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Romance of Spanking, Volume One

By: Rollin Hand
Published By: DT Publications
Copyright: � 2013 by Rollin Hand and DT Publications
6 chapters / 31,665 words
Heat Level:
4.5 Out Of 5 (4.5 on 4)   |  Write a review

At nearly 32,000 words and 90 pages The Romance of Spanking presents six stories of steamy romantic encounters coupled with hot spanking in a variety of genres and time periods.

In The One Room Schoolhouse, set in West Virginia in 1900, Hannah Bainbridge, a freshly graduated schoolteacher, takes up residence in the remote Appalachian mountain town of Slatyfork where she meets Tom Larkin, the local sheriff's deputy. After a rough start a romance blooms only to be nearly derailed by the headstrong Hannah.

In Sun Valley Serenade a double booked vacation cabin at the height of ski season brings together Matt Fortier and Bonnie Carrington, a young widow. Matt graciously offers to share the cabin with Bonnie, her sister, and Bonnie's kids. But as Matt learns, this is a family that employs very traditional disciplinary methods, and no one, not even Bonnie, is immune.

A Princess of Vernonia is set in a fictional medieval kingdom. Princess Alisha, mistress of Southmoor manor has earned the ire of her father for interfering with an arranged marriage. He has sent his personal guard to make his displeasure known, and the man who is leading the troop is none other than Guy Hightower, a man who makes Alisha's heart flutter.

Bring Back the Paddle is the story of Ellen French, a new resident of Pineaux Louisiana, a small town attempting to deal with a school discipline problem. As a new school board member, Ellen proposes that they "bring back the paddle," and who better to help her study the matter, and prepare an actual demonstration for the school board, than the quite dishy Dr. Martin Shea?

The Beresford Heiresses introduces Erin Baynor, a young associate to John Stallworth, attorney to the very wealthy and eccentric J. Tipton Beresford. When John is tasked by his client to carry out his last wishes with respect to his bratty nieces, Erin puts her foot in her mouth, much to her boss's displeasure.

One Hot Summer Night brings together a guy, a girl, and a steamy New Orleans summer night. On such a night anything can happen.
The One Room Schoolhouse

Theodore Clifford, school board president for the 1950-51 school year, cleared his throat. He was unused to speaking before such a large assembly.

�Now for our presentation. I�d like for our Hannah to please come up here.�

The woman who rose to approach the podium was elderly, but she carried herself with all the sprightliness of a young girl. Her hair had been blonde once, and she still cut a lithesome figure. She had been quite a beauty in her youth, and even now at age 73 she had retained that remarkable grace that beautiful women have, at any age.

The assembled family, friends, parents and officials applauded vigorously.

�Hannah,� intoned Theodore, �For your many years of devoted service teaching the children of Slatyfork, West Virginia, we present you with this painting that we hope you will treasure.�

Clifford, to deafening applause, moved toward a covered picture resting on an easel. He unveiled the painting. As she beheld it, her eyes misted over with emotion. It was the old one room schoolhouse. The painting had captured the schoolhouse in winter. It was just as she had recalled. The structure itself was rough hewn, a log cabin. It sat beside a creek at the end of the road just at the outskirts of the small town of Slatyfork in the Appalachians. A flagpole sporting the American flag was out front. The artist had added an eagle in flight over the creek, a nice touch. It was just as she remembered it, as a young girl, on her very first teaching assignment. The old schoolhouse was gone now� in favor of a much more modern facility. But this was the way it had been, fifty years ago in the fall of 1900. She�d been just twenty three then. So many memories�.

Hannah Bainbridge was quite fed up. Bobby Whitaker was acting up again. He was 12 years old and a bully; that was plain to see. He had tested her from the very beginning, and now things were coming to a head. After dipping Cornelia Jones� pigtails in the inkwell, he had taken to pushing her down at recess, too. Just as he did with the smaller boys. Nothing seemed to work to get him to behave. She had spoken with his mother, but it was obvious that mother was part of the problem. She doted on the boy and refused to impose discipline. Hannah knew she had to do something or she would lose control of her classroom. The other children were watching, to see how she handled the willfully disobedient Bobby. Cornelia was in tears. She had to act.

She had the authority to administer corporal punishment. There was a stout hickory stick that had been thoughtfully provided by the town fathers who had hired her just last August. It rested in pegs at the front of the room for all to see. So far she had not used it. She thought it too cruel. It was more like a cudgel. No, what she needed to do was to embarrass him, bring him down a notch, shame him in front of his peers.

In her experience, the best way to administer corporal punishment was with the birch rod. Her own mother had advocated its use, to her painful recollection. It stung, but did not leave bruises like that stick surely would. And, she mused, his pants would have to come down. That would do it. A smart application of the birch to his naughty bottom would have him squealing and knock him down a peg or two. So she stood Bobby in the corner, put a monitor in charge and went outside to cut some switches. A half dozen switches, green, whippy and peeled should do it, she reckoned. She wrapped the end with twine. Excited whispers greeted her as she strode back into the schoolhouse, homemade birch rod in hand. The children could sense something was about to happen.

�Bobby Whitaker, come here!� she said imperiously.

Bobby turned around. He wiped the smirk off his face at the sight of the switches in Hannah�s hand. Slowly he approached her desk.

�Face the desk and lower your trousers, young man.�

His face turned white. �B-but, ma�am. My trousers? Our other teacher Mr. Crane never�.�

�I�m not Mr. Crane, Bobby Whitaker, and I want you over that desk� trousers down, sir.�

Bobby actually shook, Hannah noted. Good. A little fear was good. Slowly he undid his belt and slipped his pants down. Underneath he wore long johns. It was cold outside. Conveniently, the long johns had a back �trap door�. Bobby squealed in alarm as he felt Hannah�s fingers undo the buttons. His hands shot back.

�Keep your hands out of the way, Bobby Whitaker. Grip the front of the desk.�

The children giggled as Bobby�s bare buttocks were rudely exposed. Hannah turned and quieted them with her best no nonsense stare. There was an expectant hush in the classroom as Hannah raised the birch.

Swish�thwick! The birch struck and Bobby jumped. Hannah put her hand on his back, holding him down, and proceeded to deal out a full dozen sharp swishes with the birch rod. Bobby cried and shifted from foot to foot. His bottom cheeks flexed and bounced. He squealed in distress. Like a girl, thought Hannah. Let him live that down. She plied the birch vigorously just as she recalled her mother had done with her when she�d been naughty. When she felt he�d been properly chastised she let him up to replace his pants. She made him return to his seat. He squirmed in discomfort the rest of the day. Hannah was satisfied. Not one child as much as sneezed after that display.

Sun Valley Serenade

I made my first million before I was thirty-one. I did it the old fashioned way�I got lucky with a big contingent fee case in front of a sympathetic jury.

After that I took cases as I wanted. I still needed to work, but I could afford to pick and choose. And, I took vacations. One thing I did was shut down for Christmas every year and take a winter trip. The place I really liked was Sun Valley, Idaho. I met a broker there and she showed me this cabin, a house actually, up a mountain road that came to a dead end. The place was picture perfect. It was a log house that sat next to a creek. It looked small on the outside but that was deceiving. Inside it had four bedrooms, one down and three up, with 3 baths, a den, a study and a great room. It was owned by a family trust and rented out long term.

By the time I was 35 I�d been coming for 3 years. I�d arrive, set up housekeeping and kick back. I�d ski when I wanted to, and work when I had to. The place was big enough to invite friends for a spell and small enough to be cozy.

That third year was when everything changed. I got there on a Saturday and went into Ketchum to stock up before dark. I was putting things away when I heard a car drive up, wheels churning in the snow that covered the road. I wasn�t expecting visitors. I heard car doors slam and next thing I know four people are tromping through the snow to my door. They didn�t knock. Someone put a key in the door and opened it.

�Hello,� said the oldest, a pretty woman with reddish hair. She looked to be a little younger than me, about thirty two or thereabouts. She was obviously surprised to see someone standing in the doorway. �Who are you?� She asked.

�Matt Fortier. But I might ask you the same thing,� I said. Did I say pretty? She was stunning. I think I was smitten on the spot.

�I�m Bonnie Carrington. This is the Nelson family cabin, isn�t it?�

�It is,� I said. Then she said, �Well, what are you doing here, Mr. Fortier?�

It was then that I realized that something was amiss. �No use standing there freezing,� I said. �Come on in while we figure this out.� She came on in followed by a pretty blonde girl in her late teens, 19 as it turned out, and two kids, a boy and a girl. They were pre-teens I guessed.

It was a familiar vacation horror story, the dreaded double booking. It seems she had booked the place with a representative of the family trust directly. She knew the Nelsons. I had booked through my agent. There had been a mix up in the dates and here we all were. A few phone calls revealed that I had the better claim. The family member was not supposed to book the place herself. In trying to do a favor for her friend, she had screwed up. The friend, and object of my keen interest, was Bonnie Carrington. With her were her children, Tom and Becky and her considerably younger sister Allison.

�Look, it�s late,� I said. �Why don�t you stay for dinner and we�ll think of something?�

After some discussion, Bonnie agreed. They�d stay and accept my hospitality while they called around for a place to stay. Dinner went well, but the search did not. Ketchum was booked. Ditto the Sun Valley Lodge. Ditto everything in Elkhorn Valley. It was a busy time. The best they could find was a chain motel in Hailey, 14 miles away.

Throughout this process I had time to observe my guests. First the mom. Like I said, she was very attractive. She was medium height with a thick shoulder length mane of reddish brown hair parted on one side, slim waist, curvy hips, and buxom. A knockout in tight jeans. Her skin was tawny with freckles. She had a small nose, big green eyes and a great smile. Her sister Allison was slender and pretty, with a blonde ponytail. And not happy. It seemed she hadn�t wanted to come at all, but absent parents and nowhere else to go had iced it. She had been enlisted as babysitter to Tom and Becky. These were average cute kids aged 10 and 12.

Dinner went just fine. Becky and Tom were good kids and even though Allison was a little sulky, she didn�t seem obnoxious about her situation. Bonnie, as I said, was gorgeous, and a really nice lady�very genuine. I definitely wanted to get to know her better. As it turns out, I was between girlfriends and licking my wounds a bit, so Bonnie�s appearance was timely. And I sensed just maybe a flicker of interest on her part. Something about the way she looked me over. So I pitched an idea. I had a chance to take Bonnie aside at one point in the evening. Everyone was comfortable now, and the idea of going out and finding new lodging miles away was unappealing.

�Look, this is a big house. Why don�t you stay here a few days.�

�Oh, no. I couldn�t impose.�

�It�s just me here. You can have the whole upstairs. Stay. It�s really ok and I�d be happy to have such good company.� I gave her my best disarming smile, hoping for a yes.

She offered a token protest and then gave in. We got everyone�s luggage in and they all went to bed. The next morning I got some more back story. Bonnie was a widow, three years now. Allison lived with Bonnie because mom and dad were in Europe. I inquired about Bonnie�s husband. She told me he had died of an aneurism three years ago. I was sorry for her and the kids, but I was secretly glad that there was no Mr. Carrington. I felt guilty for feeling that way, but what can you do?

A Princess of Vernonia

Princess Alisha watched from the tower of Southmoor manor as the entourage filtered over the hill. A cold knot of dread formed in her stomach. But she gathered herself. She was a Princess of Vernonia and still mistress here. They would arrive soon. She had to prepare. She sent for William, her chief steward.

�My father�s men and the Earl of Rivermead will arrive soon. See to it that their horses are fed, watered and stabled. Check on space in the barracks for the soldiers. I think there may be a dozen. The captain will get special quarters as will the Earl of Rivermead, his wife and their entourage.�

He could see the strain as she attempted to put on her best face and play her role as the gracious hostess. Protocol demanded it. But William knew why they had come and his heart went out to his brave but forlorn mistress.

Alisha spent her summers at Southmoor, concentrating on her studies. Her father, King Harold disapproved, but her mother the Queen had prevailed upon him. Their daughter would be educated, she�d insisted. Still, she had not married, but not for lack of suitors. Alisha was beautiful. She was of medium height and shapely with a narrow waist, flaring hips and a womanly bosom. With her long reddish gold hair, at the age of 23 she was a vision of loveliness. Perhaps a bit too serious, her mother would have said. She had rejected the numerous suitors for her hand. It was good that none of them had pleased her father either; else she�d be wed by now. Not only was she determined to educate herself; she had wanted to learn manly arts. She could ride as well as a man, she could handle the rudiments of a short sword, and she had a genuine talent for archery. She could outshoot every man in her father�s guard save Guy Hightower, the man who had taught her.

Guy Hightower, now there was a man. Her heart fluttered at the thought. He was everything a woman could want. He was strong, with ruggedly handsome good looks. In addition he was kind and respectful, not a loud boorish dolt like many of the swaggering sons of nobility and would be suitors. But as Captain of her father�s guard he was only a commoner. She�d had an easy rapport with Guy. He�d been a good teacher and the fact that she was a mere girl had not put him off�and he didn�t patronize her. He�d been hard on her and had challenged her in training when it had been necessary, giving her no special treatment just because she was female and royalty.

And that was one reason her heart caught in her throat when she saw Guy leading the column of men-at-arms. Why had her father sent Guy, of all people, on this errand? She reflected ruefully on how it had all come to pass.

Her father King Harold had for years quarreled with the Scythian nobles whose lands bounded Vernonia near its Southern border. Thus when Rune Vargis, son of Seil Vargis had announced his desire to wed Giselle, daughter to the Earl of Rivermead, Harold saw a way to bind the Scythian nobles in alliance with Vernonia.

Alisha saw it differently. She had studied geography. Rivermead stood at an important river crossing on the boundary with Scythia. The alliance gave Scythia access to the bridges at Rivermead, which were normally heavily guarded against southern invasion. You could not get an army across the Lorr River for over 100 miles in either direction. Alisha had studied history too. There was a clan of the Scythians that claimed to be descended from Harold�s house and had grumbled for years that it had a legitimate claim to the throne of Vernonia. That clan was House Vargis.

Harold wouldn�t listen to his eldest daughter. The opinion of a woman was not highly regarded in such matters, and Harold was already put out with his daughter�s interest in matters of state as not being fit for women anyway. She had counseled that a marriage with a Scythian warlord was an invitation to danger for Vernonia. Harold believed instead that the marriage would reduce tensions on the border between Scythia and Vernonia.

The wedding itself was where things had unraveled. It had been held at Oron Keep, a centrally located fortress in the Lorr valley, a day�s ride from Rivermead. The Vargis family contingent had arrived a full week prior to the wedding and had set about turning Oron�s Keep upside down. Rune of Vargis was rude and boorish. One night Giselle had blanched in horror as he had backhanded a female steward, giving her a bloody lip for splashing a little wine at his feast of welcome. He treated his own servants poorly as well. Rune was a bully. He drank to excess, was loud, and had a decidedly cruel streak. On one occasion he displayed it quite vividly by insisting that a stable lad be birched raw for failing to properly groom his horse.
Adele on 07/30/2013 11:49am
This was a very good collection of short stories. Almost all the charicters were well developed, which i think is hard in a short story. All the stories had thete own theam, and were enjoyable all on there own. I will be on the look out for valume two.
Adele on 07/30/2013 11:49am
This was a very good collection of short stories. Almost all the charicters were well developed, which i think is hard in a short story. All the stories had thete own theam, and were enjoyable all on there own. I will be on the look out for valume two.
Evelyn on 07/06/2013 04:17pm
Very nice collection of spanking stories from all different walks of life and time periods so it keeps it interesting.
Evelyn on 07/06/2013 04:17pm
Very nice collection of spanking stories from all different walks of life and time periods so it keeps it interesting.

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