Tim goes to the Seaside

After several years of resolutely refusing to spend any money on a holiday, I had finally decided to do something this year.

Of course, it had to be on the cheap, so I had booked a room in a bed and breakfast in a traditional seaside town.

I don’t know why I chose to go there, I had never been to such a place before, and it had never really appealed to me.

But there I was, a little lost and confused, but desperate to do something constructive.

Mrs Johnston’s Bed and Breakfast was just as fables would have you believe.

A stern landlady in her 50’s, with a list of rules as long as your arm that must be obeyed.

Bedrooms had only the essentials of a bed, chest of drawers, and a washbasin.

A shared bathroom was located down the corridor, which must be cleaned after use.

At first, I felt a little nervous at the sight of all the rules pinned up inside the door to my room.

Although a little frightening Mrs Johnston seemed a reasonable enough person, and she quickly decided that a pleasant young man like myself needed looking after.

She always welcomed me with a smile, no other guests had that privilege, told me all the best places to go for a walk, and also told me all the places I should avoid around the town.

I started to feel really comfortable in her presence.

So it was, with Mrs Johnston’s recommendations ringing in my ears, I set off for a walk along a pleasant coastal pathway.

It was a beautiful day, a gentle breeze providing comfort from the burning sun, the sound of seagulls above my head, the waves crashing against the rocks below.

The smell of the seaside brought back all those wonderful memories of childhood

the caravan we would stay in every summer

the civil engineering projects my father and I would undertake in the sand.

Lost in my thoughts I somehow took a detour off the main path and rapidly started to find myself on an increasingly overgrown path.

Reaching the crest of a slight rise I stopped suddenly, frozen in amazement at the sight in front of me.

I had stumbled upon a naughty beach.

Regaining my senses I ducked down to hide behind the vegetation.

I don’t know why but I instinctively reached for my camera bag, fitting my longest lens, and then trying to focus on any particularly attractive women I could find below.

It was just as I realized that my lens just wasn’t long enough that I heard a twig snap behind me.

In a panic, I looked behind to see who it was and was shocked to see a police constable.

I started trembling with fear; authority figures had always filled me with dread, always making me feel guilty even if I had done nothing wrong, but this time I had.

“And what do you think you are doing?”

I guessed the question was probably rhetorical, I couldn’t think of anything to say anyhow.

“Hmm, stand up young man!”

I got to my feet, clutching my camera tightly.

I was sure that my fear was written right across my face, I was never much good at hiding my feelings.

“Are you local or a visitor?”

“Visitor sir.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Mrs Johnston’s Bed and Breakfast.”

“Good, she’ll do nicely.

Right young man I am going to give you a choice, you may spend the night in the cells, or you can let Mrs Johnston deal with you as she sees fit.”

A night in the cells sounded more than I could bear;

there could be only one choice, even if I wasn’t sure what it meant.

The constable marched me back along the path, back to Mrs Johnston’s Bed and Breakfast.

Thankfully as we walked through the more crowded areas of the town the constable chose to walk slightly behind me.

I doubt he really appreciated how much gratitude I felt for that small action.

Mrs Johnston’s face clearly betrayed her feelings of the initial shock, and then dismay to see me arrive with the constable.

I couldn’t bear to look at her,

I felt awful for disappointing her so much,

I just wanted to earth to open up beneath my feet.

Looking at the floor I was unable to see her expression change from dismay to annoyance.

“Constable Jefferies,” greeted Mrs Johnston matter of factly.

“Mrs Johnston,” he replied.

“I believe this young man is one of your guests?”

“Yes he certainly is.

I thought he seemed like a very nice man, am I to assume that I was mistaken?”

“I found him spying on the naughty beach, with his camera.”

“Well Timothy,” I cringed.

I hated being called by my full name.

“I am very disappointed in you.

I thought you were better than the usual rabble that comes through these doors.

That is disgusting behavior!”

Words could not describe how I felt,

for some reason, it was really important to me to gain the approval of Mrs Johnston.

But now I had ruined all that.

“I’m really sorry Mrs Johnston!”

I sniffed; my lower lip was starting to quiver.

I knew I was on the verge of tears.

“Right young man,” said the constable.

“I am going to leave you with Mrs Johnston.

If you do as she tells you, all this will be forgotten.

If you don’t, then she will give me a ring and I will be back round here to take you to the cells.

Do you understand?”

I nodded my head dejectedly.

As the constable left I could feel Mrs Johnston glaring at me.

“Timothy, follow me.”

She led me up the stairs to her own bedroom.

The room smelled so much more fresh and homely than the rest of the house.

It seemed to be the only room that some care and attention had been lavished upon.

Mrs Johnston pulled out the chair from her dressing table,

Turning it around it face me, and then sat down on it, carefully stroking away the creases in her skirt.

“Now lie over my lap.

You, my boy, are in for a spanking.”

I stood rooted to the spot.

I first I couldn’t believe my ears, but her look of impatience hurried me up.

I tottered over and slowly began to lower myself over her.

She impatiently grabbed my arm tugging me down firmly.

“Normally my guests can just expect to receive the hairbrush from me.

But because it is you I think I will use my hand as well.”

A life of maintaining a guesthouse had turned this large woman into quite a powerful woman.

as well as my bottom quickly found out.

The spanks were hard and fast, covering every area of my bottom.

Very soon I was wriggling around, as the pain became increasingly unbearable.

“Please Mrs Johnston! I’m really sorry!” I pleaded, tears welling up in my eyes.

“Not quite enough.” Her spanks continued for a little while longer, before finally, thankfully, she stopped.

“Now get up and go and stand in that corner, hands on your head.”

I desperately wanted to rub my bottom, but I didn’t dare to disobey Mrs Johnston.

I so desperately wanted her to like me again; I couldn’t bear to disappoint her again.

Just as the heat was starting to subside, Mrs Johnston decided to call an end to my corner time.

I looked nervously at the heavy hairbrush she was holding as I moved back over to her lap.

“Now Timothy, this is going to really hurt, be a good boy and everything will be alright.”

Her words were soft and reassuring, it felt so right to be over the lap of this wonderful woman.

Smack!

The pain stunned me.

It was incredible, far, far worse than the hand spanking.

Smack!

I couldn’t take it, it was too much.

Smack!

“ouuuuuuuuch!”

Smack!

“Please Mrs Johnston.

It hurts!”

Smack!

“Just be brave.”

Smack!

“It’ll all be over soon.”

Smack!

“Pleaseeeeeeeeeee!” I was sobbing.

Smack!

“Nearly over.”

Smack! Smack! Smack!

The last two were the worst of the lot.

My bottom throbbed angrily.

I twitched around, desperate for some signal that it was okay for me to reach up and touch it.

“Now get up and give me a hug.”

I scrambled to my feet and reached over to hug her tightly.

She patted me affectionately on the back.

“Good boy.

Now go to your room.

I’ve got supper to make.”