My Thursday-evening flight back from Budapest back to the UK was somewhat delayed. As we waited round for BA to finally let us board, I found myself studying my fellow passengers.
There, sitting near the gate, was a rather gorgeous lass. Heading to see her boyfriend, I surmised. Doubtless likely to find herself tied to his bed and very soundly fucked not long after her arrival. And then, the following morning, taught the rules for her good behaviour during her stay: “It’s been a while since I last saw you; I think a disciplinary spanking would set the scene for the weekend ahead…”
And behind me in the informally-forming queue, a father and mother with their four daughters, aged (I guessed) between their mid-teens and early twenties. A weekend treat, this visit to London. Long-anticipated. Earned by the girls for good behaviour and results at school. Only that good behaviour wouldn’t be evident on the Friday night once the parents had gone to bed. “Loud, drunken and disruptive,” would be how the hotel’s general manager described their conduct to their father the following morning. “And I do hope that they are all eighteen, as they said they were?”
Profuse apologies were accompanied with a promise to deal with the matter. Knowing glances would be exchanged; the loan of a cane would be offered (“We keep one for occasions like this; we know it can sometimes come in useful”). But the father would decline: from experience, he knew that his excruciatingly hard over-the-knee hand spankings would be more than enough to make his girls regret their over-exuberance. “And then the two who lied about their age will get a hard taste of my belt as well…”
Hotel that provides the canes! /Puts on the list / 😀 I wonder if there are some that provide a bedtime spanking service! Or morning wake up spankings.
Not saying I ever looked “gorgeous”, but I don’t find it too hard to get into the first girl’s head. I spent lots of time on trains and busses and my mind often enough turned to spanking. Sometimes, I would suddenly realise that someone was looking at me for more than half a second and have this irrational fear that they somehow “knew”. At least, I used to tell myself it was an irrational fear … of course, that was before I came across this blog.