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They had about one minute to prepare for what would be a birds eye view of Jane getting spanked. In the distance I saw the engineer gawking and then heard the shrill whistle of the train. I began to paddle Jane's wonderful naked bottom cheeks. The paddle fell rapidly alternating from one globe to another. Jane for her part really got into the action and struggled in my grasp, twisting her bottom and acting every bit the unrepentant spanked child. Jane isn't know to be a big crier, but for this occasion she mustered everything she had and howled like a banshee. Even with the roar of the train, I'm sure everyone could hear Jane shriek, "YOWWWWIIIEEEE, NOOOOOO, OW OW OW OWWWIEEEE!!! MY BOTTOM IT BURNS, IT BURRRRNNNNSSSS!!! By the time the passenger cars began to pass, Jane's bottom cheeks were a bright red and she was bawling like a naughty girl. Since I knew that I would be busy with Jane's bare bottom cheeks, and Jane would be concerned with the burning in that region, neither of us. Beneath my name was a complex list of what I could only think was my personal character record. The major headings read: Physical, Mental and Social. The three words were in bold and placed left to right respectively under my name. Beneath them was a tree of related skills, traits and abilities, all of which linked back to their parent attribute. Some crossed over, connecting between two or even all three branches of the tree. There were hundreds!“Wow,” I murmured as I stood back to take in the scope of it. The further down the tree I read, the smaller the text became. The labels near the top were more generalised, such as: ‘Strength,’ or ‘Fortitude,’ or ‘Charm,’ while down lower I could see more specialised and specific things like: ‘Running Speed,’ ‘Negotiation,’ and ‘Vocabulary.’When I asked Dianne why there were no numbers next to any of the stats, she simply asked me to wait a moment, and soon after the tree was populated with numbers next to each one. I was alarmed at first,.
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"The look on her face was priceless.*I stood naked in my bedroom in front of the long mirror my late Aunt had bought many years ago.I didn't know what to expect as I looked myself up and down with my sleeping cock hanging down to mid-thigh. I thought I'd look different somehow. More mature. Worldly wise. Now that I'd had proper sex with proper women. But I still looked the same. Endearingly goofy, my mother had once called me long ago and she was probably right. I did have the look of a twenty-first century Fred Flinstone about me. I glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It had just gone five and the world outside was bathed in a lovely orange glow as the sun set slowly in the west behind a layer of clouds.Time for a quick shower and a shave. On the bed were clean underwear - check, a clean shirt - check, and a pair of freshly laundered socks - check. I was finally good to go.I glanced over at the bungalow across the way and wondered what Ruth was up to as the time for our little.

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