Free F/M Story: The Wrestler

Here's a fun little treat for men who love being disciplined by a stern and beautiful woman ...

The Wrestler

The atmosphere in the crowded hall was electric, and the buzz of excited voices resonated to raucous cheers as the music blared from powerful speakers and the spotlight fixed on the towering figure that thrust through the curtain and stepped onto the walkway. He swaggered forward and paused as the drums rolled, posing for the crowd, playing to his supporters. Muscles flexed and torso rippling, he stood, hands on hips, legs splayed like two mighty tree trunks. His butt was honed and toned, and the clingy red and gold fabric of his tight fitting trunks shimmered, accentuating his hard and prominent buttocks. Glorifying in the adulation, he raised both arms, his hands balled into tight fists.

The crowd went mad. Their cheers echoed wildly around the arena. This was Dynamite Dick. The chant began. Dick! Dick! Dick! Dick! DY-NA-MITE!! Men in the crowd shouted and stomped, and many of the females went hysterical at the glorious vision of towering, pulsing, male testosterone. Hundreds of Dynamite Dick banners were simultaneously waved, their bearers yelling and screeching to welcome their hero.

Dynamite Dick was built like a rock. Weighing 245 pounds, he stood over 6ft 4 tall, his sun-tanned skin gleaming beneath the bright lights. He wore his dark brown hair long and free. The look suited him, complementing his chiseled jaw and strong features. Dynamite Dick was a hunk. He had presence and charisma. He was also one of the best wrestlers on the circuit and had a huge fan base. According to local rumour, his dick was equally huge.

The shouts gave way to boos as the opponent stepped into view. Nikolai Bolokoff strutted through the aperture wearing a black cloak lined with silver and trimmed with fur. He wore big heavy fur-trimmed boots and a fur hat. Bol-o-koff! Bol-o-koff! chanted the crowd in unison. Bolokoff gave them his traditional greeting - a mouthful of abuse and the finger sign.

The crowds roared, clapped, cheered and boo'd as the Russian threw off his hat, revealing a smooth shaven bullet head. At 32, he was two years younger than Dynamite Dick, and a little shorter, lighter, and faster than his adversary. He tossed aside his cloak and strutted along the walkway. He had a powerful physique, with muscles bulging. He too played the crowd expertly, growling and snarling and shaking his fists.

He would periodically give the ladies a thrill by thrusting his hips lewdly. Secretly, he was an exponent of enhancing pouch underwear technology - it's not generally known that this type of unique underwear works via a lift and hold mechanism. So instead of letting the genitals hang down, it instead lifts them up and holds them out to create that so desired big bulge effect that makes you look like a super stud. Thus, whenever Bolokoff thrusted, he appeared to be flaunting a well-packed jumbo sausage rather than a weedy little chipolata. The ladies loved it. Plenty of men did too.

"Ya all DOGS BOLLOCKS!" yelled Bolokoff to the crowd.

The crowd surged as one at the insult, hissing and yelling and stamping their feet on the wooden floor boards. The voluptuous woman on the front row smiled, revealing crimsoned lips and a row of perfect white teeth. Her green eyes glittered with excitement. She jumped to her feet, her hourglass figure swaying as she waved wildly, shouting for Dynamite Dick.

He turned in the ring and met her glance, and grinned confidently. The wrestling match began with Dynamite Dick performing a neat sidestepping move that foiled Bolokoff's offensive attack, and led the latter to a suspected groin injury as he crashed to the ground, and thrashed about wildly. Then Dynamite Dick leapt on top of him and began lifting Bolokoff's head and banging it down again hard. The crowd roared its approval. The woman in the front row jumped up and down, her plentiful breasts bobbing.

But what was this? Bolokoff broke free of the hold and bounded to his feet, and suddenly launched into a missile dropkick which toppled Dynamite Dick, slamming him to the ground. The two men grappled and grunted, egged on by the crowd. Back on his feet again, Dynamite Dick, using the middle rope as leverage, delivered a signature kick to Bolokoff's belly. The Russian bellowed, his face red with anger. Then he stomped round the ring, brandishing his fists, before getting revenge on Dynamite by flooring him and getting him with a leg hook camel clutch.

The Dynamite Dick supporters screamed with unrestrained pleasure as Dynamite Dick broke free of the hold. Then tragedy struck, as Bolokoff gave Dynamite an unexpected head butt that knocked him out cold. The crowd roared and wailed in disbelief. How could this happen? Dynamite should have won, and here he was, laid like a beached whale.

After being doused with a bucket of cold water, Dynamite Dick limped off the stage with his tail between his legs. His bruised body ached all over and his head pounded. He sat in his dressing room feeling morose, and dismissed the attendants.

The door burst open and she walked in. He knew it was her, by the sharp click of her heels and the sensual aroma of her French perfume.

"You lost," she said.

"Yeah. I did."

'"You shall be punished. I lost my bet thanks to your inept stupidity," she snapped.

"Sorry."

"Don't mumble. And look at me when you're speaking!" Her eyes glittered ominously.

Dynamite Dick raised his head. "Sorry, Mistress," he said, clearly.

"You will be. Hand me the paddle."

Dynamite Dick groaned. He couldn't face the paddle right now. He had a headache. "Do I have to?" he began, in a pleading tone.

"Get it this minute, or suffer the consequences!"

He complied at once. He knew through painful experience what those consequences might be.

"Right," she said briskly as he handed her a hefty looking wooden paddle. "Trunks off, and go and bend over the chair."

She watched him intently as he peeled off his trunks and strode dutifully towards the chair. He had a wonderful body. She never tired of looking at it. Nor did she baulk at the prospect of tanning that gloriously sculpted bottom. She licked her lips in anticipation as he got into position over the chair, legs apart, bottom thrust out prominently.

There was no warm up. She launched straight in with a succession of hard blows across his buttocks. The wooden paddle was a bastard. She used it expertly, hammering out the blows. His backside quickly turned from pink to red, and still she continued, pounding away, giving his rump a thorough roasting. Both his buttocks were crimsoned and sore, his flesh burning hot. His eyes watered as the pain pierced like red hot needles. His rump felt raw and battered.

When she started paddling the top of his thighs, it took all his resolve not to cry out in pain. The pain was intense. It suffused his whole body. He felt every nerve ending shriek as blow after blow was delivered. Still, he needed it. He deserved it. It had been six weeks since he last lost a match.

The things a guy had to do to get a good spanking.

********** If you enjoyed that, do look out for some of my other femdom titles, all available on Amazon.

The Bad Boy Story Book 3 Click Here

The Bad Boy Story Book 2 Click Here

The Bad Boy Story Book 1 Click Here

Disciplined by His Landlady Click Here

The Disciplined Husband Click Here

The Postmistress and the Gardener Click Here

I must confess I love the cover for the Postmistress and the Gardener. Don't you agree? It's Goddess Sophia, and here website is here.

Happy New Year to you all! Lucy x

Free F/M Story - The Cherry Cake Incident

Here's a free story for you featuring a very dominant woman giving a deserving male exactly what's required!

The Cherry Cake Incident © Lucy Appleby

Gilbert Bryce considered himself a fortunate man, for he had just obtained a position as second footman at Grantham Hall. Though the hours were long and some of his many duties unpleasant, such as emptying the chamber pots of all the male servants and washing them with a vinegar-soaked rag, (washing the chamber pots that is, not the servants) he applied himself conscientiously to each and every task. By the end of his first week at Grantham Hall, he had gained an in-depth understanding of the way things worked and knew his place within the hierarchy of servants. Below stairs, the Butler Mr Jarvis, and the Housekeeper, Miss Williams were the respected figureheads of authority; there was just one area in which they passed autonomy onto another - and that was the discipline of the household staff.

Discipline was Cook's domain. She was good at it ... very good indeed; she had a certain talent combined with an incessant enthusiasm for doling out punishment on deserving bare bottoms, and she took an even greater pleasure in meting out discipline to the undeserving, particularly when she manipulated situations to her own advantage. No one dared challenge her. She ruled the kitchen with a rod of iron, her face often set in a scowl as she inspected the work of her underlings and found them sadly lacking. Soggy pastry was the most heinous crime - Betty got two dozen with the wooden spoon for her soggy-bottomed lemon tart. Beatrice got six of the best with the slim rattan after her suet dumplings were found to be so heavy they sank (with a little covert help from Cook) to the bottom of the iron stew-pot. Mary was treated to a dose of brine-soaked birch rods for failing to clean the baking trays to Cook's exacting standards, and Lizzy the scullery maid got six stingers with the strap for spilling the ash pan all over Cook's clean kitchen floor, even though Cook herself was responsible for the mishap.

Gilbert quietly absorbed all this and quickly got the measure of Cook. It didn't matter that she was the most unpopular member of staff in the entire household - he adored her. He admired her physical strength, her assertiveness and tenacity, and though her face was plain as a pikestaff, he found himself lusting after her and did his utmost to attract her attention. Yet however hard he tried, he remained firmly below her radar ... until the cherry cake incident.

Cook was most particular about her cakes and kept a vigilant eye on the kitchen and scullery maids to ensure that not one crumb intended for the Master and Mistress of the house found itself into the greedy belly of a servant below stairs. One afternoon, she made a particularly impressive-looking cherry cake and set it on the cake stand to be taken upstairs at tea time, but to her horror the next time she glanced at it, there was a big slice missing. Cook went ballistic! She ranted and raved and gnashed her teeth. She brandished her rolling pin and cursed and threatened. She lined up all the female staff in a long row, and bent them bare-bottomed over her scrubbed pine kitchen table.

Surveying the row of bared posteriors, their owners shaking at the thought of their imminent chastisement, Cook's gimlet eyes narrowed. Since the culprit would not confess, she would punish the lot of them, and it would be a punishment they would not forget in a hurry! Cook smiled thinly and rolled up her sleeves. She retrieved her favourite thick, heavy strap from the nail behind the larder door. It would soon leave some beautiful markings on the pale moons awaiting chastisement. She positioned herself behind the first unfortunate miscreant and raised her arm.

"Wait!!" Gilbert Bryce stepped forward. "I have a confession to make. It was I who stole the cake. Therefore it is I who should be punished."

There came a collective gasp of relief from the owners of the bare bottoms. Cook stared long and hard at Gilbert Bryce. "Prove it," she snapped.

"But - I can't! I've eaten the evidence!" declared Gilbert.

"How very foolish of you," said Cook slyly.

"Well ... I - I am the thief! So punish me and let these innocents go!"

"Not on your nelly," snapped Cook. She elbowed the fat-bottomed Dolly at the end of the row. "Move up girl. Make room for ...?" She looked questioningly at Gilbert.

"Gilbert Bryce, Ma'am."

"Very well, Gilbert Bryce. Bare your bottom and bend over the table. Jump to it. I haven't got all day."

With trembling fingers and a building sense of excitement, Gilbert began unbuttoning his livery. This was it - his dream come true - he was to be disciplined by Cook! This was a day he would cherish forever! He dropped his breeches and bent over the table.

"Stick that rump right out, boy!" Cook swatted it with the palm of her hand. Gilbert almost swooned with pleasure.

But the others gathered around the table in the same undignified pose were not so pleased. They thought it most unfair that they were to be punished for something that Gilbert was responsible for, and they all glared at him, darting looks of contempt and unspoken promises of retribution. Gilbert was oblivious. He arched his back and thrust out his backside, enjoying the feel of the cool air on his naked buttocks. What a shameful spectacle he must make! The thought of such exhibitionism made his cock twitch and pulse. He fervently hoped Cook couldn't see it.

But she had. She reached down and grabbed it in her left hand, giving it a yank. "Despicable creature! What is the meaning of this engorged manhood?"

"Oooo!" squealed Gilbert, shocked to find his fine appendage so cruelly pulled.

In spite of their imminent punishment, the kitchen girls began to giggle and snort with laughter.

"Silence!" bellowed Cook. "Cease that infernal snorting. I will not tolerate it!" As quiet descended like a heavy blanket, Cook reached for her strap. "I shall start with you, Mr Bryce. And I shall finish with you also - you will have a double dose for your thievery. What say you to that?"

"As it pleases you, Cook." Gilbert screwed up his face and held his breath, waiting in an agony of expectation for that first slash of the strap. When it came, his eyes bulged, and his mouth opened wide in shock. He wanted to yell, but he couldn't ... the pain was so intense his vocal chords were paralysed. Down came the strap - again and again, landing heavily with a hearty crack on Gilbert's firm buttocks. At last, a noise erupted from his throat. "Yaaaaaaaaaeeeeeeee!!" he screeched. "Oh! Ow! OW! OWW!"

"Hah!" said Cook. "I see I'm having some effect. Let's give you a few stingers a little lower, shall we?"

"No!" shouted Gilbert. "I'd really rather you didn't. I - Arrrrgh!" He squealed again as the strap bit the under-curve of his buttocks, getting him right in the crease. He shook his haunches in a comical fashion, trying to deflect the pain. He bounced up and down, yelling and wriggling. His poor bottom burned and throbbed. And that wasn't all - Cook still had hold of his cock! She kept tugging at it, using it as a handle to guide him back into position.

Those who were brave enough to lift their heads to observe the proceedings saw a rare thing - Cook with a smile on her face. Oh yes. She was having such fun! She would be sure to give this young man plenty of attention in the future. He was most deserving. Giving him two more cracks with the strap, she then went round the table, meting out six strokes on each of the bare bottoms presented. The kitchen was soon filled with gasps and yelps and hollers. Her mission with the female staff accomplished, Cook bade them cover their strapped bottoms and get on with their work while she finished disciplining Gilbert. Hanging the strap back up, she instead reached for the sturdy rattan and swished it joyously through the air.

Gilbert swallowed. His backside was sore and striped - and now he had to endure the cane! But one look at the wonderfully stern face of his tormentor and he became putty in her hands, anxious to please by sticking his bottom out just as far as it could possibly go. Lines of fire burned into his skin and he wailed out his pain.

"Haha! Not so stoical now, are we boy?" said Cook. "Here - have another one." Down slashed the cane, directly across Gilbert's tortured buttocks.

He hated it. He loved it. It was terrifying. It was wonderful. It was the beginning of a very unique relationship between Gilbert and Cook. However, as stiff and sore as he was after she had done with him, there was to be no respite. Because when Cook popped out to the village on an errand, the kitchen staff turned on Gilbert with vengeance etched over their faces.

"Thief!"

"Steal the cake, huh, and get US punished!"

"Punished for something we didn't do!"

"Take off your clothes."

"All of them!"

"Now you'll find out what a real spanking feels like, Gilbert Bryce."

He did too - and he didn't even like cherry cake!



This story is available within the e-book, Bad Boy Story Book 3, available for Kindle from Amazon and in a variety of formats from LSF Publications:

Free Story - The Cherry Cake Incident

There seems to be no shortage of men who like to be spanked by a dominant woman. Here is a story about one of them - a young man called Gilbert who has the hots for Cook. Enjoy! And Happy new Year to you all.

The Cherry Cake Incident by Lucy Appleby Gilbert Bryce considered himself a fortunate man, for he had just obtained a position as second footman at Grantham Hall. Though the hours were long and some of his many duties unpleasant, such as emptying the chamber pots of all the male servants and washing them with a vinegar-soaked rag, (washing the chamber pots that is, not the servants) he applied himself conscientiously to each and every task. By the end of his first week at Grantham Hall, he had gained an in-depth understanding of the way things worked and knew his place within the hierarchy of servants. Below stairs, the Butler Mr Jarvis, and the Housekeeper, Miss Williams were the respected figureheads of authority; there was just one area in which they passed autonomy onto another - and that was the discipline of the household staff.

Discipline was Cook's domain. She was good at it ... very good indeed; she had a certain talent combined with an incessant enthusiasm for doling out punishment on deserving bare bottoms, and she took an even greater pleasure in meting out discipline to the undeserving, particularly when she manipulated situations to her own advantage. No one dared challenge her. She ruled the kitchen with a rod of iron, her face often set in a scowl as she inspected the work of her underlings and found them sadly lacking. Soggy pastry was the most heinous crime - Betty got two dozen with the wooden spoon for her soggy-bottomed lemon tart. Beatrice got six of the best with the slim rattan after her suet dumplings were found to be so heavy they sank (with a little covert help from Cook) to the bottom of the iron stew-pot. Mary was treated to a dose of brine-soaked birch rods for failing to clean the baking trays to Cook's exacting standards, and Lizzy the scullery maid got six stingers with the strap for spilling the ash pan all over Cook's clean kitchen floor, even though Cook herself was responsible for the mishap.

Gilbert quietly absorbed all this and quickly got the measure of Cook. It didn't matter that she was the most unpopular member of staff in the entire household - he adored her. He admired her physical strength, her assertiveness and tenacity, and though her face was plain as a pikestaff, he found himself lusting after her and did his utmost to attract her attention. Yet however hard he tried, he remained firmly below her radar ... until the cherry cake incident.

Cook was most particular about her cakes and kept a vigilant eye on the kitchen and scullery maids to ensure that not one crumb intended for the Master and Mistress of the house found itself into the greedy belly of a servant below stairs. One afternoon, she made a particularly impressive-looking cherry cake and set it on the cake stand to be taken upstairs at tea time, but to her horror the next time she glanced at it, there was a big slice missing. Cook went ballistic! She ranted and raved and gnashed her teeth. She brandished her rolling pin and cursed and threatened. She lined up all the female staff in a long row, and bent them bare-bottomed over her scrubbed pine kitchen table.

Surveying the row of bared posteriors, their owners shaking at the thought of their imminent chastisement, Cook's gimlet eyes narrowed. Since the culprit would not confess, she would punish the lot of them, and it would be a punishment they would not forget in a hurry! Cook smiled thinly and rolled up her sleeves. She retrieved her favourite thick, heavy strap from the nail behind the larder door. It would soon leave some beautiful markings on the pale moons awaiting chastisement. She positioned herself behind the first unfortunate miscreant and raised her arm.

"Wait!!" Gilbert Bryce stepped forward. "I have a confession to make. It was I who stole the cake. Therefore it is I who should be punished."

There came a collective gasp of relief from the owners of the bare bottoms. Cook stared long and hard at Gilbert Bryce. "Prove it," she snapped.

"But - I can't! I've eaten the evidence!" declared Gilbert.

"How very foolish of you," said Cook slyly.

"Well ... I - I am the thief! So punish me and let these innocents go!"

"Not on your nelly," snapped Cook. She elbowed the fat-bottomed Dolly at the end of the row. "Move up girl. Make room for ...?" She looked questioningly at Gilbert.

"Gilbert Bryce, Ma'am."

"Very well, Gilbert Bryce. Bare your bottom and bend over the table. Jump to it. I haven't got all day."

With trembling fingers and a building sense of excitement, Gilbert began unbuttoning his livery. This was it - his dream come true - he was to be disciplined by Cook! This was a day he would cherish forever! He dropped his breeches and bent over the table.

"Stick that rump right out, boy!" Cook swatted it with the palm of her hand. Gilbert almost swooned with pleasure.

But the others gathered around the table in the same undignified pose were not so pleased. They thought it most unfair that they were to be punished for something that Gilbert was responsible for, and they all glared at him, darting looks of contempt and unspoken promises of retribution. Gilbert was oblivious. He arched his back and thrust out his backside, enjoying the feel of the cool air on his naked buttocks. What a shameful spectacle he must make! The thought of such exhibitionism made his cock twitch and pulse. He fervently hoped Cook couldn't see it.

But she had. She reached down and grabbed it in her left hand, giving it a yank. "Despicable creature! What is the meaning of this engorged manhood?"

"Oooo!" squealed Gilbert, shocked to find his fine appendage so cruelly pulled.

In spite of their imminent punishment, the kitchen girls began to giggle and snort with laughter.

"Silence!" bellowed Cook. "Cease that infernal snorting. I will not tolerate it!" As quiet descended like a heavy blanket, Cook reached for her strap. "I shall start with you, Mr Bryce. And I shall finish with you also - you will have a double dose for your thievery. What say you to that?"

"As it pleases you, Cook." Gilbert screwed up his face and held his breath, waiting in an agony of expectation for that first slash of the strap. When it came, his eyes bulged, and his mouth opened wide in shock. He wanted to yell, but he couldn't ... the pain was so intense his vocal chords were paralysed. Down came the strap - again and again, landing heavily with a hearty crack on Gilbert's firm buttocks. At last, a noise erupted from his throat. "Yaaaaaaaaaeeeeeeee!!" he screeched. "Oh! Ow! OW! OWW!"

"Hah!" said Cook. "I see I'm having some effect. Let's give you a few stingers a little lower, shall we?"

"No!" shouted Gilbert. "I'd really rather you didn't. I - Arrrrgh!" He squealed again as the strap bit the under-curve of his buttocks, getting him right in the crease. He shook his haunches in a comical fashion, trying to deflect the pain. He bounced up and down, yelling and wriggling. His poor bottom burned and throbbed. And that wasn't all - Cook still had hold of his cock! She kept tugging at it, using it as a handle to guide him back into position.

Those who were brave enough to lift their heads to observe the proceedings saw a rare thing - Cook with a smile on her face. Oh yes. She was having such fun! She would be sure to give this young man plenty of attention in the future. He was most deserving. Giving him two more cracks with the strap, she then went round the table, meting out six strokes on each of the bare bottoms presented. The kitchen was soon filled with gasps and yelps and hollers. Her mission with the female staff accomplished, Cook bade them cover their strapped bottoms and get on with their work while she finished disciplining Gilbert. Hanging the strap back up, she instead reached for the sturdy rattan and swished it joyously through the air.

Gilbert swallowed. His backside was sore and striped - and now he had to endure the cane! But one look at the wonderfully stern face of his tormentor and he became putty in her hands, anxious to please by sticking his bottom out just as far as it could possibly go. Lines of fire burned into his skin and he wailed out his pain.

"Haha! No so stoical now, are we boy?" said Cook. "Here - have another one." Down slashed the cane, directly across Gilbert's tortured buttocks.

He hated it. He loved it. It was terrifying. It was wonderful. It was the beginning of a very unique relationship between Gilbert and Cook. However, as stiff and sore as he was after she had done with him, there was to be no respite. Because when Cook popped out to the village on an errand, the kitchen staff turned on Gilbert with vengeance etched over their faces.

"Thief!"

"Steal the cake, huh, and get US punished!"

"Punished for something we didn't do!"

"Take off your clothes."

"All of them!"

"Now you'll find out what a real spanking feels like, Gilbert Bryce."

He did too - and he didn't even like cherry cake!

Copyright Lucy Appleby 2014

Free Story - George's Buns

Well that's another Christmas Day over without mishap. In days of yore when I had a dog, one year he disgraced himself by sneaking into the kitchen and eating the Christmas turkey which was 'resting' on the table beneath a layer of tin foil.

I hope everyone who celebrates Christmas enjoyed their day. Here's a silly bit of nonsense to make you smile. It's a little story about gluttony called George's Buns :)

George's Buns
By Lucy Appleby "Do have a cream bun, George."

"Oh Lavinia - how could I possibly resist one of your buns?" George grabbed the biggest and bit in to it ecstatically.

"Don't snatch, George."

"Ummmm, sorry," mumbled George with his mouth full.

"And don't speak with your mouth full."

"Uh. These are delicious." George took another bun. A big blob of cream oozed out and splatted on his chest. "It's great being a nudist - saves on the laundry bills, what?" George grinned and mopped up the cream with his finger.

"We might not wear clothes - but we still wear our gym shoes and slippers," retorted Lavinia. "And as my husband has the table manners of a bacon pig, he's going to get his hairy hide tanned. Fetch the slipper, George!"

Poor George bent over Lavinia's knee and got two dozen whacks with his own size 12 rubber soled slipper. It stung to buggery and was most uncomfortable. What a good thing he could stand up in the pulpit to deliver the evening sermon on the sin of gluttony.

Free Story and Audio Recording

Do check out the free audio spanking story on the Abigail Armani blog. It's called Out of the Mist, and you can find it here. Enjoy :)

Free Halloween Spanking Story - The Finding

Are you ready for more? Here's my third Halloween story. Read and enjoy, and Happy Halloween!

Halloween Caper 3: The Finding, by Lucy Appleby

Bethany was sick and tired of the constant interruptions. "This Trick or Treat lark should be banned!" she told her husband George.

"Hmm," came his customary response. He was sitting in his chair drinking beer and watching football on the TV.

"I'm up and down like a yo-yo. I'm going to ignore the next lot. They can bang on the door all night for all I care."

"Hmmm," said George. He turned the volume up.

"Should I do that - ignore them?"

"Hmm, yes," grunted George.

Bethany sighed. She peeked out of the curtain into the dark night beyond. The gang of five kids were disappearing down the driveway, no doubt now primed to go and pester the people next door. She pressed her face closer to the glass as she saw Christine emerge from her house, her blonde hair shining beneath the moonlight and her face clearly illuminated before it was hidden beneath a hood. What's she wearing? Some sort of cape? She watched as her neighbour took a short cut through the shrubbery in order to avoid the gang of five trick or treaters already making their way up her garden path. Moments later the caped figure emerged from the shrubbery, visible just for a moment beneath the faint glow of a street lamp.

What possessed Bethany to follow Christine she never afterwards could determine, but follow her she did.

"I'm off out for a walk, George." She grabbed her coat and slipped her feet into a pair of flat shoes.

"Hmmn."

"Bye, George."

Bethany left the house before he delivered his usual grunting response. She caught sight of Christine across the road and followed her. She wondered whether she should shout, make herself known, so that they could walk together. But a little secret voice in her head whispered caution. So she cautiously followed, delighting in the clandestine feeling and the fact that she remained unobserved.

The subterfuge continued for some fifteen minutes or so. Maintaining a discrete distance, Bethany watched as her neighbour approached a rather dilapidated house on the outskirts of town. She was about to cross over the road when a hand grabbed her shoulder.

"Bethany Thomas - is that you? Yes - it IS you! Hello, what are you doing here?"

Bethany whirled around in fright. "Oh! God, Kitty - you gave me a fright!"

Kitty grinned. "Sorry about that. This is Megan - and this is Cherry. Girls, meet Bethany."

"Um. Hello all."

"So where's George?"

"At home watching the football. I .. I was..." She caught sight of the warm glow of lights from the windows of The George and Dragon public house. It gave her a likely excuse. "I hate football - needed some air. Thought I'd go for a drink. Heard the real ale pub over there is pretty good."

"My you're a dark horse Bethany. I didn't know you enjoyed a glass or two of liquid naughtiness! Anyway, you must come with us as that's where we're heading." Kitty linked arms with Bethany. "Come on girls. We're going to have a fun evening!"

So Bethany ended up in the pub sampling a half pint of real ale that turned her cheeks all pink and made her feel all warm and tingly inside. To her surprise, she began to enjoy herself.

"We must do this again," said Kitty. "Promise you'll come out with us next week?"

"I promise," nodded Bethany. The wall clock showed 10.15. "However, I really must be going now or George will wonder where I am." If only. So she excused herself and hugged her old friend and her new ones and left the pub.

Before heading home however, she made her way back to the house that Christine had visited earlier. You're a nosey old trout, Bethany Thomas, she chided herself. She found herself standing by the rickety old gate. It caught in the wind and swung open invitingly with a welcoming little creak. Bethany stepped forward. I'll just take a quick peek. The ale had made her more adventurous. She wandered along the winding path through the garden, beautiful in its unkempt wildness beneath the shining silver moon, and she stood before the front door staring at the lion's-head door knocker.

She stood there for some time, the rational part of her urging her to stop being so stupid and to go home at once. But something held her. Something ... the sound of footsteps beyond the door could be clearly heard, and as they drew closer Bethany gulped and held her breath as the door opened.

A man stood there. He was tall and dark haired, distinguished looking in an old fashioned courtly way. He was neither young nor old, ugly or beautiful, but he had the most amazing eyes. Those eyes bored into her own. A wave of panic swept over her. What should she say? She said the first thing that came into her head.

"Trick or treat?"

A smile twitched on the man's face. "I am Mr Hanson. Do come in, Bethany."

As she stepped over the threshold she wondered fleetingly how he knew her name. But it was of no real consequence. She followed him into a study where a fire glowed in the hearth, casting leaping shadows on the wall. Her eyes scanned the room, focusing on a large mahogany desk. She looked at it and then she looked at Mr Hanson. A frisson of understanding jolted through her. Mr Hanson nodded and gestured towards the desk.

"Bend over the desk, Bethany. Take your knickers down for me."

And she did. She obeyed. Oh she was so shameless, so wanton, so slutty. And she didn't care at all. She gloried in the feelings that coursed through her - feelings of lust and helplessness and a mounting sexual excitement tinged with fear.

"I'm going to cane you."

She nodded and gulped. Yes. Yes of course he was. That's why she was here. She felt the tip of the cane tap her inner thighs and she dutifully splayed her legs wider, displaying herself in a way she had never done for George. There was a mounting silence, broken by a swish and hiss of air and then - a sharp crack and a searing pain and a scream of anguish.

"Ohhhhhh!!" It was terrible and beautiful. It was a line of liquid fire. It cut deep, branding her, searing her flesh. She gasped and tossed back her head, thrusting out her buttocks lewdly.

The cane struck again, and again, producing such artistry - expertly placed parallel lines. The cane sang as Bethany cried out. Her flesh quivered. Her buttocks bounced. Her skin glowed as the burn bit. And still the rod kissed her punished bottom in a cleansing ritual of painful decadence.

Her cries muted and turned to moans and little mewls of pleasure. Her bottom was on fire, as hot as the coals that glowed in the hearth, as red as the glowing eyes of Mr Hanson as he smiled his crocodile smile and moved a little closer ...

Free Halloween Spanking Story - A Long Awaited Caning

Here's my second Halloween story. I hope you like it :) More to come soon.

Halloween Caper 2: A Long Awaited Caning, by Lucy Appleby

Christine sprawled on the sofa indulging herself with a large glass of wine and some Belgian chocolate. Her twin daughters out trick or treating, she found her mind wandering back to when she too was a girl of eighteen. Those incredible experiences she had enjoyed with Mr Hanson in the old crumbling house on the outskirts of town were etched into her memory forever. The thought made her blush, and the old familiar tingling and churning in the pit of her stomach began.

Why did I stop going? she mused. Because I got engaged, then married. She sipped her wine. But I'm not married now. I divorced the bastard. She popped a chocolate into her mouth. Then the idea took hold and her excitement grew. I wonder if I still have my Halloween costume? I wonder if Mr Hanson is still there in that house?

Fifteen minutes later she left the house wearing a long black cloak, and beneath it, the diaphanous gown of a witch, laced with cobwebs and tiny plastic spiders. She remembered the way oh so clearly, and walked in the comforting shadows as her mind churned and her anticipation grew.

Twenty minutes later, Mr Hanson's house came into view. She opened the rickety gate and walked along the path through the untended garden, stopping by the front door. The paint was crumbling and faded but the cast-iron lion's-head door knocker was the same. She rapped three times. Footsteps echoed from the hollow hall beyond the door, which was thrown open to reveal Mr Hanson. His eyes glinted in predatory delight at the sight of her.

"Trick or treat?"

"Neither. Come inside. You know what to do."

It was just like old times. She followed him into a study. The fire roared and the flames flickered in the hearth and the clock on the mantelshelf ticked tirelessly. The old mahogany desk awaited her, a patina of age on its surface, a surface that she would shortly be occupying.

"Remove your cloak and take your knickers down."

How could she not obey that delicious request? In a few moments she was bending over the desk, her rounded bottom presented for long-awaited chastisement. When he tapped her inner thighs with the cane, she obediently parted her legs, revealing herself to him so shamefully. Wanton fires raged within her.

Mr Hanson surveyed the sight through narrowed eyes, and a wolfish smile curled his lips. He grasped the slender cane firmly in his right hand, and began.

Each stroke sliced into the firm flesh, burning, biting deep. Christine shrieked. She howled out her pain and her pleasure as the cane descended again and again, leaving trails of red fire in its wake. Her bottom wobbled and bounced beneath the onslaught. Her legs kicked as she moaned and shrieked in heady euphoria. And when it was over, she lay panting, her punished flesh stinging and sore. Her cries were silent now. There was only the noise of the fire and her ragged breath, and the breath of Mr Hanson caressing the back of her neck as he leaned closer ... closer ...

Free Halloween Spanking Story - The Twins Go Trick or Treating

Greetings. It's approaching that time of year again... Halloween. I've written a few short stories and here's the first one. Enjoy. The next one will be up in a day or two.

Halloween Caper 1: The Twins go Trick or Treating, by Lucy Appleby

Claire and Suzie giggled as they descended the stairs in their outrageous attire - Claire wrapped in blood-stained bandages and her sister wearing a rotund pumpkin costume that emphasised her rather skinny legs.

"Girls! What the devil are you wearing?!" Their mum Christine gawped at the pair, then chuckled. "Don't you think you're a bit too old at 18 for trick and treating?"

"Hey mum. No way. All the kids at school do it. It's fun!"

"It is - you should try it mum," said Suzie, and then shut up quickly as her sister gave her a poke in the ribs. It wouldn't be at all cool if mum tagged along too.

"No thanks. I'd rather stay home and watch tv. Suzie, the pumpkin I get - but Claire, what are you supposed to be?"

"A bloodied corpse of course. Right, we're off. See ya later."

"Be careful then. Be home no later than eleven, ok?" Christine smiled as her daughters left the house, then went back into the sitting room where the television set and a large glass of wine awaited.



Claire and Suzie knew exactly where they were going. Mr Hanson's house lay on the outskirts of town some twenty minutes walk away. They had first paid him a visit two years ago, and it had now become a regular thing to do every Halloween.

Mr Hanson greeted them with his customary, "Trick or treat?! Bah! Don't waste my time on such stupidity. Be off with you! Clear off!"

The girls looked at each other conspiratorially.

"Right - if you aren't going to give us any treats ..."

"... We're going to play a few pranks on you, you miserable old git!"

From their shoulder-bags, the girls produced a bag of squishy overripe tomatoes, which they proceeded to hurl at Mr Hanson's front door and windows - and even on Mr Hanson himself.

"Grrrrrrrr! You annoying little beggars!" Two large hands reached out to grab them and pull them over the threshold. He marched them into the study where an open fire crackled merrily in the grate. An old mahogany desk was set before the window. "Over you go. Knickers down - and stick those bottoms out."

The two girls were filled with a strange excitement and hurried to comply. Suzie shrugged her hooped pumpkin skirt off easily, pulled down her knickers, and bent eagerly over the desk, presenting her bottom perfectly.

Mr Hanson licked his lips, then gave Claire the benefit of his attention. "Not the bloodied corpse outfit again! You know how awkward that thing is to get off," he growled, and went to assist in the unravelling.

A few moments later the swish and crack of the cane resulted in a lewd and vocal display from the writhing pair, their twin upthrust bottoms twitching and burning beneath the kiss of the cane. Red stripes blazed and blistered.

"More!" they cried in unison.

Mr Hanson smiled wolfishly and did his Halloween duty.

Free Story - The Highwayman

Here's a free little taster (we all like something for free, don't we. I know I do!) from my new ebook The Housekeeper. The Housekeeper contains several spanking stories including The Highwayman - which is offered below for your delectation and delight! I hope you enjoy reading it, and if you do, maybe check out the ebook which contains lots more.

What's more, you don't even have to have a Kindle, as if you buy from LSF Publications you can get other formats including a pdf file to read on your pc or smart phone. Anyhow - here's the freebie. Enjoy!

The Highwayman by Lucy Appleby The wheels of the heavy carriage began to turn slowly through the rutted mud that led from the cosy warmth of the moorland inn to the open road. The first early light of dawn was shielded by thick dark clouds. The coach trundled on, into the gloom, the glow of the carriage lamp illuminating tufts and hillocks. Gradually the coach gathered speed as the road cut through the purple heather swathe of moorland, the black horses snorting and prancing in the cold morning air.

From his elevated seat high up on the carriage, the driver flicked his whip, urging the horses on, for there was rain in the air and a harsh wind blew from the west. Within the dark interior of the carriage, the four passengers sat in a haze of thick smoke emanating from the wooden pipe of Mr Pitts.

Mr Pitts puffed on his pipe, staring owlishly at his fellow travellers. The two men seated opposite were a portly whiskered gentleman whose fat rump took up well over half of the seat, and next to him sat a thin weasel-faced man. Seated next to Mr Pitts, and pressed close into the corner against the back wall of the carriage was a young woman in a grey cloak. She said nothing, preferring instead to regard her fellow travellers with icy disdain.

As the carriage wheels bounced and jolted on the dirt road, the occupants were flung from side to side.

"Deuced uncomfortable journey," said the portly gentleman. His huge whiskers twitched as he spoke, clearly revealing the remains of his breakfast stuck in the tufts at either side of his handlebar moustache.

"Aye," murmured his wraith-like companion with the weasel face. He took a swig from his hip flask, being careful not to spill a drop of the precious amber nectar. "Care for a nip, madam?"

"No," she said, tossing her head so that her amber curls glistened in the dim light.

"Hurummpf - suit yourself," he replied, thinking what a snooty piece she was and no mistake. He was about to make a surly remark when a loud pistol shot from somewhere close by made the carriage horses rear up in panic, causing the coach to lurch violently. "What the devil ...?"

The road had wound down an abrupt hillside and lost itself in the shadow of a tangled grove of trees, where in the looming shadows, the waiting highwayman grinned in delight as the clatter of the approaching horses hooves pounded the dirt road. Urging his own mount forward, he cocked his pistol and fired a single shot, missing the coach driver's scull by a fraction of an inch.

Within seconds he had knocked the driver senseless, stopped the horses in their tracks, and flung open the carriage door.

"Everybody out!" he roared, and brandished his pistol ominously.

"Mercy! Mercy!" cried the weasel-faced man. "I have money - plenty of it. You can have it all."

"Oh I intend to," said the highwayman. He reached out and grabbed the little man and flung him face down on the grass. "And you too Sir - move that fat rump and give me your valuables."

"This is preposterous, quite preposterous," said the portly gentleman as he struggled from the carriage. "This is outrageous - aaaaargh!" he squealed as a thick leather belt slashed into his thigh.

"Do exactly as you are told," said the highwayman. His eyes glinted dangerously from the slits in the mask covering the upper part of his face. "If you don't - you're dead meat. Get down next to your friend here. You too, Sir," he said to the white frightened face of Mr Pitts, "And put that infernal pipe out. I can't stand the smell of tobacco."

The highwayman deftly tied the three men's hands and feet, and filled his own pockets with their money and other valuables. "There you are, gentlemen - trussed up like three chickens ready for the pot. Hah!" His glance returned to the carriage. "My my - what have we here? This demands a closer look methinks."

"Get your hands off me, you brute!" shrieked the lady in the grey cloak.

"Oh I do so like a woman with spirit." He reached in and grabbed her wrist, and pulled her out of the carriage, spitting and snarling like a wild cat.

"It seems you have a fine temper, madam - and a fine necklace too. I'll have that." He snatched it from her neck.

"How dare you! Give it back at once!" She raked his face and kicked his shins.

"Damnable woman! I shall teach you a few lessons in manners. And in the process, we shall give these three fine fellows a treat. Have you ever seen a naked wench, gentlemen?"

The three men stared and shook their heads, and their eyes widened as the highwayman deftly removed the woman's cloak and ripped her gown from neck to hem, leaving her standing in her chemise and a pair of silk drawers.

"Ohhhhhh!" gasped the woman. "You won't get away with this!"

"We'll see about that," grinned the highwayman, as he scooped her firm plump breasts out over the top of her chemise. Her pink nipples stuck out like little acorns. He pinched them, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger.

"How dare you, you pig!"

"Feast your eyes, gentlemen. Shall we see what treasures lay hidden beneath these delectable drawers?"

The portly man with the whiskers turned very red in the face, and his eyes bulged as the highwayman tugged down the woman's silk drawers, her narrow waist giving way to the promising swell of her hips and perfectly formed thighs. Her bottom was revealed in all its glory, being wonderfully sculpted and full-cheeked, with pale alabaster skin.

"Mmmm - look gentleman - firm and full and sweetly rounded. Have you ever seen a more delectable bottom? Or one so worthy of a damn good spanking?"

When the highwayman slapped the bare flesh with the palm of his hand, the bottom cheeks wobbled so enticingly that the portly gentleman thought he would surely faint with excitement. His two trussed companions were equally aroused by the delicious spectacle, and their mouths gaped in admiration.

The woman meanwhile began to shriek and howl and curse at the indignity of being stripped almost naked in front of strangers. By now, wearing only a pair of white hose, gartered above the knee, and a pair of kid boots, her appearance was even more alluring than if she were totally nude. But what a fuss the woman was making. The highwayman, being of an enterprising nature, made a gag with her drawers. It proved immediately effective, for she could no longer mouth her vehement threats to have him castrated and fed to the pigs.

The roguish highwayman then pulled a piece of luggage from the coach - a large leather trunk - and seated himself upon it. Then over his lap went the woman, her bare bottom nicely elevated, and pointing in the direction of the three trussed men. They were quite overcome as the woman kicked and splayed her legs lewdly, revealing her sex decorated with a triangle of light brown hair.

Unheeding of her protests, the highwayman began to spank the woman's bottom. His arm rose and fell, hard and fast, and red handprints began to burn on her cheeks. He peppered her bottom with hard spanks, making her squirm deliciously, and make muffled yells into her gag. A few sharp slaps to her thighs made her wriggle even more, and her legs kicked wildly, much to the highwayman's amusement.

"Colouring up nicely, isn't she gentleman?" The highwayman admired the blotchy pink bottom before him. "But needs to be a more pleasing shade of red I think." With that, he produced a thick leather strap from the folds of his cloak, and dangled it in front of the woman's eyes. "See here, my beauty - you are about to feel the kiss of leather on that fine fat arse of yours."

The woman yelped through her gag and wriggled her bottom in protest, which merely served to encourage her tormentor, who proceeded to strap her with practiced ease and a great deal of enthusiasm. The strap snaked through the air and bit into her bottom, delivering a sizzling blow across the centre of her buttocks. Each blow fell hard and fast, thwapping down on the woman's defenseless rear end, which was now decorated with blazing red welts.

A series of agonized yowls emanated from behind the gag as the throbbing ache in the woman's bottom intensified to an almost unbearable agony as the strap bit deep, colouring her bottom rosy red.

"Ah - excellent result," said the highwayman in admiration. He put down the strap and ran his hands over the puffy punished flesh. It felt very hot to his touch. "Wouldn't you agree, gentleman?"

The weasel faced man gawped and nodded his head uncontrollably and mumbled incoherently.

"Oh yes. Yes indeed," said the portly gentleman. Beads of perspiration glistened on his brow. "A most pleasing colour if I may say so."

"I heartily agree," volunteered Mr Pitts.

"Thank you gentleman. So glad you approve," said the highwayman as he got to his feet and delivered a mock bow. "And now I must take my leave. The mail coach is due in twenty minutes and you fine fellows will be untied then. Good day, gentleman. It was a pleasure doing business with you."

With a rakish smile, he leaped up onto his horse, and hauled the red bottomed woman up in front of him. She winced as her bare bottom came into contact with the hard leather saddle. Draping his cloak over her modesty, he flicked the reins lightly, and the horse cantered away, leaving the three trussed men staring wide-eyed as the horse and riders disappeared into the distance.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Later that evening, Mr Pitts called at the opulent home of Lord and Lady Overton. "My dear Mr Pitts," said Lady Overton, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek. "That was such fun! I had a wonderful time. When is our next adventure?"

Mr Pitts consulted his notebook. "Well, your Ladyship, I was thinking about the mail coach next Friday. There will be more passengers of course," he cast an enquiring look at Lord Overton.

"I can handle them. If my lovely wife wants more of an audience for her decadent pleasures, then she shall have it."

"Excellent!" Lady Overton clapped her hands. "I think I shall wear the long red wig and the green gown. Oh - I can hardly wait!"

Lord Overton gave his wife an indulgent smile. "Patience, my love. Your bottom needs time to recover for the next treat in store. I have ordered a new riding crop for precisely that purpose."

"Oh - I absolutely adore the crop! You darling - I do so enjoy our little games." "So do I, my dear," grinned her husband.

Mr Pitts puffed on his pipe and nodded contentedly. For each little adventure he arranged he received a purse full of silver. He was a very rich man, and he loved his work just as much as her ladyship loved her spankings.

Copyright Lucy Appleby 2013.

Free Short Story - Today's Special

Here's a fun little thing I wrote a few years back. I hope it makes you smile :D

Business was booming at the Tea Cosy Café, thanks to the multi-talented chef, Frank Licker who had revitalized the café by the introduction of 'Today's Special.'

At a small table sat a plump middle-aged lady and her brother. They ordered a pot of tea, and as they deliberated over the menu, the café began to fill up.

"My goodness, Jeremy. Everyone in here has a big smile on their face."

"Indeed they have. How very jolly," beamed Jeremy. He turned and nodded affably at the surrounding customers.

"Well I don't like it," snapped Penelope. "It's not natural. Now - shall I have the salad ... or something more substantial?"

"I think I'll have the kippers," mused Jeremy.

"Don't be silly dear. You know they give you wind."

"Kippers do NOT make me fart," said Jeremy indignantly.

"Sssshh. Keep your voice down," hissed Penelope. She shamelessley eavesdropped on the nearby conversations. "Hmmm - everyone seems to be going for Today's Special. It must be highly recommended." She waved the waitress over. "I'll have the special, please."

"I'd like your Today's Special too," announced Jeremy. "I have a good feeling about it."

"Yes Sir, absolutely," said the waitress, and winked slyly.

Penelope stared at the departing waitress. "What a young hussy, winking at my brother like that. Shameless."

"I don't mind at all. If I can't have kippers, the next best thing is a wink."

"Nonsense. Really dear, if you didn't have me to guide you, heaven only knows what sort of predicament you'd get yourself in to." Penelope paused and looked towards the side of the room. A long low table had been positioned, and there were excited murmurings from the customers. "Oh look - here comes the chef. My, he's rather handsome."

"Oh - rather," agreed Jeremy.

Chef Licker waved to the customers. "Now then - who wants to be first to sample Today's Special?"

There were cries of "Me! Me!"

Penelope frowned. Whatever it was must be really good. She must ensure she got plenty for herself. So she stood up and waved. "Over here! Give me some!"

Chef Licker looked over. "I see you, Madam. Are you deserving?"

"I am MOST deserving."

"Fine. Looks like you're first then. Come here."

The crowd roared their approval and Penelope blushed with pride as she hurried over. "I can hardly wait." She looked at the table. On it sat a big sports bag. There was no sign of any food. "What IS Today's Special?"

"Twelve with the squealer!" Chef Licker dived into the bag and produced a huge leather paddle.

"The squealer! The squealer!" chanted the customers.

"What?" said Penelope. "Ohhhhhhhh!"

Penelope found herself grabbed and bent over the table. Two customers dashed forward to hold her arms in place, then to her horror her skirt was raised and her knickers lowered amidst riotous applause.

Chef Licker raised his hand and brought the paddle cracking down on the big wobbly bottom.

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!" squealed Penelope.

There was plenty for everyone ...

Free Story - Pig!

I'm referring to a real pig, as in big fat porker, as opposed to the male chauvinistic variety ... Here's a funny story. I hope it makes you chuckle. I certainly had fun writing it:D

PIG by flopsybunny (AKA Lucy Appleby)

Benjamin Grundy was enjoying the peace and quiet of the cabbage patch, with no noise but the gentle scrape of the hoe, the twitter of birds and the soft drone of bees. Years of manual labour had helped to maintain an unnaturally youthful physique for a man of 60 years, though he did find he needed a sit down more often these days. However, right now, he was diligently weeding as he indulged in quiet contemplation.

Alas, his tranquillity was shattered by a raucous shout emitted by the unmistakably grating voice of his cleaning lady, Mrs Gusset.

"Pig's got in, Mr Benjamin! Pig's got in!"

"What?" Benjamin frowned and walked over to the pig sty. Harriet was nowhere to be seen, and the unlatched gate swung to and fro.

"Damn that pig," he muttered, and headed towards the house.

"Eeeeeeeeeeee!" screeched Mrs Gusset. "Eeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

"Stop your caterwauling woman. Where is the wretched pig?"

"It's in the house, Mr Benjamin. It's trashing the living room. It's gone mad!"

"The pig is in the house?" Benjamin was aghast. "In my living room? No, it can't be."

"Oh but it is, Mr Benjamin. It is. I've seen it with my own two eyes," proclaimed Mrs Gusset, wringing her hands in a distraught manner.

"I don't believe it."

"It's true, by gum! It came hurtling into the kitchen and it stole a carrot from the vegetable box, and ran off chomping it. I tried to shoo it outside, but it wasn't having it. That's a very determined porker you've got Mr Benjamin, if I may say so. Sneaky too. Not to be trusted, is that pig."

"Out of the way, woman, let me at it. Give me the mop."

Mrs Gusset handed him her mop, and he advanced warily, holding the mop out ahead like a lance.

"Careful," warned Mrs Gusset. "It might bite you."

"Rubbish. Harriet doesn't bite. She - oh! She's got the mop! Give it here, you stupid animal."

Benjamin pulled the mop handle one way, and Harriet, her mouth full of mop head, pulled in the opposite direction.

"Aw, look at that! She wants to play tug of war. Nice piggie," said Mrs Gusset.

"Damn and blast!" thundered Benjamin. "How the hell did she get out of the pig sty?"

"Dearie me, I really don't know."

Benjamin muttered crossly and whacked the pig with the mop, trying to nudge her back out of the living room. But she wasn't going anywhere. Her little piggy eyes glared and she grunted angrily.

"Oh my! Watch it, Mr Benjamin - that's her mean and nasty grunt."

"Now listen here, I think I know more about my pig's grunt than you do, Mrs Gusset. Make yourself useful will you and go and get some rope."

"Ooooh, that's a smashing idea. I'll go and look in the shed."

"Be quick about it! We have to get this bloody pig out of my living room."

Harriet the pig rooted about behind the sofa and then went under the table and wouldn't come out. Benjamin tried to tempt her out with an apple, but she was wise to his tricks, and took her revenge by eating his best cushion and pooping on the rug.

Benjamin cursed and poked her with the mop. Harriet squealed loudly and maintained her position.

"If you don't come out right now," Benjamin informed the pig, "I'm having you for my dinner with peas and apple sauce."

"That's a very masterful thing to say to it," enthused Mrs Gusset as she returned with a length of rope. "Let it know whose boss, like."

Benjamin clicked his tongue in exasperation as he tied the end of the rope into a noose, and proceeded to lasso the pig, much to the delight of Mrs Gusset, who capered around the room making encouraging noises.

"Will you SHUT UP, woman! You"re making more noise than the pig. Silence. Let me concentrate."

At the third attempt, he managed to get the noose around Harriet's neck. It took the combined efforts of him and Mrs Gusset to pull Harriet out from under the table and take her back to her sty.

"Er, Mr Benjamin ..."

"What?"

"Well I have to be honest. I cannot deceive you any longer. I have to confess to my crime."

"Which is?" Benjamin stared hard at Mrs Gusset.

Mrs Gusset stared back at him for a brief moment, her face flushed pink, and then she lowered her gaze and confessed. "I let the pig out. I didn't mean to. It was an accident."

"Oh, you STUPID woman!"

"I'm very very sorry. Very sorry indeed I am. Sorry," she added lamely.

"Right. That's it. That's the third time this week you have done something stupid and caused me grief. Into the barn with you. Get over the saw horse and get your knickers down. It's the strap for you, woman - good and hard."

Benjamin strode into the barn and retrieved the strap from its nail on the wall near the door. Mrs Gusset whimpered and did as she was told. She raised her skirt and pulled down her big pink bloomers. They fell in a heap around her Wellington boots. She obediently bent over the saw horse, her big white wobbly bottom jutting out like a massive Neolithic monument.

Benjamin got stuck in. He grasped the strap in his right hand and brought it cracking down over her bare bottom.

"Owwweeeee!" she screeched.

"I'll give you something to screech about, woman. Letting my pig out to run amok in my house. Take that! And that!"

His arm rose and fell as he strapped every inch of her bottom. There were a lot of inches to cover. He got quite a sweat on as he administered a good old fashioned strapping to this careless woman. Her bottom had changed colour from white to pink, and was now cherry red, with raised welts from the strap. The cries and yowls of Mrs Gusset infuriated him further, and he gave her an extra dozen for making such an awful racket.

When he was done, Benjamin hung the strap back on its nail and stomped out to make himself a nice pot of tea.

Mrs Gusset lay over the spanking horse, her bottom sore and throbbing, her eyes glazed over, and a big smile on her face. Blimey, she thought, the things a girl has to do to get herself a spanking.

© flopsybunny/Lucy Appleby

Free Story - All in the Genes

Here's a naughty little story for you all. Hope you like it :D

ALL IN THE GENES by flopsybunny (AKA Lucy Appleby)

Tony was half way home when he realised he had left his saxophone in the music room. Cursing, he headed back to school and made his way through the now silent and deserted corridors to the second floor music room. Much to his relief, his sax was on the chair where he had left it. He picked it up and was about to leave when a blur of copper-gold caught his eye.

Mrs Winters was the school's hottest teacher, with her hour-glass figure, long shapely legs and smouldering green eyes that accentuated her red-gold curls. It was those red-gold curls that were bobbing up and down through the glass of the stock-room at the back of the music room.

Puzzled, Tony moved forward, and as he drew closer, heard little whimpers and moans. He cautiously peeped through the glass panel at the top of the door, and his jaw dropped in amazement at the sight of the glamorous Mrs Winters, minus her skirt and knickers, her legs wrapped round the waist of Bert the maintenance man. He had his eyes closed in ecstasy, and each hand grasped a plump buttock, as Mrs Winters bounced joyfully up and down on Bert's joystick.

At that moment, Mrs Winters turned her head and saw Tony staring at her. Her face turned white with shock, and was immediately followed by a deep red flush. Tony drank in the vision, winked lewdly, then turned and left. Boy - was he going to have some fun with this!

He had to wait a whole week before he had the opportunity to put his plan into action. It was a week filled with delicious anticipation and decadent fantasy involving Mrs Winters' delectable arse. But at last, Friday arrived. The last lesson of the day was music, and Tony enjoyed himself hugely by staring intently at Mrs Winters, observing how flustered she was becoming beneath his meaningful gaze. Her cheeks flushed crimson and she stammered and spluttered her way through the lesson.

When the bell went, she marched resolutely towards the door to join the avalanche of pupils jostling for freedom. But Tony had anticipated this and was ready for her. "Excuse me, Mrs Winters. I have some questions I need to ask you."

"Oh," she said, biting her lower lip. "Can't it wait until next week?"

"No. It can't," he said decisively, feeling a surge of power as he observed her obvious agitation. "Of course, if you are too busy," he added in a low voice, "I could always have a word with Mr Winters."

"There's no need for that," she said, her voice shaking.

"Agreed. I'm sure we can come to some sort of understanding."

She stared at him, aghast. "What are you suggesting?"

"Nothing too terrible. You might even enjoy it. I know I will."

Tony closed the door firmly after the last pupil to leave the room, and then deftly steered Mrs Winters into the stock room.

"Now look here, Tony," she began. "You must NOT tell my husband. Is that clear?"

"You are in no position to negotiate terms, Mrs Winters."

"Even if you did tell him, he wouldn't believe you," she said defiantly.

"That's why I have the video of your little indiscretion on my mobile phone," lied Tony.



Mrs Winters gasped and clasped a hand to her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears and she looked at him in desperation. "What is it you want?" "It's quite simple really. For the remainder of the year, after the last class on Friday, I want you in here, bare assed, bending over that table. And then I'm going to spank you."

"Sp...spank me?" She looked incredulous.

"Uh huh," grinned Tony.

Mrs Winters swallowed. Considering the alternative, perhaps a spanking wouldn't be too bad. Anyway, she didn't really have a choice. "Very well," she said quietly.

"I knew you would come round to my way of thinking." This was it. Now he had her ... his willing victim. His penis twitched at the prospect of the delights to come. "Stand and face the table."

She gave him one last pleading look, and then resignedly obeyed, standing with her back to him. Tony looked at her and shivered in excitement. "Hoist your skirt up to your waist," he said huskily.

She did. Oh yes. Very nice.

"Knickers down."

"Please...," she whimpered.

But he was resolute, and watched as she tugged at the waistband and pulled the flimsy lacy garment down to the top of her thighs. Tony drank in the curves of her shapely bare bottom.

"Take them right down to your ankles," he ordered.

She did so, revealing her lovely long legs, balancing on stylish three inch heels.

"Now bend over. More. More. Stick that arse out for me."

Mrs Winters made a peculiar mewling sound like a strangled cat. Her elbows on the table, she leaned over and thrust out her bottom obscenely.

"Legs apart," breathed Tony. Could it be he had found something even better than sex? "Oh yes," he said, as Mrs Winters complied, parting her thighs, revealing her glistening sex nestling in all its glory between her perfectly sculpted thighs. She had red-gold curls there too.

Tony licked his lips. His target was bared and ready. He reached out and felt each of her buttocks in turn, tentatively at first, and then he became bolder, and squeezed and kneaded the fleshy cheeks. Then he spanked her, watching in awe as her bottom dimpled beneath his touch. He delivered another slap, directly across the centre of her buttocks, which glowed afterwards with the imprint of his hand.

Tony began to spank her harder, delighting in the feel of her warm soft skin beneath his hand. He continued, inflamed by her little moans and whimpers, and focused on turning the once pale flesh to a wonderful crimson hue. He was in heaven - and Mrs Winters was right there with him, gasping out her enjoyment.

Tony's parents were amazed that their son suddenly developed a passion for music. So dedicated had he become that he even stayed behind after school for extra tuition, which resulted in a row of straight A's for his music homework.

"The lad obviously takes after me," said Tony's dad proudly. "It's all in the genes."

"Nonsense. You can't even sing in tune!" grinned Tony's mum.

"We'll have less of your cheek, woman, or it's the paddle for you. Hell - it's Friday and Tony's still at school." He grinned wolfishly. "I'm going to reacquaint your bottom with the big paddle - we won't be overheard."

With a big grin on his face, Tony's dad chased his wife upstairs and beat out a rousing tune on her bottom. The whacks were punctuated by a series of shrill wails.

What a musical family!

© flopsybunny

Mr Branston's Pickles

Here is a little taster for all you pickle lovers out there! I hope it makes you smile ...


Mr Branston pursed his lips. It was a difficult task. There was Ellen, with her blonde curls and big boobs and a cute pert rump and long legs. Then there was Hazel, shorter and curvier with even bigger boobs and a more rounded bottom.

"Damn it, ladies. Kindly bend over my desk with your knickers round your ankles."

Ellen and Hazel shrugged, lowered their underwear, raised their skirts, and bent over Mr Branston's desk. What a glorious sight. Two beautiful bottoms. But which one was the best?

"Damn it, ladies. I'm going to have to cane you both to help me decide."

A few minutes later, both girls sported six blazing stripes across their rumps. Mr Branston the pickle mogul stood back to admire his handiwork. What perfect symmetry ... such fine precision ... and what superb coloration. Even so, he couldn't choose between them.

"Sorry girls, but I don't think either of you are quite suitable for the position of onion pickler. Off you go - and send the next lot in will you."

He took his duties as an employer very seriously indeed.