pink from the spanking she'd had. But not pink enough for Ben. Not for this pretty, teasing little Miss, who tore at his loins and his heartstrings with her maddening unavailability and her clever remarks. But this would knock her off her pedestal and bring out the baser feelings she liked to pretend she didn't have! He cupped his hand on the summit of her bottom and felt her flesh rise to meet him. Oh she was softening alright!

Spanking her bare bottom now, Ben treated that once-pale baby-delicate skin as though it were a painting and he had to cover it methodically with a pink colour-wash. A red wash, in actuality, because lust drove him to spank her with abandon, it's aim being to break her, and to have her submit unconditionally.

Slap! Slap! His hand stung her bare cheeks again and again. She writhed, rubbing herself against his swollen cock and he was so near to coming!

Sallie had crossed a threshold. As the bare-bottomed spanking proceeded, she dived into a void where the pain almost became too much. Then its nature changed and she felt herself riding a wave. The cries which came from her lips did not sound like her cries. The madly scissoring legs, now revealing the white scrap of thong tightly embedded in the crack between her bottom-cheeks, were an expression of pain, pleasure, abandonment and lust, all mixed up. She was crying, the tears wetting her hair. She could hear Ben hiss, as if he was unaware of an audience and there was just the two of them, an old game being played out - and he was winning.

Her bottom was red now; red all over, some areas streaked where his fingers had made an impression, some a denser red like a beautiful stain. And still the spanks rained down. Sallie bucked, writhed, strained against his grip, squealed and yelled like an animal caught in a trap. There was no place for those feelings to go, they tore towards a peak of pain-pleasure, whose epicentre was between her legs... The vibration of every slap on her bottom dived straight there until the energy had nowhere to go. Suddenly, unable to contain it any longer, she gave a peculiar unmistakable scream, her body arched, then she went limp.

Ben stopped. Quickly he picked her up and carried her from the room to the sound of applause. He almost ran into the cloakroom with her, and slammed the door. No-one could -or would - intrude here.

Sallie was rubbing against him like a submissive cat , pawing at his shirt, , her face tear-stained, her lips open and inviting. he shoved her roughly against the door and hoisted her up, cupping his hands under her hot, spanked bottom, squeezing her roughly on the sore, tender flesh.

"Take that skirt off," he breathed," and those ridiculous knickers!"

Quickly she obeyed.

"Christ, you're a fuckable little thing!" he gasped, his eyes dwelling lustfully on her nakedness. He sat down on the edge of a chair and drew her roughly in to him. With his large hands he pulled her into position - kneeling astride him, her eager soaking cunt inches from his cock. Gently he eased her down.

"Oooh, you wet little bitch," he growled as he thrust into her. She was so easy, so accommodating, so wonderfully wet...This was no time to rush but a treat to savour. As she sank down onto him, he put one hand on each bottom-cheek and supported her there, lifting her up and down as he wanted.

The touch of his hands, the pressure of them on her tender flesh, made her wince. Soon she was moving up and down on his prick at her own pace, pressing against his hands. As she rose high, he suddenly gave her a slap, then another and another, until she could feel the ripples of each spank shuddering through her bottom and cunt, and into his cock. Smack! Smack Smack! The pace became harder and faster, her breath came and went in gasps. He was losing control.

He lost it. With a cry she came too, wildly, throwing back her head, bucking her hips, feeling the red-hot heat from her bottom fan its way up on and through her.

"Now," he said, gently, stroking her throbbing bottom, "what were you going to do with that tape-recording?"

Sallie stared at him. her eyes wide with excitement. "Write a play for this year's festival." she said with a grin.

Ben smiled. "You might be a good writer, Sallie, but I tell you, the performance you gave this evening was an opening night and a half. Do you think you'll write that up, my love?"

Sallie looked up at him, mischief and desire coursing again. "I might," she said impishly, "if I can get more experience with a repeat performance."

THE END

My thanks to the Author: Rachel King