A Promised Treat

This is the story I promised.  As I read the intro it reminded me a little of a story I penned a while back that was based on a story Minelle told me about her family.  Nothing new in the universe.  
Here is the little intro she passed to me along with the story.

 It was inspired by the house I grew up in - a large Victorian semi. When I was a girl I used to play up in the attic, and it was there that I found the little door in the eaves. My friend and I explored and we crawled through to the attic of the house next door. It was a Manse - the Vicar and his wife lived there. They never knew they had uninvited guests. We never did steal anything though!

THE DOOR IN THE EAVES

by flopsybunny AKA Lucy Appleby

After the death of her parents, Patricia sold her tiny flat and moved back into the family home. Being an only child, she inherited everything, and although the late Victorian house was far too big for her, she had enough money to live there in comfort without having to worry about paying the bills.

It was strange, going back - a mix of melancholic nostalgia tinged with contentment. She walked through the rooms, her head filled with memories triggered by certain pieces of furniture, or a painting or a vase, or her mother's ancient pastry cutters in the kitchen drawer, or her father's neatly arranged jars of screws, nails and tacks on the pantry shelves. She would put her own indelible stamp on the place in time, but would leave all the little reminders of her childhood years just as they were. 

When she ventured up into the dusty old attic she smiled. She had often played up here as a child, and that was how she had discovered the hidden door in the eaves - the overhang of the roof line beyond the outer walls of the house. She found the door quite by accident when she dropped some coins out of her money box. When one coin had rolled towards the window and mysteriously disappeared, Patricia lifted the edge of the faded linoleum floor covering and discovered a narrow channel alongside the wall. The coin had rolled down the channel and come to rest in front of a small door hidden behind an old chest of drawers pushed up against the wall.

The door opened on rusty hinges, and in the gloom beyond were dust-encrusted floorboards. It became Patricia's secret den, and she would often hide in there, or read a book by torchlight. It wasn't until weeks later that she made the second discovery - if she crawled as far as she could to the right and pushed against the wall, another little door opened - and this one led to the attic belonging to the house next door. And that is when the fun really started.

Patricia grinned at the memory. She would have been about thirteen or fourteen - old enough to know better than to go creeping about in her neighbour's house, stealing things. The first time, she ventured into one of the bedrooms and pinched a packet of biscuits and a small leather-bound notebook. On other occasions she took a cream cake from the larder, and several bars of chocolate. Then, one Christmas, she pilfered a box of mince pies and a bottle of sherry. It was great fun, and she never did get caught - even when she nicked a whole crate of beer.

Some devilment made her pull aside the old chest. There was the door in the eaves. She took hold of the little round handle and pulled, and the door squeaked slowly open, revealing a murky blackness beyond and a rush of warm air. It was quite a squeeze this time, since she had put on a few extra pounds during the past thirty years, but she made it, and crawled along the creaking boards. She didn't need the flashlight as she knew exactly where to go to reach the door that led through to the house next door. She pushed against it, wriggled through the small opening, and found herself in next door's attic.

Standing up, she brushed the dust and cobwebs from her hair. Her hands and knees were filthy dirty. She grinned, feeling like a naughty girl once more, and tiptoed across the room towards the door which led down a flight of stairs to the bedrooms. She was half way down when her foot slipped on the worn carpet and with a bloodcurdling yell she fell, arms flailing. Being of well rounded proportions she bounced well and didn't hurt herself - but she had made enough noise to wake the dead. 

She lay in an undignified heap, winded, fervently hoping that there was no-one else in the house. Then to her horror she heard footsteps thundering along the landing, and in a few moments the door leading up to the attic staircase was flung open, and there stood a man with the physique of a rugby player. In his hand was a wooden baseball bat.

"Who the hell are you? And how did you get into my house?" He looked angrily at Patricia, and an expression of recognition flitted over his face. "Wait a minute, I know you - you're the woman who's just moved back in to the house next door. Patricia, isn't it?"

Patricia swallowed and nodded.

"Are you hurt?" His eyes swept over her body in a strangely intimate gesture.

"No. I'm ok, I think. I'll just stand up and be on my way," said Patricia as she hauled herself to her feet.

"Not so fast, woman - you have some explaining to do. Come with me."

He took her arm and guided her forwards, then stooped to pick up the pen and notebook that had fallen from her pocket during her tumble. Grim faced, he handed the items to her, and led the way downstairs to the sitting room.

"Sit," he said, pointing to the sofa.

There was nothing for it but to comply. Patricia's mind was racing. How was she going to get herself off the hook? There was only one thing to do - confess. Her mind whirled. Yes, that's what she would do, while making out that she had only just found the hidden door in the eaves. It wouldn't do at all to tell him she had found it as a child, and used it regularly to pilfer things from the house next door.

"You don't remember me, do you?"

It was a statement not a question, and he was right, Patricia did not remember him at all. She had no idea who he was. She shook her head.

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Well I remember you. You used to play music in your bedroom so loud I couldn't concentrate on doing my homework."

"Oh! You're Gary? Surely not!"

Gary nodded. Patricia stared. How could the gangly spotty boy next door have turned into this beefcake of a man? He interrupted her train of thought.
"It's all crystal clear now."

"What is?"

"The leather bound notebook you dropped confirmed it. That's my notebook. I had it for my 16th birthday, and it was stolen - by you."

Patricia blushed crimson and fidgeted on the sofa. "I - er ... it was such a long time ago. Sorry," she added.

"Have you any idea how many times I got my backside blistered for things I didn't do?" He glared at her, and his blue eyes were cold and steely.

"Oh dear. You were punished?"

"I was. For every item that went missing, I was punished."

"I didn't realise. I'm terribly sorry."

"You will be," he said grimly. "How did you get in?"

Patricia told him about the little door in the attic that led to the roof space under the eaves, and explained that one could crawl right through and emerge in the attic of the next house.

"Show me."

Red faced, she led the way up to his attic and pointed to the little door, half obscured by the clutter of several decades.

"In you go. I'll be right behind you."

"Oh - do we have to go this way? It's really filthy in here."

"Yes. Go on."

So Patricia got down on her hands and knees and squeezed through the small opening. It was a squeeze too, for her boobs and her bottom proved to be rather large appendages to fit into a confined space. She felt embarrassed that Gary would be able to see her bottom silhouetted in the doorway like some sort of giant monument. Little did she know that he was in fact admiring it, and was very tempted to give it a good whack.

Patricia crawled out of the little door in her own attic, and stood up, shaking off the dust. Gary's head and shoulders emerged from the door; he was so broad shouldered she wondered whether he would get stuck. He didn't. He got to his feet and looked around the room.
"This will do just fine," he said.

"What will?"

"This," he said, sitting on the old chair near the window. "Come here."

"What for?" Patricia stepped forward.

"I am about to show you," said Gary. He reached for her hand.

Moments later, Patricia found herself over his lap in a most undignified position.
"Oooo! What are you doing?! Let me up."

In response, Gary hitched up her skirt, exposing her plump bottom encased in red knickers. He grinned at the sight, wonderful - and so deserving of the treatment it was about to get. He brought the palm of his hand cracking down on her buttocks. She sure had plenty of padding. Her bottom wobbled beneath the blow.

"Oi!" screeched Patricia. "I didn"t say you could do that!"

"No - you didn't did you." He began spanking her bottom in earnest, his big hand beating a tattoo on her rather splendid rump.

And as he spanked, Gary began to lecture Patricia on all her past misdemeanours. He reminded her of everything she had taken. He told her of all the punishments he had received because he was wrongly accused of stealing.

"Oh! OW! I"m sorry! I"m sorry!"
Patricia wriggled and kicked and yelled and hollered, but Gary continued relentlessly.

"My - I do believe your bottom might be as red as your knickers. Let's take a look, shall we?" He deftly peeled down her knickers.

Patricia gasped in outrage. She kicked, but he trapped her flailing legs with his own, and held her firmly.

Gary grinned at the bare bottom before him. It really was quite captivating, well proportioned with full, plump cheeks - cheeks that were by now a bright shade of pink. 

"Oh - this is terrible! I"m a grown woman! You can"t spank me."

"I just have. And there's much more to come, believe me. We've barely started." Gary smiled wolfishly, and reached for his slipper.

He raised his right hand and whacked the slipper down on Patricia's bottom. It made contact with a most satisfying "thwap" accompanied by a high pitched shriek from Patricia.

"Oh! Oh that hurts! It HURTS!"

"It's supposed to," he said, and whacked her again.

Very soon, the slipper had turned every inch of her bottom bright red. He paused to admire his handiwork, and briefly rubbed the burning crimsoned cheeks.
"Ohhhhh," sniffled Patricia. "Ohhhhhhh." She was confused. "It stings," she wailed. And so it did - but the whole experience had awakened feelings of desire. With a shock, she realised she was hugely turned on.

"Corner time now, young lady," pronounced Gary. "Go and stand over there. I want to see that red bottom on display."

"What? Stand in the corner like a naughty girl?!"

"Yes. You have a lot of catching up to do." He watched as she reluctantly obeyed and went to stand in the corner. "Hands on your head."

He moved towards her and tucked her skirt up, revealing her bare bottom. It glowed like a harvest moon.
"Good. Now you stay there while I admire the scenery. And as you stand there, you can reflect on your past crimes and look forward to being punished for each one of them."

"What - ALL of them?" Oh dear - there were a lot.

"Every single one," smirked Gary.

Gary moved back to the chair and sat there, admiring her red bottom. His mind was working overtime. What would he use next - wooden spoon? Wooden paddle? Leather paddle? Belt? The possibilities were endless. He smiled in anticipation.

"I shall leave you now, Patricia. And the next time you see me, I will bring a new implement to punish that naughty bottom of yours. I shall come and go through the little door in the eaves. It seems appropriate, somehow."

Patricia turned. Her eyes gleamed. "Can I ask you something, Gary?"

"Sure. Go ahead."

"When you were punished for the things I had stolen, did you ... did you ever get the cane?"

"Yes. I did."

"Oh. I don"t suppose that ... er ..."

"If you are asking to be caned, the answer is yes. But not straight away. We"ll work up to it," he grinned at her. "Deal?"

She grinned back at him. "Deal. Is tomorrow ok?"


Hope you enjoyed the story.  Lucy said she was sorry she hadn't found a man to spank her in the house though.  She wishing and hoping just like the rest of us spankos.
 Other stories by Lucy can be found on her blog, click here to visit.

Thanks so much Lucy for sharing this tale.

See you later for more Aimless Ramblings.