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A Modern Southern Gent Supplies The Scarlett Cheeks
Rhett Should Have But Didn't in "Gone with the Wind"...

Belle's Blushing
Comeuppance!

Dear Barbara... During the mid-eighties I was good friends with and dated a young lady that I met at the High Museum of Art in Atlanta. She had dark hair and eyes, was slender but not skinny, educated and charming. A gentlewoman with curves in all the right places. She was originally from south Georgia and had moved here after college to work for a local publisher. Her parents were still alive and lived on a farm not far from Albany.

As I said, we were good friends as well as romantic partners. One of the many things we enjoyed doing together was to visit her parents for the weekend. They were both wonderful people and I truly enjoyed the change of pace that the farm offered. We would usually drive down Friday afternoon, go to the local high school football game that night, enjoy Saturday with them and drive back to Atlanta after church and dinner on Sunday.

I remember one visit quite vividly. It was warm for a late September afternoon and her parents were away visiting a sick cousin in the hospital. She and I had saddled a couple of horses and were riding in the lower forty when an unexpected thunderstorm surprised us. We took shelter in a hay barn and, for a while at least, contented ourselves by listening to the sound of the rain on the tin roof. She was the first to tire of this activity and, noticing that I was nodding off to sleep, decided to launch an unprovoked, surprise tickle attack on me.

It startled me, to say the least, and I told her, nicely, of course, to quit or face the consequences.

Let me break into the story at this point and explain that she was no stranger to the woodshed and its disciplinary properties. In her own words she had been a real "brat" while growing up and she told me that she averaged a trip to the woodshed every two weeks or so up to and including her college days. Her mother was the primary disciplinarian and she never hesitated to use a wooden paddle on her daughter’s bare behind. On rare occasions her conduct earned her a session with her father’s strap but he always allowed her to keep her panties on.

Back to the story. My threat fell on deaf ears and she continued to tickle me. I then warned her, nicely, of course, that she was going to receive a sound spanking from me if she didn’t cease and desist immediately. She stopped for a moment and then uttered those time honored words: "You wouldn’t dare!"

I stood up, grasped her left wrist in my right hand, dragged her over to a hay bale, sat down on it and pulled her, face down and bottom up, over my lap. I paused for a moment and then knew that the stars had ordained this event; there on the floor, next to the hay bale, was a wooden slat that was the perfect size and shape for soundly warming the seat of a misbehaving young lady.

I grasped the slat in my right hand and, holding her wrists in my left hand, proceeded to get to the bottom of the problem.

The first smack that fell upon the tightly stretched seat of her faded blue jeans caused three things to happen: a small cloud of dust rose from her seat, her behind lunged and twisted as the smart of the smack penetrated the material of her jeans and panties and she gave a soul-satisfying howl of pain.

As I used the slat to soundly dust the seat of her britches she continued to twist, wriggle and move about on my lap, trying to escape the relentless sting of the wood meeting denim. I used the slat on her jeans for 25 smacks or so and then paused for a moment.

I put the slat down next to me and, reaching around to the front of her jeans, unsnapped the waist and unzipped the zipper. I then proceeded, despite her protests, to drag them down to a position just above "half mast". This left her with only a pair of white nylon panties for protection.

As I reached for the slat with my right hand I admired the view and the progress attained thus far.

The panties were tight and brief so they did little to conceal the charms they contained. Her behind was dark pink, reflecting the effect of the spanks delivered over her jeans. There was the slightest hint of her feminine charms showing through the material and I could swear that there was also a hint of moisture there as well.

I commenced the paddling again and immediately noticed a marked change in the sound of the wood on her behind and her reaction to it. The sounds of the smacks rang through the barn and her pleas for mercy continued at an even higher pitch. Her attempts to free herself from my grasp and wriggle off of my lap intensified and I had my hands full. I continued to spank her and didn’t try to use any set pattern. I simply smacked the first spot that became available and didn’t neglect the tops of her thighs.

I continued this phase of the spanking for another 25 or so smacks and then, after putting the slat down next to me, paused again.

Her pantied, soon-to-be-bared, bottom, was bright red and clearly reflected the minimal protection that her panties offered. She looked like three miles of bad road, her hair totally messed up, face stained with tears and voice hoarse from crying and begging for me to quit.

I then proceeded to the third stage of the spanking. I grasped the waistband of her panties with my right hand and slowly pulled them down to a position in the middle of her thighs. As I pulled them down I could feel the heat radiating from her blistered fanny and truly enjoyed the sight of her cute bottom as it was revealed to my eager eyes.

I ran my hand up the inside of her thighs as I returned to her waist and lightly caressed her. She squirmed and moaned and thrust her behind against my fingers.

I picked up the slat and commenced again. The final 25 smacks covered her entire bottom and upper thighs. She continued to twist and turn, desperately trying to escape the spanks and promising to behave, now and forever more.

I set the slat down for the last time and released her wrists. She climbed painfully from my lap, disregarded the fact that her jeans and panties were still around her knees and thighs, and proceeded to rub her bottom with both hands while jumping around the floor.

I, needless to say, thoroughly enjoyed this part of the spanking and finally brought it to a halt by sitting her on my lap and comforting her. It ended with us making passionate love, she bent over the hay bale and me behind her.

The only down side to the entire afternoon was that we had to walk the horses back to the house. For some reason, she couldn’t "bare" to sit on her horse...  Rhett, Atlanta, Georgia

Rhett? Atlanta? A gentle ride ending up with a Southern belle getting her deserving derriere dusted? Oh my!   Thanks for the fantastic letter, "Rhett."  As I suspect you intended, this "Gone With The Wind" fan couldn't stop images of Clark Gable giving Vivian Leigh the spanking she so richly deserved from flashing through her head as she read your fantastic letter. Thanks again! - Barb

 

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