A Halloween to Remember

 By Flatfish

It had been a year to the day since Jemma, an attractive twenty-two year-old, had moaned to her husband Steve about Halloween boredom.

“It’s all very exciting for the kids coming around dressed as witches and ghosts for their Halloween treats,” she had said, “but what is there for grown-ups?”

“What do you want?” asked Steve.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she sighed, “something to look forward to, something exciting, something really scary, A Halloween to remember.”

“You don’t seem to be scared of much at all,” mused Steve. “You’re not afraid of spiders, horror films, the dark... Is there anything that scares you?”

Jemma thought for a bit but came up empty handed.

“What frightened you when you were a child?” asked Steve. “There must have been something.”

“Not really,” she shrugged. “Except maybe when I was in my late teens and my parents were mad at me. My mum used to do the classic ‘Jemma! Wait ‘till you’re father gets home!’ Jemma wagged her finger like an angry parent then pointed to the door. ‘Go to your room!’ she would yell.”

“And what would happen when your father came home?” Steve had asked.

“Actually, not much,” Jemma admitted. “My dad never laid a finger on me but it was fear of the unknown. Fear that one day I would push him too far and wind up over his knee getting my bottom soundly spanked. My grandma had given me that old wooden hairbrush that I still have in the dressing table drawer upstairs and I used to hide it under my pillow when I was in trouble, just in case Dad decided it was for something other than brushing my hair.”

“I’ve seen that brush,” Steve grinned. “I’ll bet it was pretty scary.”

“It certainly was,” admitted Jemma, rubbing her bottom as if to ease some imaginary sting. “I suppose it still scares me now, even though I’m a grown up and the threat of a spanking is long gone.”

Steve didn’t say anything, he just smiled to himself. The seeds of an idea had been planted and he started to think about the next Halloween, one that even Jemma would find scary. Too old for a spanking is she? We’ll see about that!


A year later, Halloween was back and Jemma was bored again.

The evening had been filled with the usual unremitting knocks at the door and youthful cries of “happy Halloween” and “trick or treat” from the parade of ghouls and spooks. The bowl of treats had emptied and the visits had become sporadic and had finally come to an end. Steve had gone out saying he needed to buy a bottle of wine and Jemma was alone in the house.

Jemma was bored. Bored, but starting to feel a little spooked. After the hustle and bustle of the evening the house now seemed unnaturally quiet. And the mood wasn’t helped by Steve who had been on edge all week.  They lived in a new build in a suburb of Leeds. The back garden of their house looked out over Kirkstall Abbey, the ruins of an old Cistercian monastery, and it was there that Steve said he had seen a ghost.

It had happened five days earlier but Steve wouldn’t let it go.  He’d burst into the room in a panic, claiming he’d seen a spectral apparition through the kitchen window. “It looked like a monk.” He’d said, “wrapped in a grey robe with its hood pulled up hiding its face.” It had floated across the Abbey grounds. Jemma had gone with Steve back into the kitchen to look out of the window but there was nothing to see.

As the week progressed Steve had become more and more agitated. He’d speculated on whether the ground the house was built on might once have been part of the Abbey. They might be living over the bones of the long dead inhabitants.

Jemma laughed the whole thing off, telling Steve he was letting his imagination rule his head. But after five days of Steve’s constant fretting and now all alone in the silent house, she was feeling very uneasy… and cold. She suddenly realised the room was getting colder. Jemma hugged herself, rubbing her arms to warm up. “Oh my god,” she mumbled. She remembered that people say the temperature drops when there are ghosts about. She looked around, half expecting to see a phantom.  And then, she heard a noise, a strange, scraping noise coming from the kitchen. She moved to the kitchen door. Her heart was pounding. She put her ear to the door and listened. There was no sound and she started to smile, amused by her own foolishness, but then it came again, louder. Trembling she took hold of the door knob and quietly turned it. Then, taking a grip on her courage, she took a deep breath and yanked the door open… Then she screamed!

Sitting in the dark, silhouetted by the moonlight that shone through the kitchen window, was the eerie figure of a monk. It turned its cowled head towards Jemma and raised its hand, pointing an accusing finger.

“Jemma Johnson,” it said, “daughter of evil, confess your sins!”

“Steve,” Jemma yelled, “you bastard! You scared me half to death!”

“I am the spirit of Brother Spankhard,” Steve answered. He stood and took a step towards her. “Jemma Johnson, on this All Hallows Eve, you stand accused of consorting with the Devil. Admit your allegiance or face the consequences.”

Jemma backed away into the lounge. “I’m not admitting anything,” she giggled, but then she saw what the monk was carrying in his right hand; it was Grandma’s old hairbrush. Her eye’s flicked in momentary panic from the brush to Steve’s face then back to the brush and that old familiar fear sent a shiver down her spine.

Steve raised the brush and tapped it against the palm of his hand. “Confess, my child, or your bottom will burn like the fires of Hell. Admit you are in league with Satan.”

“You… You wouldn’t dare!” said Jemma. She giggled again and scampered round the back of the couch. “I’m not in league with anyone,” she said.

Steve paced after her. Jemma moved around, keeping the couch between Steve and herself.

Steve moved to the left and Jemma mirrored his move. He moved to the right and she moved with him. Then Steve feinted a move to the right and took off to the left. It was a simple deception but it was enough. Jemma lost her advantage and tried to run but Steve caught her, wrapped a steely arm around her waist and spun her around, bending her over the back of the couch and holding her in place with a grip on the waistband of her jeans. He pinned her down with her face almost pushed into the cushions, her beautiful rounded bottom uppermost, her jeans stretched tight and her feet kicking ineffectually in the air.

“Now,” said Steve, raising the hairbrush, “do you admit your allegiance with the lord of darkness?”

Jemma knew she could end this just be announcing she didn’t want to play the game but she wasn’t about to do that. She certainly wasn’t bored; in fact she was really enjoying herself. The game thrilled her with a wild cocktail of emotions. Fear, of course; she’d never been spanked and now her bottom was raised and defenceless and about to be paddled if she said the wrong thing. But not just fear; there was also anticipation, curiosity and an overwhelming sexual excitement.

“No! I’m not in league with the Devil,” she said. “In fact I don’t believe in the Devil.”

“Lies!” cried Steve and he smacked the hairbrush down with a loud crack!

Pain flared in Jemma’s bottom, searing the right cheek. “Ow! Ow! Ow!” she yelled, “Steve that really hurt.” Her hand flew back to rub at the sting.

Steve waited a moment and when Jemma didn’t try to get up he continued. “Enough of your lies you wretched girl. Admit your guilt or I shall really unleash my wrath.”

“Do your worst,” said Jemma bravely. “I will never confess.”

Steve took her at her word. Taking a firm grip he set about soundly paddling her, speedily whacking one cheek then the other and feeling a long anticipated satisfaction in the smack of the brush on his wife’s beautiful shapely bottom.

Jemma kicked and howled and her hips writhed and danced as the pain mounted from a sharp sting in one cheek to an all-encompassing fire that engulfed her whole bottom. Rapidly the pain became unbearable, she took it as long as she could but at last gave in. “Owww! I confess.” she cried, “Please, please stop!”

Steve stopped spanking and pulled Jemma back onto her feet.  She stood red faced and dishevelled, on the brink of tears, rubbing her bottom. The spanking had stopped but somehow the sting seemed to keep growing.

Steve stepped towards Jemma and wrapped his arms around her. They kissed hungrily, stroking and clawing at each other. Jemma felt the bulge in Steve’s robe and grinned.

“Ooh Brother Spankhard, I don’t think you should be thinking thoughts like that.”

Steve slipped his left hand between them and loosened the button on Jemma’s waistband, then he slipped his right hand down the back of her jeans and panties, feeling the scorching heat of her smooth flesh as his hand circled and cupped her bare bottom. Jemma flinched a little then pressed her hips to Steve’s groin.

“Let’s go to bed”, said Steve.

“Mmmm… Not so fast Brother Spankhard,” said Jemma. “You’ve had my confession, aren’t you going to save my soul now?”

“And how do you propose I do that?” asked Steve with a quizzical smile.

Jemma put her lips to his ear and whispered. “I think you should put me over your knee and spank the Devil out of me.”

Steve was astonished. He hadn’t actually believed Jemma would accept a spanking at all. He only really expected to give her a Halloween scare and surely she must have a very sore bottom now after being paddled over the couch, but she was asking for more and he wasn’t going to disappoint her.

“I’ll just put the heating back on,” he said. “I turned it off for a bit of ghostly atmosphere. “

Jemma pulled a face and gave him a playful punch on the arm. Steve disappeared into the Kitchen to reset the boiler rubbing away the ache, “That’s going to cost you,” he said.

 Jemma picked up the hairbrush from the couch where Steve had dropped it and hid it under a cushion. She wanted to continue the spanking game but she’d had quite enough of Grandma’s hairbrush.

When Steve returned he was back in character. He sat on the couch and Jemma stood facing him. Steve reached forward and unzipped her jeans. “Take them off,” he ordered.

Jemma obediently kicked off her shoes and struggled her Jeans down revealing white cotton panties. She danced around a bit, pulling the jeans off then folded them neatly and laid them over a chair arm.

“Now take off your bra.”

Jemma looked puzzled but she pulled up her tee-shirt and unclipped the strap then pulled the shoulder straps off through her sleeves and dropped the bra onto the chair with her jeans.

Steve admired his wife, now dressed in a way he found extremely sexy; Just a short tee-shirt with her firm breasts and excited nipples straining against the material, and brief panties that would soon be coming down.

“Come here!” he demanded with a strict tone that shocked and thrilled Jemma.

She took a step towards him but hesitated, not daring to go any closer.  Steve reached out with both hands and gently took hold of Jemma’s slender waist. He drew her to his side and ordered her over his knee. Jemma nibbled her lip nervously and then fearfully lowered herself into position.

Steve paused to admire his wife’s beautiful body. He had fantasised about this moment so many times but had never dared share his dreams with Jemma. He ran his hands over the silky curve of her hips and waist then slipped his hands softly under her tee-shirt, stroking the smooth flesh of her back before reaching around to fondle her breasts. Jemma gripped his leg and sighed deeply. Steve moved back again and stroked his fingers down Jemma’s spine then moved his attention to the swell of her bottom. He slipped his fingers into the waistband of her panties and she raised her hips a little allowing him to ease the soft material over her cheeks and down to her knees. It had been fifteen minutes since Jemma‘s first spanking ended and Steve noted that her bottom was still a rosy pink. He slipped his fingers between her thighs and she parted her legs slightly allowing him to probe and caress her most intimate charms.

Then he returned his attention to the matter in hand; Jemma’s spanking.

“So, wanton female,” he said resting a hand on Jemma’s bottom. “You have confessed you’re allegiance to the Devil.  “Now I intend to thrash you within an inch of your life to drive the beast from your heart and free your soul.”

Jemma looked back over her shoulder. Had she bitten off more that she could chew? When she suggested Steve should spank the Devil out of her she had imagined it would be a fun spanking over her jeans but somehow she now found herself bare bottomed over his knee being threatened with the mother of all spankings. Steve patted her playfully on her right cheek and it was only then that she fully realised just how sore her bottom really was.

Steve raised his hand and smacked and the fire flared across Jemma’s bottom. She yelped and her feet gave an involuntary kick. A second smack had her writhing and by the third tears were running down her cheeks but it was exciting, thrilling and for some reason she wanted it to continue, long and hard.

“Spank me!” she cried. “Drive the devil out.”

Steve gripped her waist and pounded her bottom. Jemma went wild, writhing, kicking and howling. Her arm flew back but not to cover her bottom. She slipped her hand under her hips and in seconds drove herself to a frantic shuddering climax.

Steve stopped spanking. Jemma’s bottom had turned a deep red and she lay limply over his knee, sobbing, not knowing if she was crying because she’d been spanked or crying because she’d just experience such rich, intense sexual joy.

Steve gently helped Jemma to her feet.  “Now,” he said, “bed.”

Jemma’s panties had dropped to her ankles. She kicked them off and pulled off her tee-shirt.

Naked, she turned and started to walk away then she paused and gently rubbed her scarlet bottom. She looked back over her shoulder and said mischievously, “Ooh Brother Spankhard, I’m much too pure to have sex now.”

Steve made a dash for a cushion on the couch. He’d seen the hairbrush sticking out. “Right you little minx,” he said.

“Oh no you don’t!” chirped Jemma. She covered her bottom and scampered quickly away to the bedroom giggling.

The sex that night was fantastic for both of them. Afterwards they lay in bed glowing.

Jemma gave a deep contented sigh. “This has been the best Halloween ever,” she said. “Truly a Halloween to remember.”