By Conor Grayson
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At 5 she was delivered by Philippa to the kitchen, where the chef promptly set her to slicing onions, yet another task that had always looked so simple, but proved a cruel torment in execution. Her eyes stung and her nose ran, and the onions slid and tumbled in her fingers. The result was an uneven mess, and she was forced to do it again, and then again. The chef was reluctant to spank Rose, merely shaking her head each time, disappointed. The poorly chopped results were swept into a bowl and fresh onions placed before her. Cuts accumulated on her fingers, and they stung through the plasters as the onion’s oils found their way in. Rose was openly sobbing — from the onions and from frustration — when at last the cook reluctantly accepted her efforts.
“You should be in here more,” Danielle told her, patting her exposed bottom gently. “You will learn how, all this.”
Rose looked at the mixing bowl full of sloppy onion shards.
“Don’t worry, for stew. No problem,” the chef reassured her. “Now, carrots, then potatoes.” She mimed a peeling motion, then left the kitchen, returning a moment later with two large baskets, one overflowing with big knobby carrots, the other full of russet potatoes. Both had come from farms just outside town, which Danielle visited once a week in the family car. She always returned with the backseat down and baskets of produce and fruits spilling out. Rose and her sisters loved to help unload, had loved it even as girls: the dirt smells, their bare arms full of bounty, and going down together into the cool, dirt-floor cellar to stow their goods. Rose took the baskets from Danielle and set them down next to the counter. Then she picked up a knife, sighed, and got to work.
They were making roast beef and a vegetable casserole. Rose chopped and peeled, she basted the beef, she eyed the clock. Danielle did the skill work, scalloping the potatoes, layering a thin, lightly seasoned coat of cheddar over the casserole before it slid into the great cast-iron maw of the oven. Though Rose was still stiff and sore, and her weariness was catching up to her, she was not spanked or even scolded by Danielle. They were both too busy to really do anything but the task in front of them, and then the next. Slowly the meal came together. And as the casserole thickened and the beef tenderized, Rose’s mouth began to water. But she did not dare slip anything into her mouth under Danielle’s watchful eye. She knew the kindly chef did not want to punish her, but would if she had to.
Dinner was nearly complete when Danielle came over and put her hand on Rose’s. She had been chopping parsley, a final garnish for the casserole that sat cooling on the counter. “Go to call family for dinner, please,” the chef told her. Reluctantly, Rose turned and left the kitchen. She was tempted to just yell up the stairs to whoever heard her. But she knew that was not the expectation. So she steeled herself and began to climb the stairs. While working in the kitchen she had heard her brother and then her other sisters come home. They would all be expected to be in attendance during her final spanking that night, as well as the finale tomorrow night. Rose knocked on Christina’s door first, thinking she ought to get it over with first. But when Christina opened the door, she had a look that suggested she was not yet over her earlier chastening by Dorothea.
“Yes?”
“Supper is ready.”
“Thank you, Rose.”
Rose turned to go, and then stopped. “Is your…is your friend still here?”
Christina blushed. “No. He…no, he’s not.”
“Okay.” Well, that was one less pair of eyes on her as she served dinner that night.
Next was Triss, the youngest, a somewhat wild redhead. Triss’ room was next to Christina’s, but when Rose knocked there was no response. Great, I’ll have to find her, though Rose. With Triss, there was no telling where she might be. Rose went and informed Alanah, and her brother, Tom. Then she crossed to the far landing and ascended a short staircase to the door that led to Dorothea’s quarters. She knocked quietly, and the door opened almost immediately. Dorothea was standing there, her hair wet from a bath. But she was dressed in a smart housedress of dark lavender. “Yes, Rose?” she asked, running a hairbrush through her long, brown hair. The hairbrush was a broad, dark mahogany. Rose eyed it warily as she answered.
“Dinner’s ready, ma’am.”
“Oh, lovely, perfect timing. Why don’t I escort you downstairs?”
“I still have to find Triss.”
“Oh, my Lord, that could take all evening. Tell you what, why don’t I take you back to the kitchen, and then I’ll track down your sister.”
Rose wasn’t sure she needed to be brought to the kitchen, she was pretty sure she could get back there on her own just fine. But of course she did not say that, only nodding and saying politely, “Yes ma’am, thank you.” Dorothea stepped out onto the landing with and closed the door behind her. Then she placed her hand on Rose’s bottom, cupping it slightly. Her palm was warm.
“Come along, sweet girl,” the governess said kindly, and they walked like that all the way back to the kitchen, her governess’ hand resting on her backside, as if leading her. Dorothea kept hold of her like this even on the narrow staircase down to the second floor, so that Rose felt the need to walk very slowly, as though there was a bond between her behind and this warm, disciplining palm, a bond Rose was afraid to break.
True to her word, Dorothea delivered her ward to the kitchen, giving the girl’s bottom a quick squeeze before disappearing to track down Triss. Danielle had sliced the beef in the meantime, and set out the remaining elements of the meal. They waited for the family to finish assembling in the dining room. Sweet dinner smells swarmed the quiet kitchen. At last, they heard Dorothea clap twice, and Danielle turned to Rose, smiling, and handed her a heavy tray of roasted olives and tomatoes.
“You’re on, sweetheart.”
And with a gentle pat, Rose was sent forth into the dining room.
When Rose entered, Triss was chatting loudly to the family, telling them about a fox she had seen in the woods that day. She had chased it for some distance, galloping across a soggy meadow in her trousers, before losing it in the bracken beyond. But that did not stop her from climbing in after the thing, though it was long gone, and becoming entangled.
“And then I realized I was really stuck!” Triss exclaimed, holding up one sleeve of a blouse that was badly torn. “And the more I tried to get out, the more I got stuck in! Boy, it sure took a while to squeeze outta there.”
Christina was frowning, but Rose could tell Dorothea was trying not to laugh. “My dear, if you’re going to be acting like a fur trapper, perhaps you could not wear your nicest blouse?”
“What? Oh, sure. Well, I guess it’s not my nicest one anymore, huh?”
At that, everyone laughed, including Rose, as she deposited the dish and turned back to the kitchen. It felt nice to share a family moment; she had felt a little isolated in her disciplinary state. But she was also keenly aware of what she was displaying as she turned her back on the table. She did not relish displaying herself in front of the entire family. Yet, she knew that what came after dinner would be much worse, and so she was torn between wanting this to be over, and wanting it to last forever.
When she had finished setting out the side dishes, she was expected to circulate to each person with first the casserole, then the meat. Normally the dishes would just be set out by the servants and everyone would help themselves. But for special occasions, of which apparently this was one, each person would be served individually. And so she went from sibling to sibling, serving them, which meant she presented her bare backside up close to whoever was sitting beside them. When she got to Alicent, she felt Triss’ hand run across her bottom, making her jump. In so doing, she nearly flipped the casserole right into Alicent’s lap, just managing to bobble the bowl back into her arms before disaster struck.
“Oooh, Rose, sorry! Oh my gosh, you’re just so marked already!” Triss said sheepishly.
“Tristana Elizabeth Hawthorne! Who gave you permission to touch Rose’s bottom?” Dorothea was looking sternly at the younger girl, who cringed.
“Geez, I didn’t mean anything, I just…hey, wait! I was just kidding!” Dorothea had stood up and calmly but firmly hauled Triss to her feet.
“Tristana, what is the rule when someone in this house is being punished?”
Triss looked down. “Don’t interfere unless you ask us to,” she said sheepishly.
“That’s exactly right. And that includes touching your sister’s bottom while she is serving food.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” Triss was still looking down, and Rose knew she was doing everything she could to avoid stomping or answering back, two habits that had been the subject of several conversations between her and her governess. “I just…I didn’t mean anything.”
“I believe you, but you have a habit of acting carelessly. I admire your spirit, dear, we all do. But it’s my job to teach you to wield that spirit with discipline. Bend over the table.”
“Ahhh ma’am! C’mon, I…okay okay!” Dorothea had turned her right around and delivered several ringing smacks to the broad seat of her trousers.Triss then reluctantly lay herself stomach-down on the table, looking back at Dorothea with a hopeful look. This was another of Triss’ tricks, thought Rose: resisting and then complying, and then hoping her compliance would cancel out the actual reasons she was being disciplined. To Rose’s knowledge it had never once worked, but Triss was not easily deterred.
Dorothea leaned over the girl, and her fingers found and undid her trouser button, and then deliberately undid the zipper as well. “If you are so interested in someone’s bottom, perhaps the table should have a look at yours,” she said, and in one motion peeled down the muddy trousers and the girl’s panties beneath. Triss’ large, healthy bottom burst into view. Dorothea stood back a moment, as if letting Triss’ siblings all get a good look at the bared girl, then she placed her left hand on the girl’s back, and began to spank her vigorously with her right.
Triss initially was quiet; of all the Hawthorne siblings, she tended to take her spankings the best. Which was good, because as the youngest and by far the wildest, she was also the most frequently smacked. Soon, however, she began to kick a bit, as Dorothea continued to spank her, and then to cry softly. Satisfied with this, her governess stilled her arm. It hadn’t been a long spanking, but Triss was sniffling, and her bottom in the low dining room light was a deep ruby hue. Dorothea knelt and began extracting the girl’s legs from the tangle of her pants, while Triss, knowing she had not been let up, continued to present her bent bottom to the room. After a moment of struggle, Dorothea managed to separate trousers from panties from girl. The underwear she rolled back up and over Triss’ backside. But the pants she still held.
“These pants are a mess, child. They’ll have to be scrubbed. I think you can finish your meal without them, and after dinner you’ll march right upstairs and put your nightgown on.”
Triss gave a big, performative sniffle. She hated wearing the flowery nightgown, so lacey and restrictive. And Dorothea often used it as a mild disciplinary tactic, when Triss demonstrated a carelessness with her regular clothes. Which she often did, so she often found herself stomping about in a frilly nightgown. Tonight, it seemed, would be one such night.
Triss, red-faced, was at last allowed to sit back down, wearing only her panties. The rest of dinner passed uneventfully. Rose served the food and then waited quietly in the corner. She was allowed to face front, so that she could attend to her sisters’ needs, refilling glasses and clearing plates. Soon she was back in the kitchen. Her stomach grumbled at the thought of all the food that was left, but she knew dinner was still a little ways off. Sighing, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work on the dishes.
~*~
On the second floor, right off the library where the siblings would sit after school and do their homework, was a small sitting room. Ringed with couches around a small fireplace of flawless Carrara marble, the room was used for a number of purposes: naps, company, the occasional ghost story that their father, after a brandy or two, could often be compelled to perform. It was also the room that had been designated as the site of public punishments. Such events were rare; with the exception of events like the quick dinner correction, Dorothea’s preference was to spank in private and display in public. But when they did happen, public punishments tended to be memorable for all involved.
Rose had eaten and then retired to her room for an hour. Terrified of falling asleep, as her body ached with the weariness of the day’s labors, she did not dare climb onto the bed. The stain still seared across her sheets also discouraged her from tucking in. Instead, she climbed gingerly onto the carpeted ledge next to the window, and let herself gaze out into the darkness. She stayed like that, barely moving, until five of nine. Then reluctantly she unfolded herself and vacated the sanctuary of her bedroom. It was time.
When she arrived, it was not yet nine, but the whole family was already assembled. Christina, very erect and attentive, Tom and Alannah, sharing a blanket, and Triss, casting her a sympathetic glance half-hidden by a mane of crimson hair. And Dorothea, sitting apart, on a broad, ancient loveseat that served as the spanking chair. Even their father could not remember the provenance of the chair, only that it had predated all of them, and had served as the seat of execution for formal punishments the children’s whole lives. The room was warm, and lambent with lantern light. A small fire crackled enthusiastically; otherwise, it was quiet. Rose immediately noticed the paddle. It was round, polished, and large: a dark cherrywood oval at rest on a small table to her governess’ right. Understanding her role from past experience, Rose quickly moved to stand to Dorothea’s left, so that her siblings would have a clear view of first her face, and then her bottom. She folded her arms behind her, pressed into the small of her back. Her knees were locked, her back straight. She looked right into her governess’ eyes, and waited.
Dorothea let her wait. In one corner of the room was a grandfather clock, very old. It ticked audibly on towards nine, its stern quartz face reflecting the firelight. The rustling flames and Triss’ fidgeting were the only other sounds in the room. Rose understood that her punishment would begin on the hour precisely. Her somber vigil persisted for another minute. Not daring to look over, Rose imagined the skinny second arm lurching across the glittering field to announce her doom. One step, then another. It was unbearable. And then suddenly her reverie was dissolved as the too-soon chime of nine o’clock filled the room. Rose bent, but only slightly, and then righted herself, holding her place at her governess’ knee. “Good girl,” Dorothea said sympathetically, and put a steadying hand on her thigh. Then she firmly took hold of Rose’s panties and whisked them down to her ankles. “Say what you need to say.”
Rose sighed, cleared her throat. With her whole lower half on full display to her family, she spoke out in a clear voice above the fading bells.
“My behavior has been unbecoming of the Hawthorne family. I deserve to be punished for what I’ve done. I deserve…I deserve to be spanked to tears on my bare bottom. Please, ma’am, give me the spanking I deserve.”
Dorothea nodded, helped the girl to lay herself over her governess’ lap. Dorothea ran a hand over the already punished bottom. A few small bruises had already risen, the results of the day’s trials. But Dorothea would pay them no mind, and she picked the paddle up off the table. As was expected, Christina got up off the couch and brought over a small ottoman as well as a slightly smaller pillow. This was, in Rose’s view, the worst part of the punishment. She reluctantly folded her arms on the ottoman and turned her head to rest on the pillow. It kept her face raised and presented to her siblings. She would be expected to keep her eyes open throughout her punishment, at least as much as her eventual sobbing would permit. In addition to the terrible pain, the one thing the siblings tended to remember about these punishments was the odd, blurry images they retained, of seeing one’s siblings all together through a screen of tears.
With her charge arranged, Dorothea picked up the paddle and let it rest on Rose’s bottom. There are some things that, no matter how many times one handles them, one is always surprised at their weight. A gun is one. This paddle was another. And Rose, remembering now as it pressed into her skin, cringed under its mass. But only for a moment, because then her governess lifted the implement and brought it down with a merciless snap across her behind. Rose bucked, twisted and tried to get away, but Dorothea held her firmly. The second blow mirrored the first, flattening her sit spots, bucking her forward a bit. After that Dorothea began methodically working up and down the girl’s bottom, painting it a uniform red. Rose howled, but it was only getting started. Over the next five minutes, Dorothea spanked her from crown to knee hollows, raising crimson archipelagos along her thighs and soaking her skin in force and heat. Rose struggled and kicked, almost immediately letting herself dissolve into choking sobs. Through it all, she kept her head up, letting her siblings see her suffering, even as her lower body writhed and tried to get away, its movements largely unconscious as the panicked part of her mind took over.
All this her siblings watched with sympathy. Even Christina’s face had a look of quiet sadness on it, though there was no sign of regret. Triss had tear tracks along her cheeks, which glinted in the light. Tom and Alanah realized they were holding hands at one point, but despite both looking sheepish about it, neither moved to let go until the punishment was done. And at last it wound to a close. Rose, still panicked, tried to catch her breath, her lungs skipping and sputtering, her nose running badly. Her bottom was the color of cooling lava, a deep, terrible red. Dorothea just rubbed her back, let Rose slowly reassemble herself. Now free to do so, Rose buried her face in the pillow. After a few minutes of that, her body stopped pulsating, and her breath slowed. It was then that she was gingerly brought to a sitting position and enfolded into a hug by her governess. A moment later, the rest of the family joined, wrapping Rose in a sweaty warmth. The first day was done. She was free until dawn.
Rose was still expected to maintain her punishment outfit, and after about a minute, she remembered her lack of frontal modesty and turned to look for where her panties had flown off her. Alanah spied them and handed them to Rose, who quickly slipped them on. Triss gingerly pulled them down in back as she did so, and for once Rose was grateful. She didn’t want anything in contact with her smoldering butt. Everyone remained in the room for a while, chatting, Rose slowly coming back to herself. Eventually Triss thought to go get some cream, and Rose, again past the point of modesty, let herself be draped over the shared laps of Triss and Alanah, who very gingerly worked the cool cream into her bottom and thighs. The crimson splotches that had populated her skin were already purpling into bruises, but the cream would prevent the worst of it. As the fire burned down, the group rehashed the day’s events, gently teasing Triss for her dinner outburst. And even Christina laughed goodnaturedly when Rose related how Dorothea had humbled Christina in front of her guest. By the time Dorothea came in to start shuffling them off to bed, the fire had faded to coals, and the clock had chimed eleven times. Rose was rising to go upstairs when she remembered: the sheets. A renewed sense of panic began to rise in her, she was nearly asleep on her feet, and could not imagine laboring all night only to be woken up with a spanking. But then she felt a hand on her elbow, and her governess smiled at her. “My dear, you have made me proud today. You have another difficult day tomorrow, so let us make a deal. You will have those sheets clean by this time next Saturday. One week, and I expect them scrubbed until they’re shining. Do you understand?” Rose, consumed with relief, only nodded, starting to cry again as she let herself be folded into yet another hug. Then Dorothea gently extracted herself, gave the girl a warm kiss on the forehead, and sent her off towards her bed with a gentle swat. She watched with a feeling of satisfaction as a girl with a red, shiny bottom climbed up the stairs in the dark, and disappeared into her room.
Part six coming soon…