Spanking Chronicles: Bettys Boot Camp (The Training Of Betty)

Some spanking books are romantic tales that are interspersed with erotic spankings.  Some spanking books are stories regarding domestic discipline relationships and include both erotic and disciplinary spankings.  Other spanking books are more salacious by providing spankings for the reader with little else thrown in.

This is how I would classify the first book in the Spanking Chronicles.  There is very little background information provided to let the reader understand the relationship between Betty and Michael.  We are simply thrust into this concept of a week of training that Betty needs to undergo in order to be prepared to be the kind of wife that Michael expects.  I was constantly surprised by the lack of affection and tenderness between these two characters that you would normally expect to see between two people who plan to marry.

The expectations that Michael had for Betty were rather high and perhaps unrealistic.  The mistakes that Betty made were entirely foolish and quite frankly annoying.  And the punishments were inevitable and frequent.

She walked quickly back to the cottage and from the moment of arriving there, a series of temptations led her inexorably forward. First of all, when she thought to try it, she found the cottage door open. When they stayed in sight of the cottage, they never bothered to lock the door. Today they had ventured further than they intended, but forgotten to go back and make the place secure. Once she went in, she happened to see the car keys dangling on a hook behind the door.
 
Michael had not yet discovered that she had no meat for tonight’s evening meal, that they were running short of potatoes, and that she had only carrots to give him, for the third evening running. She needed to make a trip to the shops, but she was afraid to tell him because they had only been yesterday and the fact that they were lacking things was entirely due to her bad management. If she parked the car EXACTLY where he’d left it last, he wouldn’t notice she’d borrowed it. She wasn’t breaking the law; she’d passed her driving test; it was just that Michael was so unreasonably possessive about the damned vehicle.
 
She grabbed her purse, opened the car with the remote just like she had seen Michael do, and slid into the driving seat. The car was parked on the other side of the cottage from where Michael had gone along the cliffs, so he would never see her pull out. It was the perfect crime opportunity, she thought to herself, with nonetheless a certain feeling of dread.
 
She drove gently and sedately to the town, parked in a space that was easy to get into and out of, made her purchases, and started back, congratulating herself that all had gone well so far. She even managed to put the roof down: she might as well enjoy the one time she was likely to be driving this car.
 
What happened next was not something she had foreseen. A tractor veered out of a gateway in front of her. She just managed to stop, but the high wheels of the tractor threw a quantity of liquid mud right into the interior of Michael’s car, as well as liberally coating its bonnet. The man waved to her as if to dismiss the whole event as a trifle, but Betty knew that none of what had happened – least of all her blatant taking of the car without permission – would be a trifle in Michael’s eyes when he found out, which he surely would now.
 
In fact, when Betty got back, Michael was waiting for her by the cottage door. Little had it availed her to notice exactly where the car had been parked.
 
With one stern glance, Michael took in the opened roof, the mud inside and outside the car, the shopping bags and Betty’s frightened face.
 
“We’ll sort this mess out first,” he said tight-lipped. “And then.”
 
Together they wiped and washed the upholstery, then closed the roof of the car and hosed down its paintwork. All the while, Betty felt the almost, almost but not quite pleasurable fluttering feeling in her stomach that preceded a well-earned punishment at Michaels’ hands. But it was to be no ordinary affair.
 
He made her sit down in one of the cottage’s armchairs and confess the whole story. Then he asked:
 
“What was the worst of your crimes in all this, do you think?”
 
“Taking your car without permission?” Betty said hesitantly.
 
“No,” said Michael. “Underestimating me. I knew you needed to go shopping; I left the cottage door open on purpose, and I left the car keys visible on purpose. I didn’t think you’d have the gall to go through with it but I wanted to see how far you would go.”
 
“And the tractor?”
 
“Don’t be impudent!” Michael thundered. “I didn’t organise that! But you could have had an accident – did you ever consider that?”
 
He thought for a moment. “This has got to be something lasting, something you’ll remember.”
 
Whatever was he plotting? Betty wondered. Didn’t he think his normal spankings were memorable?
 
“For the whole of this evening and the whole of tomorrow,” Michael decreed, “you will wear an apron instead of a skirt and your bottom will be bare. At any, and I mean ANY suggestion of sloppiness or insolence, I will take it upon myself to spank you there and then, where you stand, with any instrument that comes to hand.”
 
Phew, thought Betty. So I’ve got a chance to behave myself and I might not even incur anything.
 
“But first,” said Michael, dashing all her hopes, “I will bring a hard chair in here from the kitchen, you will go over my knee and I will use my slipper to give you the mother of all spankings.”
 
Oh no, Betty trembled. He’d used his slipper on her once before and it had hurt so much! She’d cried like a baby and he’d still carried on. She hadn’t been able to sit down for days!
 
Michael brought in the chair and then he rolled up his sleeves. That was a very bad sign. He sat down and took off one of his slippers; it had a flat rubber sole.
 
“I’m ready,” he said calmly. “Take off your skirt – you can put on that apron afterwards. And take your knickers right off.”
 
Betty obeyed. She was trembling harder now.

The fluttering in her stomach had become the sort of feeling that you get when you go over a hump-backed bridge.
 
Michael’s knees were hard. Her face was down low and her legs were sticking out behind. Her waist felt like it was in a vice, clamped by one of Michaels’ arms. Her position was slightly different to the one in which Michael spanked her with his hand because he had to make room for the play of the slipper, she supposed.
 
The first descent of the slipper felt like she was being hammered into the ground. After that Michael varied the strength of the blows, so that sometimes they flattened and sometimes they stung. He parted her legs and spanked her buttocks separately. He also spanked the backs of her thighs individually. When he returned to her bottom and hit hard, she felt she couldn’t bear it any longer and she started to cry.
 
“Please stop,” she wailed. “Please, please stop. I’ll never do anything like that again, I pro …”
 
Michael interrupted her with a slap on her bottom which choked off her words. He was using his hand now, to finish off. It didn’t feel much better than the slipper because her bottom was already so sore that anything, even the stroke of a feather, would have hurt. He went on for some time. Knowing protests were useless, Betty sobbed openly.
 
At last he had finished and he hoisted her onto her feet. “Stand in the corner there,” he ordered, “while I fetch the apron.”
 

Personally, I didn’t love this book.  If you have a spanking itch and need it to be scratched quickly and callously without wasting time with storylines or character development, then look no further – Betty’s Boot Camp is the perfect book for you.  It can be read in a matter of hours (or maybe just minutes?) and certainly contains the highest ratio of spankings to pages I have ever seen.  But, if you like your spanking books to entertain you with a sweet story before adding in some spanking fun, then this is not the book for you.