Amish Spanking Stories

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Amish Spanking Stories
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Young man finds spanking fun in antique store.
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God, another aisle of Midwestern, north woods, "gone fishin'" kitsch. Stanton harbored a roiling caldron of irritation for pulling off the interstate. The billboards boasted the best antiques in the state, but the tiny, central Wisconsin town offered a meager two shops. While it felt good to stretch his legs, the promising detour appeared to be a waste of time.
For years Stanton had obsessed over an unusual quest. In his youth, a long wooden lint brush had adorned his grandmother's dresser, bristle-side up, among the arrayed feminine vials, powder puffs, and fashion trinkets. He recalled with conflicting sentiment the brush's bite when his pranks short-fused Gram's charity. Tales of his tender cheeks delighted his switchy gal-pals who inevitably wondered if he'd inherited this implement of domestic maintenance, both for his occasional comeuppance, and their own. Sadly, it was snatched up by a collector a decade ago in her estate sale while Stanton was away at college. His search for a reasonable facsimile had paralleled for years his sales calls throughout his five-state territory, bringing him, at present, face-to-face with a carved black bear scaling a hat stand.
Muttering foul judgments, Stanton exited and made for his car. At the corner, though, he spied a mid-century storefront signed "The Amish Woodshed." Thinking it couldn't be worse; he wandered over and poked in. Quainter than the dépôt de merdeacross the way, he divined quality with the enticing aromas of new-cut cedar and fresh shellac. The collection of spare furnishings intimated unhurried hours crafting the simple wonders of utilitarian durability. Stanton felt a small rush. This could be a treat.
He meandered at an aficionado's pace, gliding fingers across precise joinery and sampling the austere wooden chairs. A dozen pieces, no more. Each with a singular purpose, pared down to its functional essence. What would life be like with hardly a worry beyond spiritual maturation while planing a table leg to ethereal perfection?
Then he saw it. Perched on a breakfront shelf among a collection of brushes for bath time scrubbing and tangled hair taming, a varnished cherry wood lint brush with a long bulbous handle, perfectly shaped for a biggish hand as his. The business end was an oblong oval, flat as the Dakota plains with an underside crop of short horsehair bristles. Excited and impressed, Stanton brinked poetic, the entire configuration exquisitely purposed for flecking off remnant pet-sheds and, better still, the rhythmic conflagration of a wonton lass's upturned summits.
He absently settled on a nearby straight-back chair and turned the wooden implement over in his hands. The craft was old-world, superb. After caressing the course hair tips, he turned it over and swatted his palm to appreciate its full sensual spectrum. It was then he realized his actions were studied.
A gray-haired matron in traditional black dress, cape, and apron peered across her wire-rimmed readers then turned to a twentyish woman clad in a plain blue dress with a matching apron and white bonnet. She, on the other hand, stood transfixed by Stanton's gestures. The elder nudged her fledgling with a hip-bump and the rosy-cheeked waif slowly approached while her co-worker faded to the back room.
"It's a beautiful brush. Isn't it, sir?"
Stanton held it up, evaluating a rare gem. "It's wonderful. Feels good in my hand."
"You handle it well." The frame of the young woman's white bonnet accentuated the blush crossing her cheeks.
He took in her round, Germanic face, pouty lips, sky-blue eyes, and blond wisps peeking out at her jaw line. "My grandmother had a lint brush like this. Very old." He laughed. "The brush, that is. It worked wonders."
His smile was returned with, "I would imagine so."
"I've looked a long time for one like this."
Stanton looked up abruptly. "Me? Oh no, I have a condo in the city. No place or time for pets. Still..." Stanton slid the flat wood side back and forth across his thigh as he held her gaze. "It would come in handy once in a while."
Her eyes lit up. "Oh my, yes. It's delightfully multi-purpose."
Their eyes locked with cautious intent. A glint in hers betrayed a worldliness he didn't expect from such a controlled upbringing. He had read an article about the Amish's recent tradition of the walk around, where the youth could experience the modern world before returning to the fold. This girl, or woman, though, seemed several years beyond that period. On the other hand, each locale had its own variations. He slapped the brush once in his palm and she jumped. "I'm curious about the store name," he said.
"Not much of a woodshed. It seems more like an old diner or something."
"It's been a number of things. Most recently an art gallery, but that went out of business about five years ago." She looked suddenly at her feet, her voice softer. "The woodshed's out back."
Now her thumbs knit circles around each other in her clasped hands. She looked up. "Do you want to try it?"
"This?" He held up the brush as his heart pummeled the lining of his herringbone sport coat. Not sure she meant what he thought, he joked. "Why? Do you have animals here?"
She laughed. "No, silly. Follow me."
Stanton eyed the undulations under her calf-length dress as she headed for the back door. He glanced quickly around. The older woman was nowhere to be seen. Feeling suddenly in another world, he hoofed after her.
"My name is Nicole," she said as they crossed a quaint courtyard to a shingled outbuilding hemmed in by a head-high fence, also meticulously constructed.
He watched her struggle to unlatch the door. "Nice to meet you," he said and reached around her to lift the heavy hardware.
"And most definitely you." She stepped in and swept her arm inward. "Here it is. The old woodshed."
It was finished in pine boards with a scattering of furniture apparently stored."Is this authentic?" he asked.
"Sort of. It was moved here from a nearby farm."
When his eyes adjusted to the dim, dust-glittered light filtering through two small windows, he spied a tall stool in the corner, a twin to one he saw in the store. She followed his gaze and went to it, picked it up, and placed it in the center. She clasped her hands behind her back and with her rounded chest thrust out, said decidedly, "I'm ready, sir."
Stanton needed a few moments for his mind to catch up. "Well...yes...indeed you are." With no more prodding, he sat himself on the stool and placed the heels of his black loafers firmly against the lowest rung.
Confused, Stanton stuttered, "Uh, of course." He handed her the brush and started to stand, thinking that Nicole must have interpreted his comments about his grandmother differently and intended to give him a taste of the brush.
"I prefer a warm up," she said matter of factly then came to his side and crawled up over his lap. Clearly experienced at this, Nicole grabbed a side rung with one hand while holding the brush in the other. Arched such, she bent her legs up, crossed her ankles, and when he hesitated, wiggled her bottom.
He needed no further prompting. Stanton cupped his hand around her round bottom and acquainted himself with her shape with an extended caress. In so doing, he detected something unexpected underneath. Lace. And in a provocative, cheek-revealing cut. He had a suspicion that he would address in short order. But first, the young lady had made a request.
Stanton landed a series of light but deliberate swats on her malleable curves, first warming the perimeter then the pert tops. Slowly he increased the intensity zeroing in on the hyper-sensitive clefted rise just above her thighs. This received a decidedly pleasurable response judging by her lowing and lifted hips. He became enamored of the loose folds of her cotton dress, sliding the gathered fabric across her curves between spanks. Suddenly wanting to see more, he pulled the hem to her waist, revealing, as suspected, high-cut black lace panties offering flirtatious peeks of her well-pinked skin.
"Just as I suspected," he said. "You're not Amish, are you?"
She giggled and looked back over her shoulder. "No, sir. It's a summer job. I love these outfits. So old-school." Once again she taunted with her wiggling bottom. "And I like the perks."
"Perks?" he laughed as he delivered a sharp swat on her exposed skin. "What perks?"
"You'd be surprised how many brushes we sell since I started working here."
Stanton sat there, one arm around her waist, the other aimlessly toying with the fringes of her lace panties, smiling. "Stand up."
Nicole righted herself, a little tipsy, and blew some hair strands from her face.
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a neatly ironed and folded handkerchief then handed it to her. "It's clean."
Her broad faced clouded with puzzlement.
"You're a very naughty young lady," he continued. "You'll need it. Now hand me the brush."
Understanding, Nicole handed over the brush and clasped the handkerchief in her hands meekly behind her back.
Stanton lifted her dress and bunched it up by her waist. "Hold this up, please." When she grabbed the folds, he slid his fingers into her lacy waistband and pulled her panties to mid-thigh revealing an enticing crop of blonde. He perched up on the stool again, pulled her across his lap, and positioned her rosy cheeks over his thighs.
"You deceived me," he said and grazed the hairbrush across her curved skin. "I'm going to be your best repeat customer, but only if you never hide anything from me again. Do you understand?"
Stanton had to suppress a laugh when Nicole stuffed his wadded handkerchief in her mouth and responded with another wiggle of her butt. What he didn't see was how tightly she closed her eyes upon hearing the rustle of his clothes as his arm rose. Nor did he see her smile as the flat back of the finely crafted implement arced down with an impact neither could ever have anticipated.
Very nice story, definitely a tease.
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Erotic Couplings Amish Discipline Ch. 2
Young Amish girl finds couple's sex toys.
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After leaving Amon, my emotions were running pretty high. However I was looking forward, more than ever to having Beth do the cleaning and chores in the house. I would have to pick her up at her farm and then return her after work. This was always pleasant to see her beautiful body and pretty face. It started out as a quiet relationship and I surmised it was because of the beating her father had given her and the exposure of her naked body to my view that caused her to be quiet and reserved.
The weeks went by and I never tired of watching her gracefully go about the chores. We still hadn't gotten very far with our conversation and I still wanted to get closer to her, "if you know what I mean". On some mornings when Beth is working, I like to go jogging and am usually gone for one to two hours. But it was one of those hot summer days and the humidity was high. I just didn't feel like doing the full routine and turned back after only a few minutes. I was wearing my jogging shorts and an old T-shirt which was now soaked and sweaty.
I needed to get in shower and clean up. As I entered the house the air conditioning had come on and was already cooling the temperature down. I made my way up the stairs wondering where Beth was cleaning. The upstairs window air conditioning was running in the bedroom and was making quite a noise. As I entered the master bedroom I saw Beth standing in front of the dresser with her back to me. She couldn't see me come in and with the noisy air conditioning, she couldn't hear me either. I slipped around the door and stood with my back to the wall, so I could observe what she was doing. Much to my surprise she was in the drawer that contained my underwear and also the place that my wife and I keep some of our play toys.
Beth had found the custom made dildo that we used to play with. The dildo is one of those kits that you can order and then make a casting of your own cock. It was something that we both wanted to do and the results are very realistic. Now I'm not huge by any means, but my cock is about 8 1/2" and is 1 1/2" thick. When I made the mould, I was amazed that it showed all the veins and even made a nice casting of my balls. Now I was watching someone other than my wife play with this dildo and my own cock rose to the occasion. I watched Beth's small hands stroking the dildo and imagined her stroking my own cock, and yet she was stroking my cock or yet it seemed that way. My hand went down and I could feel how hard I was getting. I knew that this might be the opportunity that I had been waiting for. I stood there transfixed with the moment. Beth ran her hands up and down the dildo feeling the texture and squeezing the spongy rubber. She felt the well-hung balls and gently squeezed them. I was sure that I could feel her doing this same thing to me. Then she took the dildo and placed near her face to see if she could smell the aroma that might have been left behind. She placed the head of the dildo against her lips and licked the end. I thought I might explode right there and then. I couldn't wait much longer and had to seize the moment.
"Beth" I shouted, "what are you doing". She froze and her head snapped around, knowing that I had caught her. The blood drained from her face and she couldn't move, her hand still clutching the dildo.
I slowly walked over next to her. Her head dropped and her breathing got heavier. I thought she was going to cry. I said once more "Beth what were you doing in my drawer." She just looked at me but didn't answer.
Beth should I tell your father what you were doing! Suddenly I could see fear in her face and she started to plead with me not to tell Amon. "Please, please don't tell my father." She begged. "I will do anything that you want, just don't tell my father." At this point I needed to push the envelope even further.
"Beth," I said, "would Amon beat you with the strap again."
"Would he do other things to you also Beth?"
"Beth if you don't want me to tell your father, I want to hear the whole story. Please let's go sit down on the bed and you can tell me."
With that I took her hand and led her to the bed. She was still clutching my dildo in the other hand.
Beth started her story telling me that it was several months ago and her mother had taken the rest of the family over to an uncle's farm, leaving her father and her to do chores. Beth was in the barn cleaning the stalls when she begins the story.
"I was raking the hay around and just sort of daydreaming. I have begun to notice things that are changing in my body and have become aware of animals and what they do when mating. I have started to notice the things that hang down on male animals and especially the horses and bulls. I am quite intrigued in the interest that these animals are now having for one another, both females and males. It was sort of a lazy morning and I was watching the pony in the next stall. He was still young, but his thing was hanging down and swinging from side to side as he walked around the stall. I wondered if I could get next to him and maybe just touch his thing. I went into the stall and took his halter and tied him up against the rail so he couldn't run around the stall.
"At first the pony seemed nervous, but I just kept talking to him and rubbing his back and down around his belly. He seemed to calm down as I rubbed him. I kept moving closer down and under his belly, closer to his thing. As I got closer I could see it was starting to get longer and thicker. Then my hand brushed against his thing and he flinched. Finally after several minutes the pony let me rub my hands up and down the length of his shaft. It now had grew to about 20" and was as big around as my arm. I knew that I was stimulating him and he was feeling the need to mate. I kept rubbing up and down his shaft and had knelt down so I could see the whole thing. I just couldn't stop; I had to see what was going to happen. As I worked his thing up and down, he became more and more excited. Then his feet and legs went rigid and his thing started spraying a hot gooey liquid all over the floor. It got on my hands and was spraying all over my shoes. I started to giggle at what had happened and then I felt it.
"It was a large hand and it grabbed by the arm. I looked up and saw the angry look on my father's face. With one movement, he jerked me to my feet and half drug me towards the house. His breathing was heavy as we went up the steps and through the door to the house. On the way through he grabbed the strap off the wall and I knew I was in for a beating.
"He pushed me over to the table and laid me across it, the way he had done when you were here before. This time though, he ripped my dress from me and left me standing there in my panties and bra. He just stood there looking at me, as if he was now seeing me for the first time. His breathing got faster and heavier as he stood looking at my half naked body. Then turned me around and bent me over the table and his big hands yanked my panties down and off my thighs. He left them dangling around my feet. Then he started to feel my bottom and let his hands run up and down my thighs, pushing up higher until he came in contact with the folds of my vagina. He took one of his large fingers and prodded in between my lips and I could feel the moisture lubricating his finger. As he was breathing heavier, he was mumbling something I couldn't understand, but I knew it was somewhere between being angry and excited by touching his oldest daughter. Then I felt his other hand reach up and undo my bra and push it away from my breasts.
"The next thing I knew the strap landed across my bottom. He struck again and again until my bottom was raw and burning from the leather strap. I was crying and trying to plead with him. He roared back that he was going to teach me to get the male species excited, like I had done to the pony. I lay there sobbi
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