What's A Poor Girl To Do?
A Spanking-Hot Historical Saga by Nigel McParr!

Claire roomed on the third floor of Mrs. Lynne’s boarding house in a small dormer room with sloping attic-like walls & plain homely furnishings. Late on a fall afternoon her room was empty & silent. An overcast sky filled the room with pearl-gray hues. Footsteps, then the voice of Mrs. Lynne broke the silence. The bedroom door swung open. Mrs. Lynne came in leading Claire, a tall slender girl with long dark hair & large brown eyes, by her arm.

Mrs. Lynne was clearly upset with the girl. She fought to regain her self-composure. Words were exchanged. Claire tried to explain, but the older woman wasn’t having any of her erudite reasons for breaking house rules. The girl would sit in her room & wait until she came back before dinner to give her what she had coming. A new girl was checking in this afternoon. She’d see to her & dinner, then she’d be back. As she left, it occurred to her that she did have a few moments before the new girl was due. She returned to the bed.

"Come here. And not another word out of you!"

Claire’s mouth bloomed into a pout as she came to her landlady. The older woman was not at all embarrassed to lift her long skirt & pull down her drawers to expose slender rounded buttocks. In one efficient motion she swept the nineteen year old over her ample thighs & began to spank her flanks with the open cup of her palm. The smacks landed sharply on her jiggling buttocks, turning them a hot bright pink. Mrs. Lynne’s arm settled into a staccato rhythm that echoed through the closed door & down the stairs where her young maid stood anxiously listening, her thighs growing more tender by the moment.

Meanwhile in the street below, autumn gusts as stiff as new brooms swept the sidewalks clean. Crisp brightly colored leaves swirled & skittered across the cobblestones. Pale slender shafts of gray light slanted between the tenements creating an interplay of light & long shadows that accented the boarding house’s intricate Queen Anne carpentry, the grand sweep of the porch, & rows of spotless brick-arched windows.

An eighteen year old girl stood on the front steps. She was dressed plainly in a working girl’s costume; hat, cloak, long woolen skirt & blouse. Her clothes were worn & threadbare, but neatly pressed & clean. She had dark auburn hair that fell in heavy curls over her shoulders, large soft blue eyes, & a wide sweetly shaped mouth. She had her mother’s disposition; caring & compassionate, though at times she could be an obstinate thing.

Her mother was a poor proud woman who’d raised her daughter single-handedly in a loving but strict home. When she was naughty or bad, her mother had taken her right over her knee & spanked her. At first by hand. When she’d become a young woman, mother had introduced her daughter’s fulsome bottom to the hairbrush & strap. At the same time her mother had started corset training. By the time she was eighteen she had a Victorian waistline & a bust line as ripe & rounded as her mother’s. It practically burst from the rigid confines of her tightly laced corsets.

She’d moved to the city & taken a job as a sales clerk in a ladies fashion store. She’d been staying with her older sister & her family of four until Claire had suggested she might inquire at Mrs. Lynne’s. Her older sister had accompanied her to meet Mrs. Lynne & tour the house. The home was clean. There would be two good meals every day. And Mrs. Lynne made it clear to both sisters that she would accept no nonsense from her boarders. These three things, especially the last, convinced her older sister to grant her approval. Amy, she announced, would move in the next day. She was perfectly satisfied that her younger sister had found the perfect home away from home.

The cold wind cut through her thin cape, & sent a shiver up her stocking-clad legs. She felt strange as she picked up the small bag containing her possessions & walked to the front door. She twisted the chimes, shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other. In a moment the door was swung open by a prim young woman in a maid’s uniform. She led her into a gleaming parlor with a warm fire going in the fireplace. She told Amy to wait there. The only sounds were the soft swish of her dress as she glided up the stairs & the roar of air up the chimney. Time seemed to stand still. In the stillness she thought she heard conversation, female voices. The ticking of the grandfather clock reminded her of high school days, time spent waiting outside Mrs. Johnson’s office beneath the big Regulator clock.

Mrs. Lynne hurried down the stairs & into the parlor. Amy tried to compose herself & smiled bravely at the matron. She was a tall handsome woman with a buxom shape. Her dark hair was swept up in a pompadour that made her even more elegant. She had a slender face with soft dark brown eyes & finely chiselled features. A pince-nez rested on the broad curve of her pleated bosom. She wore a black serge dress whose bodice fitted snugly over the rounded expanse of her bosom before tucking into neat folds at her waist & flaring out again in tiny pleats over her hips. A starched linen apron was tied around her waist. She smiled at Amy & told her she would take her up to her room.

While Amy followed the older woman up the stairs, Mrs. Lynne repeated her litany of house rules. They passed a flight of stairs that led to the third floor. Amy wondered if that was where Claire roomed. Her room was small & neat with a thin carpet covering the floor, a brass bed, dry-sink & dresser, one chair. A china basin rested in the dry sink. A row of pegs on the wall would be her closet. A single curtained window looked out into the backyard. Mrs. Lynne told her to unpack & stay in her room until Miss Adams summoned her to dinner.

"Welcome," she said & closed the door.

The big house fell silent again. How mysterious it all was. Why must she stay here? Dusk was spreading its mantle over the trees as she unpacked her bag & hung her clothing on the pegs. She wandered to the window to stare out into the darkening scene below. There was a large yard with lilacs, dogwoods, maples, & oaks. The trees near the house whipped & flung scarlet & gold-tipped tentacles against the house. The air had turned heavy with the damp scent of rain. She removed her blouse & skirt, stretched out on the bed, & pulled up the quilt. Rich smells of roasting pork & sauerkraut drifted into the room, & she half-heard the first tentative spatters of rain on the leaves outside before she fell asleep.

She had no idea that Claire was going to get it in the room directly above hers, could not have imagined the scene: Claire laying over Mrs. Lynne’s lap on the bed, her legs kicking, arms flailing, while Mrs. Lynne held her tightly into her ample bosom & spanked the daylights out of her backside with her well worn hairbrush.

Mrs. Lynne, a religious conservative, had always believed in old fashioned maternal discipline; hard spankings with the flat of a long handled hairbrush. She’d spanked so many bare bottoms with that old rosewood brush it had taken on a rich polished sheen. She kept it on her bureau & used it each night on her own hair before she went to bed.

Down in the kitchen the maid peeled potatoes & tried to hear the muted sounds of the spanking that floated down the back staircase with the cool silent drafts. She shivered as waves of righteous pleasure cascaded through her. Her assumption that the new girl would soon be getting her bottom warmed as well added to her excitement.

It never took long. How would she react, she wondere? The girls were always shocked at first, but invariably relented when Mrs. Lynne marched them firmly up to their rooms.

Sound asleep now, Amy stirred & moved onto her side. She did not know that Mrs. Lynne had returned to Claire’s room. But her mind registered Claire’s squalls & the steady smack of the old hairbrush on her bare bottom. The sounds seeped into her unconscious, resurrecting memories of Mrs. Johnson’s country school. When she was fourteen she’d been told to stay after school & wait outside Mrs. Johnson’s office while another girl was inside for a lesson in deportment. The classroom was empty. She sat at her desk & tried not to hear the smooth slap-slap of Mrs. Johnson’s paddle & the poor girl’s cries.

"A girl’s best friend," Mrs. Johnson called her thick varnished paddle. It hung in the classroom right behind her desk for all her girls to see. When the girl finally came out, she was red-faced & bleary-eyed. Then Mrs. Johnson, plump & short of stature, appeared & ordered her into the inner sanctum.

The summons had made her shake like a leaf. Mrs. Johnson, a teacher for twenty years, had understood. She was as gentle as Amy’s mother when she lifted her skirt & drew down her drawers, before laying her prostrate over the big oak spanking desk. She’d cautioned her not to move, it would go worse if she did.

Poor Amy, still shaking-- it was her first summons --had gratefully whispered she’d be as still as a mouse. She had no idea what was in store for her. She lay quietly face down while Mrs. Johnson, a consummate disciplinarian both in her home & at school, lifted the big sorority paddle & arced it around to Amy’s ample crown cheeks. Her bottom gleamed white in the afternoon sunlight that poured through the office window. The maple paddle flashed & caught both cheeks, sinking deeply, before it sprang back from the sheer resilience of her bottom.

Still it left a scarlet outline, & Amy was shocked at the pain. She tightened her grip on the desk top before the paddle sighed & smacked her again. This time she couldn’t help herself. Her bottom ignited with an awful pain that spread into her thighs & belly. Another scarlet imprint. She began to plead with the teacher, told her she’d get her work in on time-- she promised! But it was too late for apologies. The paddle landed again, & she knew she was in for a lengthy session. She lost track of time, forgot where she was. The paddling seemed like it was never going to end. Each stroke burned, then blurred into the one before it. The pain in her backside obscured everything. The paddling became her world. She was crying & clutching at her buttocks when she woke.

It was dark now. The room was cold. The falling rain beat a steady tattoo on the window. She burrowed beneath the quilt & wondered if she’d missed dinner. Mrs. Lynne would be terribly upset! Then a woman’s voice, low & firm, filtered down to her. She heard a girl’s pleas & cries, alternating with firm bottom smacks. It confused her. Was she still dreaming about Mrs. Johnson’s paddling? Half asleep, she could not connect what she heard to Mrs. Lynne. Her bottom cheeks tingled with the awful memory of her dream. She felt grateful that was over.

Her bedroom door suddenly opened. The maid stood framed in a bright rectangle of light. "Dinner in five minutes, Miss. Best not to come down after the Missus." The door swung shut. Amy fought off the desire to sleep, swung her legs out of bed, & wondered what in the world was to come of her...