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From: mrspraycan@aol.com (Mrspraycan)
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Subject: {ASSM} Remembering Lorraine:1/MrSpraycan
Date: Mon,  8 May 2000 21:10:33 -0400
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REMEMBERING LORRAINE: 1
by MrSpraycan

Sitting in this smoky bar, looking across the room at the late night crowd
maneuvering for partners, I see a young woman whose face looks familiar. Just
like it always is with old guys like me, it's an illusion. But the short perky
blonde really does look intensely like a girl from my neighborhood, when I was
a kid.
	Lorraine Wentworth was the youngest of three daughters, and the one most
inclined to get up to mischief. About the same age as me, and bright and
vivacious. One summer, when I was about 12 years old, my parents left me in the
care of the Wentworths for a few weeks. I believe it was at the time of the
worsening of my aunt's mysterious illness, from which, sadly, she did not
recover.
	The Wentworth's house, adjoining ours in the cul-de-sac in Dulwich, was a
mirror image of our own. And thus both reassuring and totally disorienting to
visit. The Wentworths made me welcome, even turning Lorraine out of her cozy
bedroom and putting her in with her next oldest sister to make space for me. 
Pa Wentworth was a stern, taciturn man, who worked for British Railways as a
ticket inspector. Mrs Wentworth - who always wanted to be 'Peggy', even to us
kids - was a kindly woman with a cherub's head of blonde hair, just like her
three daughters. To a lad like me, she seemed infinitely old, though I now
realize that she wasn't much beyond her mid-thirties at the time of my stay.
Her daughters were always flattering her by pointing out fanciful resemblances
to Petula Clark or Lesley Gore, singers of the time. I'm sure if I met her now,
I'd find her very attractive.
	The two older sisters were already dating, and had acquired great license to
come and go from the house. Not so with Lorraine, who seemed to be the
scapegoat for anything that went wrong. She was regularly given penances such
as doing the washing up. And I even saw her mother slap her calves with a belt
on one occasion, when she answered back too cheekily.
	One evening, after the main course of dinner was over, Peggy began recounting
an incident that had occurred while playing tennis in the tiny backyard. Pa
Wentworth listened in stony silence to Lorraine's feeble excuses about how the
glass frames over his marrows had been broken.
	Finally, he spoke. "That's it, then, young lady. I don't blame Roger here,
because he doesn't know any better. But you do. Luckily, it's bath night for
you. Isn't that right, Peg?"
	Her mother nodded, rather smugly.
	"So I'm going to ask your mother to make sure you get a proper cleaning up,
and a good spanking, Lorraine."
	The other sisters giggled, and Lorraine turned a deathly white. "Daddy! No!
That's mean!"
	"It's only fair," he replied. "It's my firm believe that if you take the
correct measures with a naughty girl at the right point, you save yourself lots
of trouble in later years."
	Her sisters tried to suppress grins. They know - as I came to learn in later
months - what flirts they have become, and how their reputations are spreading
among the neighborhood boys.
	"Oh, Daddy," Lorraine said miserably, tears in the corners of her eyes. "I
don't deserve it. I don't!"
	Peggy leaned over and sharply slapped Lorraine on her leg, just above the
knee.
	"Alright, little miss! No treacle pudding for you tonight. Get upstairs right
now, and start running the bath." Another slap, and Lorraine leapt from her
seat and rushed out.
	Treacle pudding was served - and delicious it was too - while in the far
distance I could hear the roar of the bath filling.
	Peggy nodded to Pa, and left the table. The other sisters grinned to each
other, then went into the living room to listen to some records.
	I thought I was being subtle, quietly sneaking upstairs. My excuse would be
that I was retrieving my library book. But my hope was to catch a glimpse of
what was happening to Lorraine. No one noticed me as I stole into my room.
	My bedroom - Lorraine's bedroom - was opposite the bathroom on the narrow
landing. I pushed the door to, leaving a narrow crack to watch through. Peggy
appeared from the couple's bedroom, a thick leather paddle in her hand, and a
short bamboo cane under her arm. In the bathroom, I could see Lorraine siting
on the edge of the bath, swishing the water back and forth. The old Ascot gas
heater wheezed and spluttered, slowly filling the bathtub.
	Seeing Peggy, Lorraine leapt to her feet, standing at attention. She was
wearing her pleated skirt, her long white socks and sandals, her white blouse,
her cardigan. Quite polite and formal.
	"Good, my dear," her mother said in a kind voice that had a hint of
condescension. "Now, you need to get ready, don't you?"
	"Yes, mummy," Lorraine replied, anxiously.
	"Take them off. All of them," Peggy ordered.
	I gaped in amazement, not daring to move. Lorraine and I had played a game of
"I'll show you mine, if you'll show me yours," just a few days before. She'd
cheated, denying me a proper look at what was in her panties, though I'd
displayed my willy to her, quite openly. I didn't think getting a look at her
swelling breasts and hard pink nipples was a perfect exchange.
	Lorraine undressed quickly, as girls do. Her naked body was pale, shapely. I
found myself staring at her round bottom, and admiring her legs. Peggy bent
down towards her daughter, who was several inches shorter, and lifted her chin
so their eyes met.
	"We're not just rewarding you for what you did with Roger today. You've been
naughty for weeks, and asking for trouble, haven't you?" she said sternly.
	"Yes, mummy," was the quivering reply.
	"I've not decided exactly what, but you're keeping a secret from me, Lorraine.
Something very naughty. Something to do with your panties..."
	"No, mummy," Lorraine said defensively.
	"Oh?" Peggy replied. "Then hand me the ones you are wearing today, will you?"
	I see Lorraine bend and pick up her panties, and hand them to her mother, her
face blushing bright red. Peggy stared, then sniffed at them. She smiled,
without any humor in her expression.
	"Oh? And how naive am I supposed to be?" she growled. "Is this something you
are learning from your classmates? Or your sisters? Playing with yourself,
young lady?"
	"Mummy..." Lorraine said feebly. "I can't help it..."
	Peggy shook her head.
	"No more protests, Lorraine. I'm going to give you a proper punishment bath
tonight."
	"No!" my playmate shrieked.
	"Yes, Lorraine," is the firm reply. "I see you remember what I mean, hmm?"
	By now I had my trousers unzipped, and my penis in my hand. It had grown
immensely in the past few days, perhaps from proximity to so many attractive
young women. And it was not going to be denied a massage, not now.
	Lorraine was lifted into the tub, kicking and protesting. Now I got to see
what she had hidden from me. Her sweet little pussy was sprouting more hair
than my cock, although the paleness of her fur made that less obvious. All I
saw was a swelling mound and a flash of pink, denying me the mysteries of
'holes' and other bizarre, unfathomable features I'd heard so many prurient
stories about from other boys.
	Lorraine was held down in the hot water for several minutes, and Peggy
lectured her in a low whisper. I caught a few phrases about modesty, decency
and cleanliness.
	"Now, stand up," she finally ordered her daughter. "Stay in the tub. Hands on
your head, and legs wide apart. Come on."
	Taking a rough-looking scrub brush from the window ledge, she soaped it.
	"Oh, mummy, no," Lorraine pleaded.
	"If you don't want to be scrubbed raw, then learn to be a clean girl," Peggy
replied, with no sympathy.
	And Peggy proceeded to vigorously scrub Lorraine's breasts and nipples, and
the innermost cracks of her genitals, just as if she were scouring pots at the
sink. She bent her over and attacks the crease of her buttocks and her anus
with the same vigor. Lorraine's pitiful cries didn't deter her for a moment.
When she had done, she allowed Lorraine to press a flannel soaked in cold water
to her sore flesh. Then ordered her: "Out of the bath, and bend over. Touching
your toes."
	I can imagine how sensitive Lorraine's skin was, after so long in a warm bath.
And I rubbed excitedly as Peggy paddles her buttocks, a frenzied expression on
her face. The girl's yelps were loud and urgent, but no one was going to come
to her rescue. When Lorraine's buttocks were crimson, the cane was used to
produce an overlapping tracery of thin red welts. By this time, she was sobbing
uncontrollably.
	Peggy hauled her roughly to her feet, and taking the paddle, slapped
Lorraine's breasts and pubis for several minutes.
	I was too busy wanking to think about what was going on. Suddenly, I saw Peggy
exit the bathroom, dragging Lorraine by her wrist. The girl was on her knees,
scarcely able to stand. I realized that Peggy, in her rage, had forgotten that
bedrooms have been reassigned during my visit. And she pushed the door open, to
find me squatting, trying to stuff my well-rubbed cock back into my clothes.
	"And what's this!" she shrieked in rage. She let go of Lorraine's wrist, and
let her tumble, sobbing to the floor.
	"This is becoming a house of masturbators! We must be possessed by devils!"
she shouted, red-faced. She grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me roughly.
	"I'm sorry, Peggy, I didn't mean to...." I protested.
	"Oh? And do you think I'll not report this to your parents, when they
return...?"
	"Please, don't..." I could foresee the consequences. Lectures, penalties, lost
pocket money, extra Sunday School. Months of misery, angst and recriminations.
But, no whippings, at least. In my mind I was not sure, even then, which was
worse.
	"It's your bath night tomorrow, isn't it, Roger?" she said after a pause.
	"Yes, Peggy."
	She smiled, catlike.
	Reflecting on the alternatives I was being presented, I nodded my assent.

Copyright (c) 2000 by MrSpraycan

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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