Night-time Canings

A great R T Mason story - A sadistic head girl and a penitent schoolgirl caught in a trap and receiving her very just desserts. Young Lisa is a seriously naughty little minx and it's only right that she gets spanked, strapped and caned by the end of the story.


10.30 WAS ZERO HOUR. That was when they always started. 10.30 as you lay in your bed in the darkened dorm, half an hour after Lights Out, and everyone on edge, on tenterhooks, even Lisa Howard who could put on an air of bravado about the whole thing. Everyone wondering if the dorm door was going to abruptly open. For your name to be called out.

Not every night of the week of course. The other nights you could be reasonably relaxed, getting off to sleep or having a quiet conversation with the girl in the next bed or just lying still thinking your private thoughts, But on Mondays and Wednesdays and Fridays you wouldn't be doing any of those things, not from 10.30 till about 11.30. Then you were wide awake with every nerve alert. Tonight was a Monday - the second Monday of term in fact - and so everyone was taut and still . . . and listening. Because in Dorm 4C you didn't have to imagine, you could hear it.

Yelps and yells , Anguished cries. The cries of a girl suffering repeated sharp searing pain. And the unmistakable, awful, cracking whacks of a cane, coming at about ten second intervals. A bit muffled naturally but distinct enough because there was only the single dividing wall between Dorm 4C and that room at the end of the corridor. The room used for Prefects' Court.


What made it worse was that it was all legal and sanctioned by the Head. Because that was Miss Featherstone's idea of how a school should be run – the girls imposing their own discipline. The Head Girl and the Prefects imposing it, that is, and to this end the use of the cane was quite OK. Well, wasn't that the way things were organised in those famous boys' public schools? Miss Featherstone was always going on about the famous boys' public schools, at Assembly and suchlike, and saying that they were the models that St. Monica's should strive to emulate.

St. Monica's School for Girls was clearly not a boys' school and nor was it famous. It was in fact a very minor school, so minor that most people would not have beard of it. That was probably all the more reason why the Head liked to think in terms of the very best. And that was why it was quite all right for the Prefects and Head Girl to hold their Court.

The Prefects' Court: to which you could be yanked out of your nice cosy bed in the middle of the night - or at 10.30 or so at least - and in front of the assembled Head Girl and Prefects ordered to lower your pyjama bottoms. Or just occasionally when they were feeling really kind they'd let you keep your pyjamas on, but getting it through this thin material felt almost exactly the same. And then you had to bend over the wretched stool they'd got and get four or six or even eight wicked whacks with that cane on your bottom. And it could happen to you, any Monday or Wednesday or Friday night. Without warning beforehand.

They weren't allowed to do it to all girls, the younger elements had to be disciplined with lines and gating etc. But once you were in the Fifth Form you were fair prey and it could happen any time. They were all Fifth Formers in Dorm 4C - new Fifth Formers, for it was the beginning of Michaelmas Term. So it was hardly surprising that they were all sweating.

For it was an accepted fact that new Fifth Formers were especially at risk as far as Prefects' Court was concerned, because THEY liked to give you an early taste so that you knew what was what. And everyone said that this year's Head Girl, Helen Reynolds, was the worst on record, a real hard case; although In any event Miss Featherstone always picked as Head Girl someone who could, as she put it, 'keep a tight rein'. And the others, the Prefects, were also chosen largely for the same reason.

'They're all sadists!' Lisa Howard blurted out from over near the window. Nervous voices in the darkness told her to shut up. It was now 10.45 and muffled yells could be heard at regular intervals from the other side of the wall. Someone was getting it. The eight girls of dorm 4C lay still and tense: by about 11.15 you would probably be safe unless they'd got a larger number than usual.

As yet none of the eight had had any direct experience of the terrors that lay on the other side of the wall , but the law of averages said that someone was going to get it very soon. Tonight was the fourth Prefects' Court of term . If not tonight then on Wednesday or Friday the dorm door was suddenly going to burst open . . .

They lay silent and tense as the minutes ticked off. No sound except those muffled yelps. No movement except perhaps in the secret darkness a girl's hand down the front of her pyjama bottoms with a finger doing a surreptitious something to ease the tension. The minutes ticked off. The cries from next door had ceased. It became 11 . . . Then 11.15 . . 16 . . 17 . . .

There were sighs of relief. They began to breathe more easily. A nervous laugh from the darkness. It must have finished now. They were saved for another night. . .

Then the door opened. A shaft of light from the corridor against which were silhouetted the forms of two girls - two Prefects.

'Lisa Howard! Come out. Prefects' Court!'

There were gasps. It had happened! - and when they were all sure the danger was over. A shocked silent pause . . . and then the sound of Lisa getting out of bed. Pretty, slightly plump 16-year-old Lisa. For the seven others at least once they'd collected their wits there was some relief. It wasn't any of them; it was poor Lisa. And, well, it wasn't completely unexpected.

Chirpy Lisa with her rather boisterous manner had got on the wrong side of various people in the past and a couple of them were now unfortunately Prefects and in a sweet position for getting their own back. No, It did not come as a complete surprise to either Lisa or the others. All the same as she struggled out of her nice warm bed she fell distinctly sick. Lisa went out, the door closed . It was dark again. No one spoke. They waited. Any sound through the walls now would be Lisa. Getting IT.


Just a short distance along the dimly-lit corridor and then Lisa was being ushered in. With all the lights on and after the dark of the dormitory it was dazzling. She stood blinking.

'Lisa Howard! Come forward!'

Helen Reynolds' voice and as Lisa's eyes became adjusted to the light she saw, at the opposite side of the room, the Head Girl seated in an upright chair in a dressing gown over pyjamas. To the left and right of her, also silting on upright chairs in their dressing gowns, were the Prefects -- three on either side, to make a U-formation with the Head Girl at the centre. Inside this U, in the middle, was a stool. cloth-covered and about 18 inches high. This stool had a two-foot-long rattan cane lying on it.

'Stand at the stool!' commanded the Head Girl.

The door had been closed by the two girls who had brought Lisa in and they now drew up chairs to sit behind her and thus complete the circle.

Lisa stood at the stool, a pretty girl of medium height with soft features and shoulder-length russet hair. Her form-fitting pink pyjamas showed off a ripely rounded figure; firm breasts,
rather plump bottom. Now wide awake from the shock of what had happened she was trying to put a brave face on it, but did not look very happy.

'Lisa Howard, you've been a pain at this school for quite a time now, and now you're a Fifth Former you can at last get something that may have some effect. You're going to get the cane on that pert bottom of yours . Eight strokes - the maximum allowed. And if that doesn't do any good we'll have you in here every week until it does. Is that understood?'

Lisa had gone bright red. She stuttered, 'I haven't .. done anything.'

'You've been an awful pain and you know it. So now you can drop those pyjama bottoms. Down to your knees. Come on!' The last two words had a grating harshness all their own.

Lisa gave a quick panicky look round. She was completely surrounded by the seated Prefects, most of them with expressions of pleased anticipation. There was no choice and Lisa knew it. She licked dry lips, and then her shaking hands went to the waist of the pyjamas. Eyes lowered , she pushed the trousers off her full hips.

'Come on! Right down to your knees!'

The pyjama bottoms came fully down. Underneath they revealed a pair of small white knickers with a lace edging and a discreet pink floral motif.
‘How dare you try and cheat us by wearing knickers under your pyjamas you wicked girl. Take them down at once’ Snapped the head girl.
Poor Lisa put her fingers in the elastic waistband of the tiny panties and slowly peeled them down.
‘Leave them at half-mast ‘ said her chastiser ‘they show your naked bottom off quite nicely.’ At the front, at the centre of those softly rounded hips and thighs, was a neat triangle of dark brown hair. Behind was that part of Lisa due to receive the attention of the cane – twin plump cheeks trembling slightly , now totally nude and very vulnerable-looking.

Helen Reynolds got up and stepped forward to pick up the cane. 'Now get over the stool. Right over with your hands flat on the floor and your knees straight and that bottom up. Brace your legs against your knickers. Now we'll see if you can take it quietly or if you blub like a baby. I expect all your friends next door are listening, don't you?'

She's just a bloody sadist. Thought Lisa as, hot-faced, she got over the stool. She would do her very best not to cry out but from what you heard in 4C that did not seem to be easy.

She gasped as the cane whipped lightly across her trembling backside 'Come on! Get it up!'

A pause, and then a desperate involuntary yelp as the cane splatted down in earnest - a vicious transverse cut across the full undercurve of the cheeks, landing with a sharp crack. It felt like a burning flame. There was no hope of suffering in silence. The rounded bottom did an agonised dance.

'Keep still, Lisa! And get it up again otherwise I'll have you in here for another eight on Wednesday.'

With the waves of pain rippling through her Lisa nonetheless became more or less still. Another brief pause, and then it was all repeated: the explosive biting sling of the cane, this time an inch above the first line of impact. followed immediately by the desperate yell, the agonised writhings. It was absolutely unbearable . . . and there were six more to come . . .

Standing over the bare-bottomed Fifth Former, with her own face distinctly pink , Helen Reynolds continued to whack the cane into the curvy bum just about as hard as she could. By the fifth stroke Lisa wasn't only yelling out, she was unashamedly crying, hot tears flooding her flushed cheeks. She had meant to be brave but this was simply impossible, the pain in her bottom was absolutely intolerably awful.

Helen Reynolds kept going, eyes shining. The eighth and final one she laid in with a flashing crack just where the buttocks met the equally curvy thighs. She was rewarded with a desperate wild cry coupled with a frantic jerking of the stung bottom
which almost threw Lisa off the stool.

The Head Girl put the cane down and went back to her chair. Lisa's extravagant writhings gradually stopped. Her sobbing continued.

'That's all, young Howard. You can pull your knickers up now and get back to your dorm. Leave your pyjamas here – if you want them back you’ll have to take some more medicine. And remember, any more nonsense in the future and you'll be over that stool again for an even harder dose’.'

Still crying and gasping with pain, Lisa got to her feet and struggled to tug the tight white panties up over her now red-striped rear. She acted almost like an automaton, shocked clean out of any sense of self-possession. She turned and, half blindly, stumbled to the door. Out of the brightly-lit Prefects' Court and into the subdued light of the corridor, There was now the other ordeal: going back into the dorm with the others all lying wide awake in the darkness, ears stretched like antennas to pick up her reactions, her seven room-mates who had all just heard her humiliation at the hands of beastly sadistic Helen Reynolds.

Lisa steeled herself, she had to do it, she couldn't stay out in the corridor all night. She stumbled forward, her bottom blazing. The door made a horribly loud click as she opened it. At least in the darkness they couldn't see her awful red face and the tears which even now wouldn't completely stop. But she also couldn't stop the sobs which every ten seconds or so kept coming. In the tense silence those sobs sounded deafening.

'Tough luck, Lisa,' called out Sally Mitchell. 'But at least you've got it over. We've still got the awful suspense – waiting for it to happen.'

There were shivers in the darkness from the seven girls who weren't sobbing. They had all heard Lisa yelling out, making that dreadful noise, and the cracks of the cane coming through the walls, and when you considered that Lisa was a pretty brave girl it was obvious that she must have really had that cane lashed into her. Which, come to think of it, must have been so, considering how loud those strokes had sounded. It was over for tonight , none or the others would get it now. But Wednesday, or Friday . . . ?

'It's driving me bonkers.' whispered Angela Ross to Julie Hollings, in the next bed. 'I almost wish they'd call me out and get it over.'

Julie didn't answer, She knew what Angela meant but she certainly didn't wish they'd come for her and get it over with. Julie was quite simply terrified of the thought of that cane. She had this really dreadful mental picture of the scene next door and always, as with Lisa just now, it was herself she could see bent over that stool and her own bare bottom thrust out for Helen Reynolds' cane. It was a picture which made her feel quite sick and she had been dreading the start of this term knowing that she would now be liable for it. She felt she would do anything to avoid that fate.

Julie turned over and tried to get to sleep. Her school record had been exemplary, there was no real reason why she should get the cane, not like Lisa or one or two of the others, Except that now there was the other awful business. Mr Bannister, the gardener.


It was the practice at St. Monica's for a number of Fifth and Lower Sixth Formers to be assigned minor tasks in the running of the school: for instance assisting in the library or helping Miss Smith, Biology, in looking after the small animals she kept or helping Mr Murdoch, the groundsman. If you had one of these assignments it took up only a few hours per week and it got you off a corresponding period of prep it wasn't all bad. This term pretty blonde Julie Hollings had been given an assignment helping Mr Bannister the school gardener. Mr George Bannister was in his fifties, a nondescript-looking character, an 'old lag' certain girls said. Julie had not had much to do with him before though she had heard girls say things . And what she had heard came very sharply into focus last weekend when she was working in his shed.

Before that Mr Bannister had been OK although he had been sort of eyeing Julie's slim shapely form in the white blouse and quite short blue pleated skirt. But on Saturday morning he had just grabbed her. She had been potting some plants and Mr Bannister came up behind her and his hands had slid round underneath her arms and simply taken hold of Julie's pert breasts in the crisp white blouse. A firm lightly-brassiered breast in each large hand.

Julie had let out a yelp and struggled away. There had been a rough cackle from Mr Bannister. 'Now now, Young Miss, let's be friendly. We don't want to be up before Prefects' Court, do we? With our pretty bottom getting that nasty cane!'

As he spoke his hand had come down and round to intimately grope at Julie's rounded bottom. Gasping she pushed him away again. In spite of what those girls had said she would never have imagined Mr Bannister could behave in such a beastly way. But that threat about Prefects' Court was just as bad as what he'd done, and he had then proceeded to reinforce the threat.

'I keep well in with the Head Girl and they Prefects. I'd only have to say you were cheeking me or mucking about in here and your number'd be up, my pretty Miss.'

Julie had felt a stab of pure terror. As she stood there and contemplated the dread prospect he gave her bottom a sharp slap and then went outside. That had happened on Saturday and ever since Julie had naturally been able to think of nothing else.

She didn't know what to do; she was between the devil and the deep blue sea. She could complain to Miss Featherstone or someone, but Mr Bannister would just deny it and then she could be put down as a trouble-maker - and be sent to Prefects' Court anyway. Now, having bad to listen to Lisa get it, Julie knew there was just no way she could face that cane, she'd rather die. And tomorrow afternoon she had to go and help Mr Horrible Bannister again in his shed.

Eventually she got off to sleep. In the morning Lisa bravely peeled down her knickers and showed them all her bottom and you could still see the corrugated marks of the cane. Julie felt really queasy. The morning flashed by and then it was time to go over to that horrible shed.

She had a vague hope that perhaps Mr Bannister would miraculously have changed since last time, but that was not the case as almost at once he did the same thing - grabbed those pretty tits in both hands. Julie had told herself that if necessary she was going to let him take these liberties but she couldn't help struggling. As they lurched against the bench a big pile of flower pots rolled off and hit the floor with a resounding crash. Pieces of broken pottery everywhere.

Mr Bannister, red-faced, looked grim. 'Just look what you done, my girl! It'll be Prefects' Court for this and no mistake.'

Julie started pleading but he cut her short, his eyes gleaming. 'I'll give you the choice, my girl. Prefects' Court or otherwise I can do it myself. But I'll just give you a spanking, not the cane.'

What could she do, with Lisa's cries of last night so fresh in her mind. 'Come on!' coaxed Mr Bannister. 'I won't take your panties down; least-ways not for this first time I won't.'

He went to lock the door, then sat on his wooden chair over at the end where you couldn't see from the window. He beckoned her to him, and, well, did she have any choice?

Julie whispered , 'Promise. That you won't . . . take my knickers down . . . '

He pulled her to him and then over his lap. Right over so that her head was hanging down and her hips were centred on his thighs and stomach. Julie felt her skirt being pulled up, over her back, and then Mr Bannister' horrid hand was on her bare thighs and tightly-knickered bottom.

He didn't take the knickers down but, in spite of her protests, he managed to achieve the same effect by pulling them sharply up. Hooking his thick fingers in the lower hems, first one side and then the other, and yanking the pink nylon material up and across into the cleft of her bottom. Julie yelped and struggled but his other arm firmly round her waist had her helpless; and shortly her bottom was virtually bare.

Mr Bannister' hand started groping and fondling. Underneath her, Julie could feel something stiff and hard, Then the groping stopped and the spanking started. Crisp hard smacks to those exposed bottom cheeks. Left and right , top and bottom. Smack! . . . Smack! . . . Smack! . . . Smack! . . . Hard, unhurried splats of that large leathery hand.

Julie was soon in tears. It really hurt and also it was just so humiliating. But the hand kept coming down on her poor bare bottom, and then on the sensitive backs of her equally bare thighs. Finally he did stop, and started fondling again. Twisting and struggling Julie managed to get off his lap. In fact she finished up sprawled in a heap on the floor.

Blinking away the tears she got up and adjusted her knickers. Mr Bannister had a red face and a leering grin.

'You . . . you're just b . . beastly and awful!' she managed before stumbling over to unlock the door.

It was a really traumatic experience all right but on Wednesday night, when the dorm door burst open at 20 to eleven and a Prefect called out 'Sally Mitchell - Prefects' Court!', Julie thought that perhaps it had been worth it. And a little later when they all heard Sally's anguished cries she was quite sure it was worth it. Anything had to be better than having that wicked flexible cane slashing down on your bare bottom.

But if you submit once to someone like George Bannister you are going to have to do so again. When Julie next had to go and help him, on Friday, he made the same no-nonsense grab at her. And said he thought she needed her bottom spanking again.

Faced with that same threat Prefects' Court - Julie reluctantly submitted. This time, in spite of struggles and yelps of protest, he took her knickers down: The rest was much as before; pretty dreadful. But again that night when Julie heard the mind-whirling, measured whacks and the cries of another girl being caned, she decided that it was worth it.

And so it continued; Julie on her visits to Mr Bannister' potting shed allowing him to do what he wanted which was invariably to take her over his lap and take her knickers down and spank her bare bottom. The third time it was even worse. Somehow Mr Bannister had got hold of a leather tawse – it had two long tails and he made poor Julie bend over the tae as he slashed it down with full force so the wicked tongues found every piece of the girl’s bare bottom-flesh. The spankings or strappings continued for weeks and Julie told no one – while two further members of Dorm 4C (Angela Ross and Sharon Roberts) were in turn called out to Prefects' Court. The tension in the dormitory after Lights Out was often excruciating.

Julie hated it but she had the feeling that now she was safe from Helen Reynolds' cane which was the main thing. She had not made any enemies in school and she was properly behaved and did her work, so apart from Mr Horrible Bannister there was no logical reason why she should be called out. It was hateful having to get over his lap or get the tawse over his table two or three times a week but she was sure it was better than the alternative. So long as none of her friends found out about it . . .

By half term all but three of them in Dorm 4C had had a session In Prefects' Court and Lisa had gone twice, but the general feeling was that the worst was past, the blitz on the new Fifth Formers was over and they had dealt with all those they felt needed It. And indeed after half term Prefects' Court was reduced to once a week, on Mondays, and even then you might not hear any cries so that someone might be getting a ticking off rather the cane.

Yes, it was generally agreed that those who hadn't gone would now be safe, as long as they didn't commit any awful crime. And the others wouldn't have to go again if they could manage to toe the line, although for Lisa at least that was not easy.

Julie was still getting her bottom spanked and strapped by Mr Bannister but even that wouldn't last for ever because she only had that job for this term and after that would be free of him. So there was that to look forward to and also she had not got the cane. In some fanciful way she almost felt as if Mr Bannister had protected her from it.

And then it happened. The second Monday after half term, a Prefects' Court night but no one was too bothered now, there wasn't that feeling of abject terror in the darkness that there'd been at the beginning of the term. They were chatting and laughing softly, and many of them were already asleep. Suddenly the dorm door was open, the darkness split by that shaft of light silhouetting a figure. The chat and laughter froze.

'Julie Hollings! Come out. Prefects' Court!'

Julie stood blinking in the light as all the others had, still not able to fully comprehend the awful truth. She was also shaking from head to toes. It was all as she had been told, as she had imagined; the Head Girl and Prefects in their dressing gowns in the U-formation with in the centre the stool, the cane . . . She stumbled forward at Helen Reynolds' sharp command.

'Julie Hollings, you disgusting creature! I have very reliable information that several times a week you have been in the habit of allowing Bannister to spank or strap your bare bottom. And I dare say allowing him other even worse familiarities as well. You absolutely disgusting creature! What have you got to say for yourself?'

Julie shook her head helplessly. She could hardly think with the shock of it all. Who had told Helen Reynolds and how did they know? Because Mr Bannister always did it over in that corner of his shed where even if someone was peering in the window they couldn't see. Perhaps there was a spyhole or something . . .

'Well' demanded the Head Girl.

Julie blinked back the tears. 'H . . he made me.'

'That is absolutely ridiculous! There is no way he could make you. You must at the very least have agreed to it even if you didn't instigate the disgusting business. As you well know, allowing a male member of the staff to do anything at all like that is strictly, strictly forbidden. Anyway we'll jolly well make you wish you'd never done it, Julie Hollings. Take down your knickers and jump to it!'

Julie looked at the cane, like a rabbit transfixed by a weasel, then up at the grim face of Helen Reynolds.

'Look . . please . . He . . he did make me . . ' She could hardly speak, she was so frightened, and her voice was little more than a whimper.

'Get them down, girl!'

Somehow, scarcely knowing what she was doing, Julie pulled down her skimpy knickers (pale blue today) and then was bent over the stool. It was a dream, it couldn't really be happening, because hadn't they all agreed that the danger of Prefects' Court was now over? She focussed her eyes on the carpet just a few inches from her face. This couldn't be happening.

Then her mouth was open and a wild screaming yell had come out, and her bare taut-buttocked bottom was doing a fiercely desperate dance. Because what felt like a red-hot poker had landed squarely across those rounded bottom cheeks. No, she quite clearly wasn't dreaming, no dream could feel like that.

Nothing could feel like that!

'Get your bottom back up, Julie Hollings, and get those legs straight. You seem to like being spanked, so let's see how you like this cane!'

CRA . . ACK! The red-hot poker landed again, this time reinforcing the flaming pain that was still there from the first cut. It was worse than Julie had ever imagined on all those nights when she had laid awake taut with fear in the darkness, She would have been even more afraid if she had known.

Through the desperate pain Julie heard Helen Reynolds' tight voice: "That's two; and there's six more to come!'

Her own voice pleaded, 'No .. I can't! . . 'but the words were cut short by a third full-blooded cut of the cane. She gasped and yelped, Her face was wet with hot salt tears. She fought to handle the fearsome pain. And then the red-hot poker landed again: WHAAACKK!

Somehow Julie did take the eight. She didn't know how but somehow yelling and sobbing and writhing and at one point actually falling off the stool onto the floor - somehow Julie managed to take them. At last it was over. The cane had stopped coming down. There were eight bright red stripes on her bottom, blazing to hell. Julie was ordered to stand up.

Back in 4C she crept numbly into bed. No one spoke, they were all too shocked that Julie of all people had got it now when they'd all thought it was more or less over. And those who could not sleep for thinking of it heard their poor dorm-mate twisting and turning and sobbing into her pillow seemingly forever.

Afterwards, in the morning, they wanted to know what it was for.

Biting her lip Julie mumbled, 'Cheeking Helen Reynolds.'

It was obviously quite out of character but it was all Julie could think of. She had to think of something, there was no way she could tell them the real humiliating facts: that she had been letting Mr Bannister spank her bum and beat it with has tawse in order to avoid Prefects' Court and then after all she had been sent there for that very reason.

As for Mr Bannister, he was spoken to about it but naturally said that Julie had invited it. And naturally he was believed - because for one thing the school could not afford to lose a good gardener. And he had never been known to do such a thing before.

So the matter was kept quiet. Julie never found out how Helen Reynolds learnt about the spankings. At least they now stopped, although she had to continue her full term helping Mr Bannister. Mr Bannister himself seemed perfectly unconcerned.

'Ah, young Miss. I heared you got a caning. I warned you it could happen, didn't I?'

There was just no answer to that. And though he stopped the spankings he continued to touch Julie whenever he felt like it, and to grope her bare legs under her pleated grey skirt. If she protested he said, 'Now, we don't want another caning, do we?'
Prefects' Court continued, Mondays only. They were not quite so confident now in Dorm 4C that it was all over. And indeed Sally Mitchell got another one, for not doing anything very much. The girls' general standard of behaviour became all but impeccable. And then on the last Monday of Michaelmas term, barely 36 hours before they were due to break up, the dorm door opened once more at 10.30.

'Julie Hollings! Come out. Prefects' Court.'

'Oh, no!'

She stood in the dazzling bright light again before the stool and the cane, surrounded by a ring of Prefects. Helen Reynolds said , 'We thought a little reminder, Julie Hollings, before you go home. To make sure you won't want to get up to any of those tricks again next term. So take those pyjama bottoms down. Jump, to it, girl!'

'Assume the position'

Such an evocotive phrase and two classic photos which perfectly illustrate it. these naughty girls are about to receive seriously painful canings.

Katy Caned

This is one of 'Mike from London's' brilliant stories. Poor Katy certainly deserves her thrashing but don't you just love the way her friend is so aroused by it?

The following events took place only two years ago when I had already graduated from University and had begun to train as articled clerk to a solicitor.
Late one Saturday evening my girlfriend Katy telephoned, obviously in a very distressed state, and asked if she could come round right away to see me. I said that she could, of course, and she immediately rang off. I couldn't imagine what it could be about, as Katy was not the sort of girl to get so worked up by any minor mishaps.
I had met her at University where she had studied English while I had taken Law. However after graduating she had been unable to find a vacancy to train as a chartered accountant immediately and she had to 'sign on'. Then she had been promised a position with a large firm to begin the following March and had moved to London in readiness.
When she arrived I asked her what had happened. I knew that in order to supplement her benefit money she had been acting as a collector for a football pools company. She now confessed that in order to make more money she had in some cases not forwarded the coupons and money but had kept it for herself! Katy had as usual checked all such coupons against the results and had been terrified to realise that an old couple whose money she had kept had just got a line with eight score draws in it. She didn't know what to do. If her actions were reported to the newspapers or the police she thought that the publicity would mean her never being allowed to become a chartered accountant. She had come to me for help because she didn't want her parents to know and also wanted to avoid anyone else knowing whom she couldn't trust.
I was very surprised to hear this confession but realised how bad it could be for Katy. To try to comfort her I said that it was possible that the elderly couple, the Marlings, might never check their coupons and realise that they ought to have won. Katy said she had thought of that but couldn't take the risk that they might claim and be told by the Pools company that there was no record of their coupon. If that happened she was sure that they would tell the police. On the other hand she didn't want to go there and confess and throw herself on their mercy if otherwise they would never know about it.
We talked for a long time and in the end I suggested that the best thing would be if she went round to their house in the morning to see if they were excited and thought they'd won, or not. If they did then she would have to tell them what she'd done; otherwise Katy could take the chance if she thought it was worth it.
She stayed the night with me and I tried to help her to relax a little but she stayed tense. On the Sunday she left to go to the Marlings at about 11 o'clock. I wished her good luck and asked her to come straight back and let me know what had happened.
She didn't come back for a long time and when she did return it was obvious that there was bad news. She told me that she had arrived just as they were re-checking their coupon and they thought she'd come to congratulate them. She had told them everything and begged them to give her a chance. They said that they would have to ask the advice of their son, the headmaster of a local school, as they never took important decisions without consulting him. They phoned him up and he came round straight away.
As soon as he knew what had happened he said that the police and the newspapers would have to be told. Katy begged and pleaded with him and told him how sorry she was, but it was no use. She tried to convince him that his parents wouldn't get any benefit from telling their story and would just be harassed by the publicity.
But he pointed out that by her actions she had deprived an elderly couple of probably several thousand pounds and that when the story was published there would be a great wave of public sympathy for his parents and many readers might well donate money to them to make up. Katy still tried to persuade him and told him that if it became public she could never hope to gain a professional qualification. He simply said that the name for what she had done was 'theft' and she should pay for it.
Katy told me that at this point she broke down and started to cry. Mr Marling looked at her for a while and then went over to his parents and started whispering to them. Katy suddenly felt a ray of hope. Then he came back and said that he believed that Katy really was sorry and he was prepared to give her a chance and not report her if she would agree to accept some punishment from him. As Katy told me this she suddenly stopped speaking and blushed. Somehow I guessed what had happened - she'd said he was a local headmaster - he must have suggested that he spank her! I asked Katy and she said no, worse than that. He had told her that the only option he would give her was a sound caning!
He had let Katy go, saying that if she agreed she was to go back to his parents' house at half past six that evening for the caning; otherwise he would inform the press and the authorities.
I asked her what she was going to do and she said that she thought she was going to have to let him cane her, but she was terrified of how much it would hurt. She asked me if I had ever had the cane at school and I had to tell her that I hadn't but that I knew from other boys in my class that it hurt all right. I asked Katy if Mr Marling had said how many strokes he would give her. "Yes," she said with a kind of gulp, "sixteen!"
I was astonished. I blurted out, "You can't take that many on your hands!" Katy replied, "No, he said he would give me four on the hands and the rest on my . . . behind."
Once again she blushed deeply and then went on, "And it's even worse. He says that the caning has to be in front of his parents and that I could only have one layer of clothing as protection when . . . I bend over and he said that by that he meant ordinary thin knickers, and that if I tried to take advantage by wearing thick knickers or anything, he'd take them down and cane me on the bare. Oh, David, what shall I do?"
I said that it was up to her, but if she really thought that her whole future was at stake she should accept the caning. I said I knew it would hurt her, but she would get over the pain of the caning and would then have all of her life ahead of her. But I told her to be careful because I knew the cane really hurt a lot and this Mr Marling didn't seem inclined to show her any favours.
I took Katy out for a drink to try to steady her and help make her mind up. In the pub she told me that the worst corporal punishment she'd ever had in her life was the ruler on the hand at school. She asked me if I knew whether the cane hurt more on the hands or on the bottom. I said that boys at my school who'd had both said it hurt more on the hands but that they'd been allowed the protection of trousers and pants. She drank four gin-and-tonics but showed no sign of getting drunk. We stayed in the pub until two o'clock and then went back to my flat.
I asked Katy if she had made her mind up. She said that she had no choice but to go through with it. She asked if I would mind please going with her as she didn't know what state she'd be in to walk back afterwards and that, as her humiliation had to be witnessed in any case, she would like me to be there as a witness on her side in case Mr Marling went too far.
I said that of course I'd do anything she wanted. I suggested that I draft a legal document by which Mr Marling would promise not to report her and she agreed that this would be a good idea. I drafted something and showed it to Katy. She was surprised that I hadn't referred to her caning at all in it. This was because I was of the opinion that an agreement based on this consideration would be void as contra bona mores and I had therefore produced a covenant to be executed by Mr Marling as this is valid whatever the consideration.
Then I made a few more practical suggestions as poor Katy was too overwhelmed to think straight. I knew she was wearing both knickers and pantyhose under her skirt and suggested that we went back to her flat so she could change. She agreed.
When we got to her flat we went to her bedroom where she tried on different kinds of knickers and bent over in each to see which offered best protection. By this time I had a very hard erection and was on the brink of coming as I imagined what was soon going to happen to the tender bottom that kept bending down in front of me encased in various knickers. I suggested that a particular pair - white with pink flowers - would be the best. Katy stood up and snapped at me, "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I denied this, but said that of course the sight of her bending down in knickers excited me. She said angrily, "Well, simmer down. I'm not in the mood at all."
She kept the skimpy white-and-pink knickers on, though, and changed into a loose blue cotton skirt that could easily be lifted up to disclose the target area. Then I suggested that as some of the strokes were to be given on her hands it would be a good idea to remove her rings and her watch and to trim her fingernails in case of accidents. Katy was rather proud of her fingernails, but agreed to cut them when I pointed out the danger that a nail could be torn out if a stroke landed across her fingertips.
By this time it was past six o'clock and we got into my car and drove to the Marlings. Before we got out I hugged Katy and kissed her and told her to be brave. When we went in Katy introduced me as her fiancé�, whom she had asked as a witness. She told them that I had a degree in Law and that I had drafted an agreement. Mr Marling looked at it, thought a bit, and said that he would sign it - after the caning. Katy and I looked at each other and agreed. Then he said, "Right, let's get started," and led the way to another room.
There were two seats at the opposite end of the room where his parents went and sat. In the middle of the room was a large old-fashioned armchair which had obviously been moved there from its normal position against the wall. Across a coffee table lay a cane and a twin tailed leather tawse. The cane was lightish brown in colour and slightly curved with a crook handle. The tawse was a dark leather and the tongues were about nine inches in length and looked wickedly supple.
Mr Marling picked up the tawse and beckoned to Katy to come forward and stand where he wanted her. He said, "This is the prelude to the main part of your punishment - four strokes on the hand with this tawse. I think the cane on the hands would be too severe and besides, it will be good for you to get a taste of different instruments of correction. I tell you this, though - this strap stings and I intend to make you feel it. And let me give you a warning. If you take your hand away during this part of your punishment I will not only make quite sure that you receive all four strokes but for each such occasion you will receive two additional strokes on your backside. Now, Miss Notley, hold out your left hand."
It was strange to hear him refer to her so formally, and in a sarcastic tone, by her surname, but Katy did as she was told. He adjusted her hand until it was the right height for him. Then he raised the strap. I was standing to one side and I could see that Katy had closed her eyes tight and that her lips were pressed together. But she kept her hand held steadily out.
Suddenly Mr Marling slashed the tawse down hard. I was amazed at the speed and violence of the twin tails landing on Katy's outstretched palm. She gasped with a sharp indrawn breath and jerked her hand away, shaking it to try to assuage the sting. Mr Marling gave her a few moments and then said, calmly, "Now the other hand, please." Once again a hand was delicately held out and the strap was slowly raised and then swished down to land with a loud crack across the soft flesh of Katy's palm. This time her gasp was louder and she did a short dance of pain before pressing her right hand between her side and her left arm. I was surprised at how hard Mr Marling was hitting her and how little fuss Katy was making. I was sure he couldn't thrash his school kids as hard as that.
Then he said "Now the first hand again," and Katy had to extend the already strapped left palm for a second time. Katy's eyes were open again and I could see the tears welling in her large blue eyes. This time she cried out with the pain as the stroke landed and it took her a long time to ready herself for the last stroke of this part of her punishment. I could see that she had to use all of her willpower to keep her hand in place. I hoped against hope that she would be able to resist the impulse to pull it away before Mr Marling brought the tawse down, thus earning herself the additional strokes on her bottom she had been warned about.
Just as the tawse flashed downwards Katy did lose her nerve and started to move her hand but the only effect was that it lashed down right across her fingers and must have hurt even more than the others. Katy yelled wildly and started to cry. She danced about once again, waving her hands wildly. Mr Marling replaced the strap on the coffee table and picked up the long, flexible cane. His parents whispered something to each other.
Katy had seen nothing of this as she was obviously still obsessed by the stinging pain in her hands. Mr Marling attracted her attention by walking round behind her and swishing the cane across her back, not too hard but hard enough to make her flinch and look up. He then said "Well, Miss Notley, that's got the preliminaries out of the way. Now we can start on the real punishment. This is the cane I use on senior boys. They don't often come back for a second dose!"
He flexed the cane and clearly, despite its thickness, it was wickedly supple. He made a couple of practise strokes through the air and the cane made a hissing sound. I dreaded to think of the effect that this heavy cane would have on poor Katy's soft bottom, having seen how much the strap had already hurt her.
Mr Marling took hold of Katy, manoeuvred her to the armchair and told her to bend over its side. She gave me a glance full of pain and fear, but then she complied. As she slowly leaned forward he roughly pushed her head down closer to the seat and pulled up her skirt, pinning it into place. The tiny pink-and-white knickers were now displayed and clearly offered no real protection to Katy's trembling bottom; a bottom at which Mr and Mrs Marling senior were gazing in fascination.
Their son spoke to Katy again. "I intend this to hurt you a good deal, Miss Notley, but I expect you to stay in place until I give you permission to stand up. Otherwise you'll get those extra strokes you avoided so narrowly just now."
He raised the cane to shoulder height and drew it back, pausing to take aim. Stepping forward he delivered the stroke so as to produce maximum force. I heard the whack as the cane landed and saw Katy's whole body shudder. She squealed with pain and kicked her legs, but remained bent over. Before she could have had time to recover Mr Marling whipped the cane down for the second stroke.
This time there was a louder yell and he allowed a longer time before the next stroke. Katy's sobs could be clearly heard and I couldn't believe Mr Marling could be so completely merciless, hitting my darling Katy so hard when she was already in such pain. However he showed no pity and, if anything, the next two strokes were even harder. After the fourth Katy screamed with the pain and her hands instinctively flew back to protect her bottom. But it was only for a moment and then by a great effort of willpower she took her hands away and with a moan once more presented her agonisingly sore bottom to Mr Marling's cane.
Somehow she managed to take three more strokes delivered with vicious force across her full-stretched knickers. Then, after the seventh, Katy shot upright and covered her bottom with her hands. She hopped around and then stood jumping from one foot to the other facing her tormentor. Now I could see her tear-stained face screwed up with pain. Katy begged piteously to be let off and screamed over and over again that she was sorry and that she simply couldn't take any more.
Mr Marling gave her time to scream herself out and then said "You're only making it worse for yourself, Miss Notley. That's an extra two strokes - seven to go." As he spoke I could hear that he was panting slightly from his exertions. Katy would not bend down again but continued to hop about, twisting and wriggling in pain with her cane-marked hands holding her bottom. Mr Marling asked me to try to persuade her to submit to the rest of the punishment. "Remember I can still go to the papers," he said.
I didn't know what to say to Katy. I tried to comfort her and tell her how brave she was, but it was no use. In the end our generous Mr Marling offered to let her off with only three more strokes - if she would take them on her bared bottom after taking her knickers down!
Still crying non-stop and squirming in pain, Katy considered this awful choice for a long time - and then reluctantly agreed.
It was a heart rending business as the poor girl tried to use her wealed and obviously still painful hands to ease her knickers off her devastated buttocks. I almost started to cry in sympathy. At last Katy's knickers were down to her knees and she started, ever so slowly, to bend forward again.
Mr Marling, with an unctuous look on his face, suggested that I should hold Katy in position for the last strokes so that there would be no more 'interruptions'. As I crossed behind her I saw for the first time the horrible purplish weals and the bruises beginning to form on the smooth white flesh of Katy's bottom.
I bent over her, holding her lightly, and trying to whisper endearments to her. I could feel her trembling and the tremendous tension. I didn't look at Mr Marling and the first I knew of the next stroke was the whirring sound as it slashed through the air. Suddenly I felt Katy's whole body convulse at the pain and she howled piteously, but I kept hold of her. She bucked and twisted frenziedly while Mr Marling waited, watching her naked bottom, until she settled back after about a minute, sobbing.
The next stroke was even harder still and I felt the terrific force of it as it smashed down onto Katy's unprotected and terribly tender bottom. She screamed again - inches from my ear - and seemed unable to stop. She was still screaming as Mr Marling delivered the final stroke with undiminished venom. I continued to hold her as he admired the effects of his handiwork etched across her backside and unpinned her skirt.
Then I let Katy go, but she continued to sob into the seat of the armchair as if her heart was broken. Eventually she got up and tried to stand still but wriggled and writhed, still obviously in agony. Tears were pouring from her cheek onto the carpet.
Mr Marling went round and stood in front of her and said, "I think that's taught you a lesson you won't forget, young lady. I don't imagine you'll be sitting down comfortably for a couple of days. And now I want you to go over and apologise to my parents."
Walking was obviously very painful. Katy clamped her hands to the back of the blue skirt, which had fallen back down over her wealed bottom, to try to contain the pain and hobbled towards Mr and Mrs Marling. Her knickers had fallen off during her gyrations and I picked them up and put them in my pocket. Katy somehow managed to mumble something to the elderly couple and Mr Marling said he would now sign the agreement, which he did. Then he said we could go.
Each step must have been agony for Katy, but I managed to help her out of the house and into the car. I got her in it, stretched face-down over the back seat with her feet on the floor. Luckily no-one was watching. I've no idea how Katy would have managed if she hadn't asked me to go with her.
I drove her back to her flat and she was still sobbing when we got there. I helped her out of the car and upstairs. She went first of all to the bathroom and was sick. I got her a glass of water and cleared up a bit. Then I got her to lie on her stomach on the bed and carefully lifted up her skirt.
Her bottom was a terrible sight, horribly swollen, covered with bruises and marked with a frightful tracery of raised weals. Katy could hardly speak. I decided the best thing to do was to dip a couple of face flannels in cold water and place them over her swollen bottom.
I asked if she wanted me to stay with her but she said she wanted to be left alone. When I got home I couldn't help masturbating over what I had seen. I kept the knickers Katy had been wearing and put them away. Next day I went round to see Katy early, before work. I had the key to her flat and let myself in.
Katy was lying on her bed, stark naked with an electric fan directing cold air onto her bottom. She got up when I came in and walked very stiffly and slowly over to me. I put my arms around her and kissed and cuddled her, very delicately letting my hand wander towards her bottom. As I ran my fingers very gently over her wealed rear I felt her quiver with pain and press her body closer to mine. Then she broke clear of my arms. I asked her how she felt and she said that her bottom still throbbed awfully, but that her hands were all right. However I could still see the marks left by the tawse's tails on her palms.
That evening Katy felt better enough for me to take her down to the pub - although she chose to stand up by the bar. In fact it was over a week before she could sit down properly without wincing. I tried to make love to her that night, but she said her bruises were still too painful.
The marks on Katy's bottom did not finally disappear until several weeks after these events, but long before that our relationship was back to normal again. The experience left me with a burning interest in the corporal punishment of girls, but Katy, perhaps understandably, has no desire whatsoever to be spanked. Even if I playfully give her a tap on her bottom she gets very annoyed. I love Katy and plan to marry her, but now you know why I read Janus and Privilege.

Back to School

This is a well-worn theme but this story - from Janus - is an outstanding example of the genre. It has wonderful flashbacks and the heroine is totally deserving of her hard, belated, punishment. In the original she gets the slipper at school but I find the tawse a much more suitable implement. Great Paula illustration, too - correct in every detail including the knickers round the ankles.

Selina turned the amber-coloured Volvo off the little side street and up the curling drive. Gravel crunched under the tread of the new tyres. The spreading evergreen still stood at the back of the building, its branches shading the bay windows and the mellow old brickwork. She parked the car and turned off the purring engine and lit a long expensive cigarette and gazed at the house and what she could see of the grounds. It had been, she reflected, more than a dozen years since she had last seen this view.
After a few moments she flung open the car door and stepped out shaking out the skirt of her two-piece and dipping into the car for her elegant beige leather handbag. She flung her half-smoked cigarette onto the gravel without bothering to put it out and slammed the car door, walking away without locking it. The autumn breeze lifted the fringe of fine blonde hair from her brow.
When she stepped through the door and into the corridor, off which led the doors to most of the ground floor classrooms, she was at first struck by how small the place seem. The ceilings had been higher, the polished boards wider and more glossy,the panelled walls endless, she thought.
'Of course’ she murmured to herself. 'I wasn't even quite ten. The place must have seemed a lot grander. After all, I’d seen little enough of the world. Now then, where's the staircase?’
At this hour of the early evening - before classes had commenced - there were but a few people in the old priory which had been the scene of Salina’s schooldays. The one or two members of the administrative staff who passed her directed a curious glance or two at her, but her confident bearing and cut of her clothes gave her an air of authority, as if she had every right to be there. Then Selina came to with a start. She looked around the classroom as if the cut of her clothes gave her an air of authority, as if she had every right to be there. No one challenged her. And she was making her way so directly to where she was going that nobody thought to ask if she needed directions. She ascended the oaken staircase.
The paintings that had been on the walls in her day were no longer there. Kept by the trustees, she guessed, when they had sold the building to the local authority to be an annexe of the technical college and evening institute, and the small private school had moved out into rural Warwickshire.
Miss Felton's form room was where she remembered it: at the head of me stairs, across the landing. The branches of the evergreen swung near the panes of the bay window. She fancied she could still sense the chalk dust in the air, although the old blackboard on its tripod had gone, replaced by a modern whiteboard on the end wall. The walls were bare except for a few timetables and fire regulations. The heavy old desks and chairs, scored by innumerable compass points and pen knives, had been superseded by insipid modern furniture. Miss Felton’s desk, raised on a dais a foot so she could stare down on her pupils in regal authority, was replaced by an ordinary table with a Formica top.
Selina closed the door behind her and leaned back against it, her hands pressed flat between the wood and her bottom, and took a deep breath. The years fell away and it seemed as though she could hear the scratch of pens, and the rustle of textbook pages, the measured tread of Miss Fulton patrolling the ranks of desks as a class of a dozen girls laboured over their set task. It seemed as though she could hear the hissing whispers of the fair haired girl with the page-boy haircut, a rather florid girl who was an incessant chatterer – what had been her name? Gail. Gail Wethered.
‘Gail Wethered. Come here at once girl! How many times do you think I am going to tell you?’
The hush that instantly fell upon the class of sixteen-year-olds was that of a dozen girls holding their breath. Gail’s round face had instantly constricted with something approaching panic as she heard her name rapped out in that tone. Her china blue eyes were as round as saucers and her jaw hung down.. She gulped and shot a look at Selina before rising to her feet. Selina, perhaps disloyally, just felt enormously glad that she had merely been the slightly irritated target of Gail’s whispered chatter. She had not reciprocated nor had she, it seemed, been included in Gail’s crime. Miss Felton was standing, hands on her hips, in stern reproof, in front of the class. Her position made her look even more formidable. She tapped her foot, once. As if stung by this sign of increasing displeasure, Gail leapt to her feet and scampered out to the front of the class, the hem of her dark gray pleated skirt bobbing, Miss Felton waited until she had stopped and then thrust her face forward into that of the trembling blonde.
‘Did you hear me when I reprimanded you for talking not ten minutes ago?’ she asked, her voice low and even.
Gail seemed to shrug. ‘No Miss, I mean yes Miss’
‘Are you trying to disturb the entire class, is that it? When I specifically tell you there is to be no talking, you deliberately defy me?’. . . . , ‘N-no Miss’.
'Turn around and face the class. Stand in front of that desk there'. Miss Felton propelled the unlucky pupil about-face by one shoulder, shoving her against the edge of one of the empty desks which always somehow gathered in the front row.
‘Get across it.'
'Oh no, Miss, please!'
'Are you arguing with me?’ Miss Felton's tone was icy. ‘No Miss’ Gail mumbled miserably, leaning forward over the desk so that her hair swung around her face. Miss Felton picked up the heavy wooden ruler from her own desk top.
‘Right down, Gail.' The girl grimaced and leaned even further forward flattening her rounded breasts against the wood surface which sloped down and away from her. Her rear end was now higher than her head. Miss Felton seized the hem of the short pleated skirt and flung it up around the girl's waist. Selina and the class rest of the class drew a corporate breath of teenage horror. They were then treated to the sight of Miss Felton taking hold of what they rightly supposed to be the waistband of Gail's knickers.
Poor Gail gave a wail and attempted to stand up, clapping her hands behind her in a vain effort to stem the tide of indignity being visited upon her. But Miss Felton simply and expertly crossed Gail's wrists at the small of her back and, holding her thus down bent her over the desk.
The class could now be in little doubt as to what was about to follow. They could see Gail's face, but not her bottom. Those at the sides of the classroom craned for a better view of the brief panties now resident around her knees, Miss Felton lifted the ruler above her shoulder and brought it swooping down onto that ignominiously bared behind where it landed with a crack which echoed across the room. Gail's yell was ear-splitting.
'Aargh' she howled, and all Serena’s nerves were thrilled by the sound. The ruler went up and down again with speed and regularity, its reports punctuating Gail's squeals and Miss Felton's remonstrance.
'In future -' Whack ! 'Owwch ' - you will keep quiet when you are told -'Whack! 'EEErgh! '- and if you ever dare - ' Whack! 'Yeeeow!" – to disobey again. ‘Whack’ 'Owwwww! ‘then you will find that - ' Whack! 'Ouch. oh. Please’ a taste of the cane will soon deter you from -' Whack! 'Ooooh - - ever doing so again!' Whack! 'EEEEEK!' 'Now get back to your seat!'

Miss Felton turned and strode back to her desk. Poor Gail scrambled her panties up beneath her skirt wincing as the elastic scraped across her flaming cheeks, then hurried, head down, back to her place beside Selina. She sat down, and immediately rose again, with something which started out to be a screech, but which, at a glance from Miss Felton, was quickly cut off. She snuffled a little throughout the rest of the lesson but was more silent than Selina had ever known. Her cheeks were still wet when the bell rang.
* * *
Selina came to with a start. She looked around the classroom as if surprised that it no longer contained the hushed class, the cowed Gail and the imperious Miss Felton. Daydreaming again, she thought to herself, and giving a shrug, left the room and started down the stairs to the college office.
To her surprise, the room which had housed the school office was now a classroom, the original door from the hallway bricked up. A half-glassed door bearing the sign 'College Administration' was in front of what she remembered as the principal's office.
Selina entered without knocking, causing the single occupant of the room, a middle-aged woman seated before a typewriter, to look up.
'Can I help you’ she asked.
'You may be able to' answered Selina briskly, striding so purposefully to the counter that her full skirt positively swished around her slender knees. She placed her handbag on the counter and paused for a moment to let her appearance have its customary effect. It usually got the desired results from people employed in menial positions.
She was tall for a woman, five feet eight without heels, and her model's training showed in her walk. Her sheer hose, high heels and careful and exquisite make-up all combined with the
obvious expense of her outfit to give the impression of privileged elegance; a woman who had no need to work and no worries over money. The fine fair hair framed her face and fell neatly around the collar of her jacket. The green eyes. Set above a rather long, straight nose, were cool and aristocratic. They were the eyes of a woman who, at the age of 29, had grown used to getting her own way.
When she was convinced that the other was suitably impressed. Selina spoke.
'You are aware, perhaps, that this building was formerly the Priory Academy for Young ladies? A private school? Before it was sold to the local authority and turned into...’ Selina flapped her gloves around her in a gesture of distaste. 'In those days it was presided over by a Miss Felton. MA (Oxon) I believe who -'
'Miss Felton, yes, that's right’
'I beg your pardon?' Selina, irritated by the interruption, looked hard at the woman behind the typewriter. 'You know of her? I am trying to trace her’
'I don't know of her’ replied the woman archly. 'I know her, she teaches English here on Tuesdays and Thursdays’
'She does?’ Selina was momentarily taken aback. 'I had thought that she had retired, I expected to find her at an address in the country somewhere. Tuesdays and Thursdays, you say? Will she be in this evening?'
'It's a Thursday. isn't it?'
Really thought Selina, some people scarcely know their place.
She extracted a small gold propelling pencil and a leather-bound notebook from her handbag and wrote busily for some moments.
‘Would you give this to her' She passed over the folded slip of paper.
'Why not wait for her!' asked the woman. 'Her class starts at six and she's always well ahead of time’
'No thank you’ said Selina, turning to go, firm in her determination to be in the driving seat when she finally did come face to face with Miss Felton again after all these years. The woman had always had such a powerful personality that Selina, like all her classmates, had been in awe of her. Going back to try to beard her in her den after all this time was an attempt to exorcise the power she had once wielded. She, Selina, was now in possession of both wealth and position. Miss Felton was stuck: apparently still teaching bored office girls and surly louts at night school. She did not seem to have prospered. With her acquired poise and experience Selina knew she ought to emerge victorious in any confrontation but she still felt some kind of disquiet which convinced her she ought to choose her ground. She moved towards the door briskly then suddenly halted, her attention arrested. Something about the way the light fell had shown her a glimpse of this room as it used to be. Long and richly carpeted with leather furniture. She had a sudden memory of Betty Trask, dark and curly-haired and 17 (just the same as Selina herself), face down over Miss Felton's lap. She could see the dark grey gymslip crumpled around her waist, her little blue knickers around the gyrating knees. The sound of the tawse was like a pistol shot each time its twin tails landed and Betty was squealing and promising, her hands firmly held in the small of her back out of the way of that devilish strap. Selina's throat was dry and she had felt momentarily dizzy. The trepidation that she felt as she watched the poor girl take her well-deserved punishment.
‘Er...I said is there anything else?’
Selina jolted herself out of her reverie and went towards the door. 'Just see the message is deliverer’ she said thickly. ‘That will be all.’ She left the office and then went out of the building and down the drive, past her Volvo.
* * *
The interior of the pub was quiet at that hour. Selina walked in with the newly bought local evening paper and stood at the bar to order a vodka and tonic. The landlord, when he perceived that she was alone, looked her up and down suspiciously, Selina glared at him and he looked away, abashed. 'Anyone of my class who was on the game wouldn't pick this hole,' thought Selina crossly and sat down and opened her paper.
Try as she might, she could not help but feel a creeping and gradually growing nervousness. It was foolish, she told herself. Even if she comes, which I doubt, she's an old woman now. The school seemed so much smaller and so will she. She'1l be old and feeble now, and I'll be able to get free of her lurking shadow.
She signalled to the landlord for another drink. After her glare and her action in sitting in one of the alcoves, disdainfully glancing at the decor and shaking out her skirts like a dowager duchess at a state function, he had come over, drywashing his hands and being very considerate. Could he get her anything? She was waiting for someone, perhaps? She agreed that she was and allowed him to fetch her next drink. This was her third, on an empty stomach.
She began to feel mellow and her mind began to drift ... Betty Trask had levered herself off Miss Felton's knee and stumbled tearfully away, rubbing her blistered behind. Then, Miss Felton beckoned sternly, fixing Selina herself with a severe glare.
Gulping, with eyes downcast, Selina went forward on dragging feet. She came to a halt within a couple of feet of the tailored tweed knees.
'Bare your bottom,' rapped the mistress. 'And get across my lap this minute. Come along, girl!'
Swallowing hard, Selina hoicked up the back of her grey skirt and pulled her brief white knickers down to her knees. Her face burned with embarrassment. Avoiding the piercing gaze she left her knickers around her knees, then lifted up the folds of her skirt at the back and leaned forward. At the point when she could go over no further without toppling, she put her hands on Miss Felton's left leg (the skirt stayed up by itself now) and lowered her weight across the woman's lap. She felt the rough texture of the skirt, scratchy on her soft bare thighs. Her bottom felt huge and vulnerable and way up above and behind her. She felt it clench and twitch. Her hands moved down onto the floor and she balanced herself by placing her palms flat on the carpet. Far away, she could hear Betty Trask snivelling and Miss Felton seemed to be lecturing her but her head spun and the wisps of blonde hair which escaped her plaits tickled her chin. Then there was a pause and she caught her breath. All of a sudden she felt the impact of the tawse on her buttocks, numbing at first and then hot and stinging.
'Oww!' she heard herself squeal.
Whack! The strap landed again.
'OOOOh’ howled Selina, her hands flying back behind her as she reared up. She heard Miss Felton's voice raised in reproof and felt her hands seized in a firm grip.
Whack! The tawse seared across her soft curves, her hips churned and swivelled around on Miss Felton's lap.
Whack!
'Owww! Oh please, Miss -'
Whack!
'Eeeek! Oh Miss, no more, please -'
Whack!
Would it never end? Would Miss Felton's hand rise and fall until Selina lost all her composure?
Whack!
'Oh, ow, ooh - I'll - '
Whack !
'Miss. I'll be good, I will!' -

* * *
'Well, well, so it is you! little Selina Smith! After all this time’
Selina looked up, totally flustered. A figure, weighed down with a satchel full of books, stood before her.
'Uhh, actually, it's Selina Parker, now, uum, Miss Felton, excuse me. I I I was miles away, s s s-sorry'.
Damn the woman, thought Selina, standing up, first waving to the landlord and then offering her hand, coloured with confusion.
She has me stammering like a schoolgirl already, she realised.
Miss Felton accepted the offer of a dry sherry and seated herself with the minimum of fuss. Selina was disconcerted to note that she had not aged at all and looked no less firm and determined than she ever had.
'Well now, Selina, you’ve changed your name I see, Married, then! And what does your husband do! Where do you live? Have you children? I always enjoy meeting my former pupils. How long have you been married?'
Selina suddenly found herself pouring everything out. What on earth is the matter with me?’ she found herself thinking. Her mouth was running away with her. She could herself blurting out all the troubles of her marriage and how Derek had suggested that they had a trial separation and think about divorce. She even told Miss Felton how she had blocked Derek's chance of promotion by refusing to live in Geneva - 'too antiseptic a town' she had said. All the dissatisfactions with her life poured out of her, all that she felt was wrong about the privileges and the ‘easy life'. I must be drunk. she thought.
Miss. Felton listened to it all, sipping her sherry. Finally, when she put the glass down, it was empty. She allowed Selina to call for it to be refilled, and watched with lips primmed in self-evident disapproval as Selina ordered a double for herself. And then when silence had fallen between them and Selina, if it were not for the effects of the alcohol, would have been feeling thoroughly silly, she spoke her voice low and non-committal.
‘What happened to the Waterford Glass?’ she asked.
Selina gaped. How on earth - ? She gulped and stumbled and it was a long time before she found her voice. 'I suppose you want the truth this time she said, at about quarter volume.
‘That would be best, yes, I never was given it before, was I?’
'I broke it. That is, er, someone else broke it and it was because of me that they did. I'm sorry, I don't think I can give you the other name. It would be like snitching, even now.'
Miss Felton inclined her head. ‘I can understand that’ she said.
Selina experienced the same warm glow which praise from this older woman had always caused her and marvelled that it should have the same effect all these years later.
'Do you want to tell me how it came about!" asked Miss Felton, lifting the sherry glass to her lips.
Selina shrugged. 'We were in the staff room where it was laid out - where we had no business being, of course - and she said something I didn't like so I pushed her and she pushed me back and I pushed her again, but a lot harder this time and she
cannoned into the table where it was all set out and crash over it all went. Funny, really, that's what we'd sneaked in there for another look at. We thought it was a smashing leaving present and that particular mistress was so popular - even though I can't remember her name. Then when you got up in assembly and said would the culprit please confess, well, we knew it was only two days to the end of term and we just had to keep our heads down for a little while to be in the clear. We knew you weren't going to stop all of us - the whole school - going on our summer vac, just to find out.'
'But I never needed to find out. I always knew. I just looked around at assembly and the guilt was written on your faces large as life. I just hoped that I had taught you enough self-respect to own up and take your punishment. I felt bitterly disappointed in you.'
Selina, who had gaped at the news, now shivered theatricality. ‘No fear’ she said, tossing her fine blonde hair. 'I had had quite enough experience of being walloped by you when you strapped Betty Trask and me that time for smoking. I didn't want any more. Especially as it was a caning job this time, we were all sure of that. I’d heard quite enough about your skill at wielding a cane.
Miss Felton. I was only too glad not to have to find out at first hand. Funnily. sometimes I find myself feeling almost wistful about that. Sort of wishing I'd had the moral fibre to own up and take what was coming to me and that you might have respected me for that. Now I learn you've known all along. How you must have despised the pair of us! You know who the other girl was don't you?’
‘Yes. I do: Betty Trask.'
Selina sighed, ‘That’s right. But tell me: if you knew, why didn't you cane us anyway.
Miss Felton shook her grey locks and tutted. 'Can't you answer that question for yourself. After all I tried to teach you’
Selina raised her glass and took a deep swallow to cover her confusion. She was definitely feeling a little less tight. ‘Not unless you wouldn’t punish us without proof. That you’d feel that wasn’t fair according to what you always used to tell us? That is there was evidence or we got caught red-handed, then we'd been stupid and deserved a thrashing. That owning up to something we could have got away with would be, I don't know, sort of character building!'
Miss Felton looked at her with what Selina could swear was warmth and affection.
'All these years.' she said. 'And I thought that I had failed with you. But it did sink in, didn't it? You did, ah, as you young people say, "get the message", didn't you! A pity that you don't seem to have put it into practice.'
Selina gasped: her hands, with their perfectly manicured and polished nails, flew to her face and her cheeks were suffused with a blush. ‘Why. What on earth do you mean?’
It was the older woman's turn to shrug her shoulders in their greenish tweeds. 'Look at your life' she said softly 'You've made a mess of your marriage to the extent that your husband is thinking, quite rightly in my opinion of turning you out. Maybe if he’d taken his belt to you you’d have been a better wife. You've got everything you want and yet you aren't content. All because you lack the ability to take the more difficult option. You drift in whatever direction is easiest. No wonder you're not happy.'
Selina's eyes blurred with tears and she lowered her head. ‘That's not fair.' she said. 'It’s not true' Deep in her heart, though, she knew she had heard the truth. She did lack the ability to take the harder option: it was a lesson she had never learned.
‘Besides.' she said ' It wasn't just me, I couldn't confess without dropping Betty in it. She's just as guilty as I am. Why should I take all the blame'
Miss Felton stroked her hand reassuringly. 'You don't my dear.' she said. 'Betty has fully admitted her part in it. A couple of years ago. She came to see me, just like you did. She was in a very similar situation. She, too recognised her failing, all those years ago. But she faced up to it and she felt much better when she'd settled her account. She writes to me regularly. She's blissfully happy with her husband now and wishes she had realised that she needed to do years earlier'
Selina raised her eyes, now filled with tears. ‘What do you mean "settled her account" she asked.
Miss Felton primmed her lips. 'What do you think?' she asked. She just took her medicine - the way she should have done when she was a schoolgirl. Got it all off her chest. The relief she said was enormous and well worth the sting.
'D-d do you mean' stammered Selina. ‘B-b-but how! I mean wh...wh...what?’
'My dear I still keep a locker over at the old school even though there is little that I do there now. Sentiment, if you like. There are still a few souvenirs of my days as headmistress. I was able to ferret out a cane without a lot of difficulty and Betty gritted her teeth and took her medicine’
‘But she's a grown woman. She must have been! I mean she couldn't just bend over for a caning, could she?'
'Of course she could. And did. It did her the world of good to bare her backside for a good dose of the stick’.
‘But- but where? How? Selina could scarcely take it in. No one who knew her now had ever seen her like this.
'Why, across at the college of course! I have always had keys. After nine o'clock the place is completely empty. We had absolute privacy. A half-an-hour and it was all over. Like a weight lifted from her shoulders, she said. Now, my dear, I think I will have one last sherry. I think you have had quite enough. Why don't you go and powder your nose? Your mascara is a little streaked.' So saying, she rose and went to the bar.
Dizzily, Selina clambered to her feet and wended her way to the ladies. A few minutes later, when she emerged, Miss Felton was sitting, engrossed in the evening paper. Selina stood at the bar, ordered a double and drank it at a gulp. Then she walked with a determined stride across to her old Headmistress' table stopping beside it but not sitting down.
'Miss Felton: she said. 'Do you still have keys to the college? It's gone nine o’clock. hasn't it?'
* * *
The lights flashed on and filled the oblong classroom with illumination. Miss Felton held the door open and closed it behind Selina, who looked around the room and gave a slight shiver as she heard the key grind in the lock. Miss Felton crossed to the Formica table and placed upon it her bag, a long garment of black cloth and a slender beige-coloured object nearly three feet in length and slightly curved, with a complete semicircle twist at one end. Selina hugged her shoulders, looking around the room, her breath coming faster now. Her gaze came to rest on the black windows with the branches of the evergreen waving outside.
'Please’ she said. 'Could we have the blinds drawn?'
Miss Felton obligingly complied then went to the table and shook out the long black academic gown and shrugged her way into it.
'I'm glad you had that here’ murmured Selina. 'It makes it seem more, more sort of official, somehow.'
'Quite so, my dear: replied Miss Felton smoothly. She took a chair from behind one of the desks and placed it in the clear space in front of the rows and facing them. She then picked up the rattan cane and flexed its springy length between both hands.
Selina spoke, her voice coming out at first in a nervous squeak. Her knees had turned to jelly.
'Uhh, Miss Felton, umm, er’
'Yes, my dear?'
'Urn, I was wondering, so I can prepare myself, er: how many?'
Miss Felton pursed her lips, 'Well now. I should have given you six at the time, so what do you think would be fair?"
Selina gulped. 'Welt, I was thinking: suppose six for the original thing and, er, six more for dodging. And so I'll remember. What do you think? Would that be alright? She glanced anxiously at the older woman, sensing that it would be unacceptable to propose less. And she had to find a sufficient antidote to her own cloud of guilt.
'Yes my dear, I think that that would be fair. But they will be hard strokes, and on the bare, of course. I always cane on the bare. And remember to thank me after every stroke, like all you girls were taught., Now, shall we get on? If you just come here and position yourself over this chair. I'm sure I don’t need to tell you how’.
Selina’s high heels tapped hesitantly on the floorboards as she approached. She gestured down at her full swinging skirt ‘Er... shall I, er'
‘If you'll just bend over, my dear. I'll arrange you how I want you’.
Selina stood ~behind the chair and leaned forward grasping the seat of the chair with both hands, bending straight from the waist.
'Right down, please Selina. Head well down now, bottom sticking up.'
Selina complied and suddenly felt the hem of her skirt lifted and laid across the small of her back. A slight chill seemed to flow over her bottom.
‘Ah good, my dear. I'm glad to see that you eschew tights – unhygienic as well as unsightly things. Now, let’s have these down and we can get to work.'
Selina was wearing skimpy nylon lace knickers in a shade of coffee. Her suspender belt matched and was also trimmed with lace and held up sheer tan stockings with stretched, glossy welts.
As her stunning bottom was revealed, perfect and flawless and fully rounded, complete with matching dimples, a tremor went through it. The panties ended in a scrap of tangled cloth just
below her stocking tops. She took a deep breath. Her bottom felt fragile and vulnerable.
'Place your ankles together. Now lower your tummy onto the chair ...that's right.. Now stretch your legs out straight. Now. I'm sure I don't have to tell you not to put your hands in the way, do I?
Or not to attempt to stand up before I have finished. If we are going to do this, after all this time, let us do it right. If you misbehave during your beating you will get extra strokes. Now, I want you to count each stroke after it lands. After that I will deliver the next, After twelve, you may stand. Are you ready?'
•Yes. Miss: Oh, the comfort of falling back into that former diction.
Miss Felton tapped the very centre of Salina’s pale and perfect bottom with the cane, just to show where the stroke was aimed and then drew the rattan back. There was a pause, then Selina heard the cane hiss through the air.
Swish!
‘Owwwww! Uhh, I'm sorry Miss. One, Miss, thank you Miss’ A thin red stripe now bisected Salina’s twin cheeks.
‘That is alright, Selina. I don't expect you to hold completely still, or to keep silent. Next one coming up.'
Swish! It was really loud.
‘Two, thank you Miss’ Selina shifted her feet and clenched her hands on the seat A second red stripe had appeared beside the first, where her bottom was slightly fuller.
Swish! No holding back at all!
'Eeek. Oooh! Oh, sorry. Miss. Three, thank you’ Selina moaned.
Ducking her head, which had involuntarily bobbed up, down again. Selina awaited the next stroke.
Swish! It cut the air.
'Ahhh! Oh, um, four, thank you Miss’ Selina gritted her teeth. The blonde hair hung over her eyes and her skirts were awry, The tiny knickers had worked their way down to mid-thigh. There were three double edged stroke marks visible below the original one. This time the wicked cane tapped above the earlier strokes.
Swish! The sound seemed to rip the very fibre of the air.
'Eeeow! Oh Miss! It stings! ... Five, thank you’ she quaked.
Swish!
'Six' Owww! Oooh, halfway, Miss!'
Swish, whack!
'Oooooh! Oooh Miss. Please! A moment! Uhhh. seven. Thank you’ The pain was now atrocious – searing into her bottom.
‘Sorry, Miss’.
Miss Felton shifted her stance and the cane rose once more aiming higher.
Swish!
'Owwwww! Oh Miss, please, lower! Where I'm plumper, please.. Miss Felton! Eight, thank you Miss’
Swish, whack!
'AAARRGH!' For the first time, a stroke half crossed an existing one, Selina half rose, her knuckles white, before controlling herself in dread of being awarded extra strokes. Her panties slipped further down her legs as her feet rattled on the floorboards. She gave an audible sob and it was moments before she could give the count. Relentlessly, the cane rose and fell once more.
Swish! Similarly ear-splitting.
'Ooooh! Ten. Thank you Miss!' This time the stroke again struck the lower slopes of Salina’s striped and burning behind. There was now just enough space to skilfully fit two strokes onto the unmarked space which the very lowest curving underside of her bottom. Miss Felton raised the cane.
Swish!
‘Uhhh!’ It was a strangled sound, and Selina jerked and tossed her head. Her knickers now slipped entirely down and entangled around her twitching ankles and the straps of her shoes. Her hips wriggled and jerked on the chair back, Miss Felton waited.
'Ooh! Ahh! Sorry, Miss. Eleven, thank you Miss.'
'Last one Selina. Well done, you've taken this well. You may stand after this one.' The cane went aloft for the last time, paused and then flashed down.
Swish!'
'Aargh! Oh Miss! Oh, that was so extra hard! Oh. Twelve, thank you Miss' Selina croaked, remembering the ritual appreciation for her punishment that she had been forced to show. She sprang to her feet, her hands flying to her well-caned rear, massaging the tender stripes that adorned it. She stood. Her knees pumping, her skirt still up and her panties in a puddle around her feet. The older woman gave her a contemptuous glance, put down her cane and shrugged out of her gown. She then sat down for the few minutes required for Selina to get her breath and her composure back, craning over her shoulder to see the damage the cane had wrought. At length, Miss Felton took out mirror and showed her. Selina gasped when she saw the vivid stripes.
‘Ohh Miss! You did lay it on, didn't you?'
‘Well, l think you'll agree you deserved it, didn't you! And you feel better, don't you. for having faced up to things?’
Slowly, Selina agreed that she did.
'The only trouble is, I’m afraid you'll have those marks for at least a week. I know you're staying in town tonight, but what will your husband think. when you get home? What will you tell him ?"
Selina stood, her skirt and slip still hoicked around her waist. Her long legs sheer in nylon, her bottom red-lined and sore and her knickers at her feet.
‘I shall tell him the truth’ she said proudly, with a fresh and direct enthusiasm 'I'm through with fibs and evasion and soft options. And I shall ask him if we can try all over again. And I shall tell him that if he thinks I’m getting out of order in future he should buy a cane or a strap and thrash my bare bottom like you’ve just done.’
Selina tossed her head proudly in a new-found freedom and pulled up her panties over her burning rear end. Miss Felton smiled privately to herself: after all these years, she had completed her job.

The Dinner Party

An epic tale but well worth the length. Jane deserves everything she gets and the wonderful fact that the maid 'is no stranger to corporal punishment' makes the whole thing so very poignant.The tawseing from the 'other woman' is well-described and the stolen lingerie adds a nice touch.

Jane stood in front of the full-length bedroom mirror, her bathrobe hanging open. Slipping first one shoulder off, then the other, she tossed it on the bed. She studied her reflection in the glass and was pleased with what she saw. Tallish and beautifully proportioned Jane was proud of her figure and rightly so - long slender legs with thighs just swelling enough to make them shapely and erotic, and above them surprisingly broad and curvaceous hips narrowed to a slim waist. Higher again, well-formed breasts were firmly thrust out bouncing provocatively at the slightest movement. The warm bath had left her skin a glowing pink with the fragrance of the bath-oils radiating around her, the nipples on her breasts glistening and erect after the towelling. It was a juncture at which Jane very often paused for sensuous self-examination - an exercise in pure vanity.
She half turned looking over her shoulder as her lovely bottom came into view. The bottom like the hips was generously broad and well-cushioned without being in any way flabby, the cheeks firm and delightfully rounded: a truly feminine bottom, every bit as shapely as one could hope for on a modem miss of 24 years of age.
The adorable body reflected in the mirror simply cried out to be fondled and caressed but whilst Jane was only too anxious for such attentions she was quite determined that her fiancé Gerald would not see all this naked loveliness before their wedding night. It was not that she had scruples of a moral nature, just that she had heard of men having second thoughts about marriage after they had obtained what they wanted. She had no intention of that happening to her.
Jane was an ambitious, self-centred and avaricious young lady with two main aims in life: firstly, to marry a respectable member of the community well enough off to provide for her properly, and secondly, to advance her career to a solid position with a good income of her own. Marrying Gerald, a rising young Solicitor would achieve the first aim, but this evening it was the second ambition that filled her thoughts. She had been invited to a Dinner Party at the home of Mr Hall, her employer at which she had been told other members of the Hall family would also be present.
Halls Ltd was the largest department store in the local town and for nearly a year Jane had been sales supervisor of the Lingerie Department, a position of considerable prestige for someone of her age but she enjoyed the responsibility and worked hard to make the department successful.
However, since the staff Christmas Dance two months earlier she had begun to have even grander ideas. Mr Hall senior, to whose party she was going, was Chairman of the firm, and his elder son, Lionel the Managing Director. At the staff dance Lionel had monopolised Jane, flirting with her in a manner that had enraged his wife, Muriel. That evening and several times since he had hinted to Jane that if she played her cards right she might be promoted to buyer for the department. The way he said and his obvious infatuation with her made the inference plain.
Was it Mr Lionel’s doing, she wondered, that she had been invited this evening on her own - without Gerald? Perhaps Lionel would offer her a lift home, she wondered as she put on apricot coloured bra and panties, gorgeous lace-trimmed garments in satin and pure silk. The fact that she had 'acquired' these expensive undies from the store's stock room did not worry her in the slightest. After all, everyone had perks, and being in charge of the department surely, she was entitled to sample the wares occasionally in order to familiarise herself with the products.
A sudden thought struck her. Suppose Mr Lionel did give her a lift home and she invited him in - perhaps he might see the undies. He would recognise them as one of their lines. Well so what? She thought, smiling to herself ... if he gets that far it won't matter, his only interest would be in trying to remove them. Anyway she had no intention of allowing such liberties. Not unless he made a very definite offer of the Buyer's post - in which case, who knows…she might allow a little fondling, just enough to let him know the delights that might be available once the appointment was confirmed. Provided it was going to advance her career and be kept secret from Gerald, a discreet little affair with Lionel might well be worthwhile.
Jane carefully eased a long turquoise dress over her head and smoothed it down over her hips. Not from Halls Ltd, this – but an expensive purchase on a recent visit to London it fitted perfectly and she thought it gave her an elegant, almost aristocratic look that would be just right for the occasion.
When she arrived at Mr Halls residence, a large detached house in an exclusive part of town, the door was opened by the maid, Carrie, a pleasant young girl who came to the store occasionally on errands. ‘Ooh, I do like your dress, Miss Forsyth' she said after helping her off with her coat. 'The others are in the drawing room this way please.'
As she entered the room Mr Hall came towards her. 'Ah, there you are Jane m'dear. Come in, come in. Carrie will get you a drink I think you' know everyone.' Jane accepted a gin and tonic from Carrie and joined in the light conversation.
After a little while Mr Hall beckoned to her: 'Jane, before we have our meal there is something I want you to see in the library, it will only take a few minutes,' and so saying he led the way nodding to Lionel who joined them. Crossing the hall they entered a room lined with bookshelves. In the centre stood a television set connected to a video recorder .
‘Now Jane.' said Mr Hall fitting a cassette into the machine 'you know we have closed circuit TV at the store for security and I want to show you some clips from recent footage.' He switched on and a view of the stock room appeared on the screen. A figure entered which Jane recognised as herself and felt a chill run down her spine. The figure glanced out and round the door before shutting it and then lifted three pairs of nylons and a slip all of which she quickly stuffed into her handbag and left the room. The picture went blank for a moment and then a similar scene was played out with Jane again dearly recognisable, this time cramming three pairs of exotic little knickers into her bag. A third and final dip showed Jane helping herself to the very same apricot bra, knicker and suspender set she was wearing that evening.
Mr Hall switched off the set. 'Well Jane, we have just witnessed three thefts all within the last fortnight. What you may have taken before that stock room camera was secretly added to our system is anybody's guess. You are aware that it is the store's policy always to prosecute in cases of theft - indeed our insurers insist on it. So, what have you to say before we call the Police?'
Jane's mouth felt dry and she knew her cheeks were scarlet. A heavily oppressive sense of shame intensified her shock, her fear and her trembling. Her mind raced. What would everyone think!
Her elderly parents, so proud of their 'career girl' daughter - it would break their hearts. And Gerald? Being an ambitious young solicitor he would drop her like a hot potato. Suddenly she was so frightened she acted right out of character, Jane Forsyth started to whine and plead! 'No. please Mr, Hall not the Police, I beg you let me pay for everything I have taken. I will never do it again - I promise - please.' Jane was near to tears. She could not control her reactions.
'If we do show this to the Police, Jane we must also of course sentence you to instant dismissal and that is the only thing that makes us hesitate. Up until now we have been very happy with your work and you have increased the profits of your Department. It would therefore suit us to keep you on but you must be punished in a manner that will deter you from any repeats. Everyone here tonight is either a Director or Shareholder in the firm and has therefore suffered to some extent by your stealing. So it is only fitting they should share in punishing you. If you accept punishment from us all- and I mean corporal punishment - having your bottom spanked knickers down, and being strapped and caned as well during the evening - if you will accept this willingly, obeying our instructions without question - we will consider such chastisement as sufficient retribution and that will be the end of the matter. So what is it to be: Police court, dismissal and disgrace ... or a discreet disciplining at this private dinner-party?'
Jane, her mind in a whirl at the turn of events, knew there could only be one answer. 'I will accept your punishment - l'll do whatever you want as long as I can keep my job. and Gerald and my parents don't hear about it,' she said at once.
'No one will hear about it, my dear,' Mr Hall assured her. 'Now let us go back to the drawing-room for one more drink before we eat.'
'Do - do the others know about - about my being punished’
asked Jane nervously as they left the library. 'Of course, Jane' replied Mr Hall 'and they are all looking forward to it. You will provide the entertainment for the evening – the cabaret. We knew you would accept our offer. Going home with a sore bottom is better than losing your job, your good name, and probably your fiancé, is it not?’
'I suppose so, mumbled Jane as they re-entered the drawing room and she thankfully accepted another gin.
‘I’m going to need this’ she thought to herself.
She looked around this little social gathering; they were all so beautifully dressed, sophisticated, the whole atmosphere so civilised and respectable – it seemed unbelievable that they intended her to bare her bottom in front of them, and as Mr Hall had put it, administer 'corporal punishment'. Her nerves rippled as she recalled the frightening phrase. In addition to Lionel and Muriel, Mr Hall's younger son, Tony, and his wife Laura, completed the party. Tony, also a Director, was only 23 and with Laura just 21 they were both younger than Jane, a fact which somehow added to her embarrassment.
She realised Lionel had sidled up to her, smiling slightly. ‘So, Jane, you’ve landed yourself in a spot of bother now, haven’t you?’
‘Mr Lionel, do they really mean to spank me and cane me, or are they having me on, giving me a scare sort of thing’
'No Jane. they are not having you on. They, or I should say we, because I'm included you know. We are going to teach you that dishonesty doesn’t pay, and it is your bottom that is going to learn the lesson. Don't worry, it won't be too bad, it's all a bit of a game really’
I wonder, thought Jane as she spotted Lionel’s wife, Muriel looking daggers at them across the room. She had enjoyed playing up to Lionel at the office party and watching Muriel become more and more jealous. It didn't seem to matter then that she had made an enemy of Muriel but now she realised that perhaps it was going to matter with Muriel a position to make her pay for her indiscretion.
Carrie appeared in the doorway. 'Excuse me Mr Hall. Dinner is served'
'Thank you, Carrie. Come along everybody’ said Mr Hall taking Jane's arm and leading the way through to the dining-room where an oval table was set for six. 'You will sit at the far end Jane, opposite me with the others round the sides'
Before she sat down Muriel whispered something in Mr Hall’s ear. He hesitated a moment before speaking and then said, 'Muriel has just voiced the opinion that under that beautiful dress, Jane, you are probably wearing some lingerie stolen from our store. To satisfy her curiosity could you please stand up on your chair and raise your dress so that we can have a look?’
'No, really’ stammered Jane. 'it's absurd'
'At once, if you please,' commanded Mr Hall sternly. 'Remember our agreement is that you obey all instructions without question'
Blushing, Jane stepped onto the chair and lifted the hem of her dress up to her waist. 'there - what did I tell you? – that’s the undie set the video shows her taking.' exclaimed Muriel triumphantly.
'Yes’ said Tony, 'lace-trimmed pure silk in Apricot Blush - our newest colour.'
'Lower your dress Jane: said Mr Hall 'and before you sit down kindly remove those knickers.’
Jane, still blushing, reached underneath her dress and pulled down the offending panties. 'Place them in the centre of the table’ continued Mr Hall. ‘While we are eating they will remind us of your dishonesty, and also the fact that your bottom is bare beneath your dress awaiting our attention’.
Melon was served as a starter, and as she ate it Jane was aware of the others glancing at the knickers on the table. smiling at each other as they did so. After they finished Carrie moved round collecting the plates, returning them to the sideboard.
Mr Hall tapped the table 'Now Miss Forsyth' (the use of her surname sounded very formal) 'it is time for the first stage of your punishment and as the senior member of the firm I will deliver it myself. Having been a very naughty girl you deserve to have your bottom spanked. But in order to let you warm up gently I’ll let you have some protection so please put those knickers back on’ Jane took the brief knickers from the table and pulled them back over pert bottom. Mr Hall moved his chair a yard or two back from the table.
'Come and stand here - now lift your dress up above your waist.'
Jane, knowing it was quite useless to protest, resigned herself to whatever ignominy lay ahead and bent forward grasping the dress hem on either side. Slowly the turquoise dress rose up revealing as it did so lovely long legs clad in the sheerest of nylon. Up past the knees it went until above mid-thigh the thicker, darker welt of suspendered stocking-tops appeared, and with erotic suddenness gave way to the swelling pale white flesh of delicious upper thighs. Inching ever upwards the dress was finally drawn up and over the rounded cheeks of a most luscious bottom. Her skimpy knickers tightly covered the curves but offering little in the way of real protection and they, together with the narrow suspender belt supporting the nylons seemed to emphasise her vulnerable state and provided a truly erotic image.
Mr Hall let her stand there a moment or two while he enjoyed the full frontal view of Jane standing before him with her dress held high.
She felt foolish, awkward and highly embarrassed. Not at all the prim elegance she had hoped to project at this gathering.
‘Across my knee’ ordered Mr Hall, turning his chair slightly to one side so that as Jane complied the watchers around the table could have a full view of her bottom rather than seeing it sideways on 'Come along.' he said impatiently, as Jane leant tentatively half over the waiting lap 'right over, rest your hands on the floor and spread your legs so you don't fall off- that's better: Appallingly, she had no alternative but to pull herself fully over his knees and move her legs apart as ordered.
Jane's bottom, which had been the focal point of attention from the moment it had been barred by the lifting of her dress was now realty displayed to advantage. Arched over Mr Hall's lap the pert cheeks bulged outwards shamelessly from beneath the drum-tight knickers - the cleft between them parted slightly and the young lady's body was clearly tensed and hunching with embarrassment. The whole gorgeous bottom was fully spread out - a delectable feast for the lustful eyes around the table - and in this position simply begging to be spanked.
Jane was all too aware of the exhibition she was providing. And was relieved at least that she had been so fastidious about bathing dusting and perfuming her most intimate areas. In this most indelicate situation the only comfort she could draw came from knowing that her body had been exquisitely prepared for examination, though of course the only possible person she had envisaged being so privileged was Lionel.
However, having to display her entrancing private charms was soon to be the least of her worries. She cringed slightly as Mr Hall placed his warm hand on her bottom She felt it moving across the thin nylon over her cheeks, compressing and stretching them a little as his firm hand squeezed the soft flesh. He had a really good feel all over her bum in an offhand manner almost unnoticed by the guests, before lifting his hand up and smacking it down hard on the right buttock. 'Ouch cried Jane and 'ouch!' again as Mr Hairs palm slapped down a second time on the same spot. He then gave two hard smacks on the left buttock in quick succession before holding his hand up for a moment. He then inserted his fingers in the waistband of the stolen knickers and said ‘enough protection, Jane, I want you to really feel this’ and with that he skimmed the flimsy garment down to her stocking tops enabling the onlookers to see the bright pink patches on both cheeks. Mr Hall resumed his attack and steadily spanked the upthrust bare mounds - moving his point of contact around so that the whole expanse of bulging flesh received a share of stinging slaps and the redness spread evenly over the entire bottom. As each crisply hard spank was delivered his hand seemed to bounce off the cheeks as if they were rubber. It was obvious that the flesh of Jane's backside was firm and resilient - which was just as well considering the evening ahead.
Jane continued to ooh and ouch gradually louder, and wriggled helplessly about as the spanks made her bum smart more and more. After a few further minutes of hard spanking, Mr Hal stopped. Right that will do for starters. Back to your seat - we shall have our next course before the second stage of your correction' As Jane lifted herself up from Mr Hall's knees she was dismayed to see that Carrie was still standing at the sideboard and had obviously witnessed the whole episode. That the maid had seen her bare bottom being spanked acutely added to her shame.
Jane hobbled towards her chair with her knickers still lowered to her thighs. ‘You may pull your panties’ up’, ordered Mr Hall. Jane gratefully tugged them up over her sore bottom and sat down.
Carrie was quite impassive as she served everyone with soup. The maid then brought a ruler over which she placed on top of the table. Nothing was said but Jane knew what it was: her bottom's next course. It was a traditional wooden ruler and looked as though it had come from an office. That will sting more than Mr Hall’s hand' thought Jane as she supped her soup, so nervous that she could scarcely consume even this liquid.
When it was finished and the plates removed Carrie brought a pack of cards which she handed to Jane. 'We would like you to decide the order of play,' said Mr Hall. 'Shuffle the cards and then deal them round the table - missing me. I have had my turn for the time being. The first person to receive a Jack will be the one to give you a dose of the ruler. It is a simple but amusing game.'
Jane stood up, blushing to the roots of her hair for all her sophistication and began dealing the cards out face upwards. She only got as far as Tony when a Jack appeared. Immediately Tony rose and reached for the ruler smiling at Jane. 'Come on young lady - time to show us your bum again: he guffawed and at the same time he moved his chair back away from the table. 'Now Jane, up with your dress and over my knee please - a good whacking with this ruler should help mend your ways!'
‘Er, no, I don’t think so’ interrupted Mr Hall. ‘I think we might give Jane’s fine backside a rest – the ruler is more traditionally used on the hands – and a firm beating on both hands might ensure this wicked girl never again uses her fingers for illicit purposes.’
Tony was disappointed but none the less accepted this edict and said sharply to Jane ‘Alright then, held out your left hand, palm up – arm outstretched’.
Jane grimaced but gradually did as instructed. Her hand held up for its beating. Tony picked up the ruler and without pausing just brought it down on the open palm.
The effect was devastating – Jane shrieked and drew the hand back towards her body’. Tony was unmoved. ‘Other hand, at once’ he snapped.
Jane realised that arguing would only make things worse and slowly pushed out the right hand. This time Tony tapped it a couple of times before raising the ruler and cracking it down. Again Jane squealed and withdrew the burning hand.
‘Just two more’ Said Mr Hall ‘Jane’s got a lot to take this evening and that ruler seems to be biting hard’
So each hand took one more stroke and Jane gratefully sat down – her bottom still stung but it was as nothing to the throbbing pain in her hands. She’d never imagined a short ruler could inflict such agony.
After serving the fish course, Carrie quietly laid a strap on the centre of the table. Jane viewed it with considerable apprehension. It was a typical school tawse, dark brown leather, about two feet long with the last ten inches split down the middle to form two tails.
The grilled sole was delicious but Jane could only toy with it - the sight of the evil-looking strap in front of her had quite taken away her appetite. Eventually, but too soon for Jane, the others finished and after clearing away the places Carrie again brought the card for Jane to deal. This time they went round twice before Muriel received the required Jack.
'Aren't you the lucky one!’ quipped Tony
'Not really: replied Muriel 'I was hoping to use the cane - but not to worry, I'll do the best I can with the strap’
I'll bet you will, thought Jane with a feeling of dread. Aware of how much Muriel disliked her.
'Right, Miss Forsyth.' said Muriel getting to her feet, 'where shall we have you positioned? I know - push your chair back a couple of yards and reverse it. You can bend over the back and take hold of the seat. That should prop your bum up nicety.' Jane rose and positioned the chair as instructed. It was no longer necessary to tell her to raise her dress: she knew what was expected and dutifully hoisted it •up waist high before leaning over the chair and grasping the front of the seat. The chair back was high enough to make her stretch her legs straight and taut. Particularly when she moved her feet further apart which she did of her own volition to avoid the chagrin of being ordered to by Muriel. Muriel however, far from being impressed by Jane's submissive gesture was determined to impose the maximum indignity on this scheming young woman 'Don't you think it would be better to have the dress off altogether?' she remarked to her father• in-law .'It's becoming creased with all the bunching up’
'Yes...why not!' said Mr Hall secretly rather pleased at the suggestion 'We really should find out whether you are wearing any further items of stolen underwear, Jane and as Muriel says, it is a shame to crumple up that lovely dress. So off with it please – Carrie can lay it out in another room.'
Jane who had straightened up during this discussion looked daggers at Muriel before reluctantly pulling down the zip at the side of the dress and then hoisting it over her head and off. Carrie came forward to take it from her, leaving Jane beside the chair clad only in knickers, stockings, suspender belt and most noticeably, a silk and satin apricot bra. They all knew where that had come from.
Jane stood uncomfortably, blushed scarlet and hoped against hope that they wouldn't want her to ... But it was a vain hope.
Muriel was already speaking: 'Well well more of our property, Jane. You can't be allowed to wear a stolen bra while you are being disciplined. Put it on the table.'
Jane looked pleadingly at Mr Hall but there was no help there.
The breasts cupped in the exotic bra were obviously well- formed and the prospect of seeing them fully revealed was stiffening more than his resolve. 'Do as Muriel says he murmured a little huskily.’ You agreed to obey all our instructions’.
Slowly, Jane put her hands behind her, unclasped the bra and with a look of helpless dismay drew it away from her breasts. (They were certainly worth seeing - perfectly shaped and thrusting out firmly.) Quickly and self-consciously she moved across to place the bra on the table.
‘And the knickers’ snapped Muriel ‘I’m not going to waste my efforts – I want you to feel this. ‘Come on, take those panties down now’.
Jane put her fingers in the waistband of the tight little apricot knickers and peeled them down, stepped out of them and put them with the bra on the table. Her stunning bottom revealed for all to admire. She then returned to stand beside the reversed chair turning her back to the audience to hide her frontal nudity. But nothing could protect her from the acute feeling of humiliation.
‘Right, Jane' said Muriel in the same catty, cutting tone. Dangling the tawse purposefully. 'Get back over the chair - now that you have bared your arse and titties like a tatty stripper we'll proceed with strapping your bottom.' And now clearly a certain voluptuous malicious relish could also be heard in her voice.
Having bent over the high chair, Jane reached forward to grasp the seat and again spread her legs slightly. This opened and broadened the shapely posterior which was once more perfectly displayed for all to see – the cheeks still with a warm red glow from the effects of the recent hand-spanking.
Muriel moved alongside, putting her hand out and sharply slapping the bottom flesh severa1 times. ‘Ouch!' said Jane as the bony fingers bit into her bum.
'Is that hurting you! - you hussy’ Muriel hissed in Jane's ear.
'Wait till I start with the strap - I'll teach you not to make eyes at my husband. This house has in its own grounds so you can cry out as much as you like and I want to hear you yell so I know I’m getting my message through to you.'
Jane gritted her teeth and wished she would get on with it. Bent over with her bottom obscenely stuck out waiting for the strap was unnerving, but Muriel was determined to savour the moment. Mr Hall could feel the tension; he, like the others knew Muriel had a score to settle - and what better than an upturned bottom at the mercy of a supple leather tawse? It was superb poetic justice.
Carefully Muriel measured her swing and then brought the strap round and down across the crown of the waiting bum 'Aooh!' cried Jane as her bottom jerked violently. A few seconds' pause and the twin tails of the strap again landed on the centre of the shapely bum with a loud thwack. 'Ooooh cried Jane loudly and "Oooh, oooh even more loudly as a third stroke lashed down. The hand spanking had stung painfully, but the strap was far worse and really scorched Jane's bottom The desire to jump up and clasp her still stinging hands to her bum was very strong but so was her determination not to give Muriel the satisfaction of breaking her. Sheer will-power enabled her to keep a tight hold of the chair seat but could not prevent her bottom from bouncing and twisting about as the strap continued to rise and fall. The buttock cheeks repeatedly opened and tightened in spasmodic jerks as they absorbed the shock waves.
Nor could she help crying out every time the strap landed – each stroke intensifying the pain and making her weep freely between strokes some of which lashed perilously close to her most sensitive spot.
Jane's bottom, red to begin with, was now bright scarlet with blotches in places, but Muriel continued her relentless strapping of the squirming, defenceless bum for some time before pausing for a rest. Jane remained bent over the chair back sobbing quietly and writhing continuously.
Muriel stood back for a few moments, obviously deriving great pleasure from the sight of the soundly strapped bum still heaving and writhing about with the cheeks constantly opening and shutting. There was a breathless silence in the room for somehow it was so poignant seeing this happening to a full-grown and beautiful young woman. Jane's discomfort was plain to see and there was no doubt she was now the possessor of a very sore bottom indeed.
And thought Muriel to herself I’ll make it even sorer to ensure she really remembers the message.
She raised the strap once more and thwacked it downwards.'
The outstretched bum jerked violently and Jane gave a sharp cry at this renewal of the assault. A second stoke and Jane yelped again. As Muriel drew back the strap the watchers could see she was aiming lower and sure enough the tawse landed swift and hard across the skin fold between upper thigh and lower bottom. Jane gave a loud yell and although she kept hold of the chair seat her ankles kicked back one after the other as the effect of the stroke on this sensitive area bit into her. She writhed and wriggled while Muriel drew back the strap and after a pause delivered an even lower and more painful blow. This avoided the twisting bum altogether and lashed across the backs of the lovely milky-white thighs just above-the stocking tops. It was too much for Jane who with a screech of pain jumped upright clasping her hands to her whipped thighs and squeezed the flesh with all her might until the intense pain eased a little. 'Ouch. aach. aah No more.. please, no more she looked beseechingly at Mr Hall.
'Yes I think that is enough Muriel’ he said 'and don't look so upset. You have given Jane a first class strapping, but the agreement was that we would punish her bottom not her legs - so I hope everybody will remember that from now on.
'Sit down Jane - if you can.! - and we'll continue our meal’
Jane, bringing her chair with her, moved somewhat stiffly back to her place and even these few slow steps caused her breasts to bob and bounce delightfully. Very gently she lowered her burning cheeks onto the leather seat. It was cooling at first but soon there was a tacky sticky feeling at every movement constantly reminding her that her bum was bare and her knickers were on the table for all to see. This might have been quite a sensual experience, she thought if only her bottom wasn't hurting so much. And evidently this smarting fury was not the kind of pain that would disappear in a hurry.
While Came served the main course, roast pheasant, the others were able to enjoy a close look at Jane's shapely breasts. Any illusion of dignity melted clean away under their proprietorial stares. After the maid finished serving she reached for something under the sideboard, and with her usual smile at Jane placed a cane on top of the bra and knickers on the table.
Jane's heart sank as she saw it dose up: a long yellowish rattan cane with a curved handle like a very thin walking stick. Strong, resilient but flexible and, thought the poor girl, specifically designed and made for punishing naughty bottoms. A wave of panic came over her. The severity of the strapping left her bottom so burning and tender that the thought of the cane on top tempted her to give up and insist on leaving. Alas she realised the consequences – prosecution, disgrace and the ruining of her life were even more unthinkable. No, however much they humiliated her and no matter how hard and how many times they wished to flog her she knew she must endure it somehow. This evening her bottom was at their disposal to do with as they pleased and she could do absolutely nothing about it.
Jane gave a quiet sob and again could only toy with the dish in front of her. She could not swallow. Her nudity made her feel more vulnerable than ever with so many eyes staring at her.
When everyone was finished and the plates removed the cards were produced with now only Lionel and Laura in contention. The first Jack fell to Lionel so it was he who rose and picked up the cane.
'Come Jane’ he said not unkindly 'the sooner we start the sooner it will be over'. If you could stand across there and bend over that should do nicely’
Jane, still with a despairing look on her face, moved to the indicated spot and turning her back, bent right over almost touching her toes in the traditional school girl position.
'No, not quite so much’ said Lionel seeing how tight and hard the bum-cheeks were stretched over her hip bones. 'Try putting your hands on your knees’ As Jane straightened up the cheeks relaxed and became rounder and more cushioned. 'That's better’ Lionel said, his hand briefly exploring Jane's outstretched bottom and feeling its warmth and he gently slapped it. He stepped to one side and carefully measured the cane against the rounded cheeks. Back it went slowly before being brought whipping down to hit the naked flesh.
‘Aahh!' gasped Jane whilst her red bottom cheeks gave a little jerk acknowledging the stinging kiss or the rod. A second stroke brought a similar response.
Although both strokes hurt, landing as they did on an already very sore bottom Jane was aware that they were not as agonising as could have been expected. Lionel was undoubtedly refraining from using maximum force. He appeared to take a full swing but must be holding back a little just before contact. Even in the midst of her punishment Jane felt graceful but realised it might be wise to assist in the deception. So when the third stroke landed she gave a louder cry and jerked her bottom sharply.
From then on she continued yell out at each stroke and wriggled her bum about as though the caning was extremely painful. If the onlookers were being fooled by this performance they were at least being treated to the sight of Jane's bottom executing a most voluptuous and revealing dance for their entertainment.
When Lionel paused he too found the sight of the wriggling bum attractive viewing. He suddenly felt a desire to give it a good hard hiding and see it jump in earnest. After all he told himself, Jane had stolen from them so he should not be too light on her, and the shapely bottom wriggling deliciously in front of him was most provocative to someone holding a whippy cane.
With rising excitement Lionel again measured the cane against the heaving bum, drew it well back and delivered it hard and true.
Thwack
'Oowwh!' Jane's yell was quite genuine this time. Her bottom jerking violently as the pain seared through it. This was how she had imagined that awesome cane would feel - quite agonising. It struck again with similar force and Jane felt her whole body quivering as her bum absorbed the stinging cut.
Lionel would have liked to continue but decided not to jeopardize his chance of future favours from the delectable Jane. This had been a strong motive in his earlier holding back. 'There, that will do’ he said 'and I hope it has taught you a good lesson.
Jane straightened up and returned thankfully to her chair wincing as she lowered her sore bum onto the leather seat. Even with the last two stingers, she knew Lionel had let her off lightly and she was glad her encounter with the cane had been at his hand and not Muriel’s.
However her relief vas short lived. Once the dessert course was served, a delightful sherry trifle, Carrie again reached underneath the sideboard and to Jane's dismay produced a birch. This she placed in the middle of the table, smiling sweetly at the naked girl on whom it was obviously soon to be used.
Jane shivered, partly from having no clothes on, but mostly with apprehension as she surveyed the birch. It looked frightening - a full thirty inches long and made up six or seven thin supple branch lengths tightly bound at the bottom to provide a good hand grip and blossoming out to a tightly packed twiggy fullness of about four inches diameter at the business end - the part, that is, that would be applied to her posterior.
'A worthy instrument for disciplining a wrongdoer, wouldn't you say Jane?' remarked Mr Hall, as though reading her mind 'Carrie and I collected the branches from the garden yesterday and spent some time grading and matching them to make it just right’ At this point the maid flashed Jane a fetching smile. 'We steeped it in brine overnight to keep it supple and ensure none of the twigs snap or crack off. The soaking has also made it heavier, so it should do a good job’
'No need to cry yet. Jane.' he added seeing her begin to weep again.' Actually you have been rather lucky in selecting people for your different lessons. By simple elimination it falls to Laura to birch you and she is such a gentle young thing I hardly think you will suffer too much. Nevertheless we must find a way of presenting you for this punishment that is worthy of our fine birch.' He looked around the room. 'I know - may we borrow your serving trolley Carrie! Would you clear it and bring it out here please.'
Carrie removed the remaining plates from the trolley and wheeled it out near the dinner table. 'Yes, sideways on’ said Mr Hall 'Come on Jane, over the trolley please. It will support your bottom at just the right height.'
Reluctantly, wishing that the floor would open up to swallow her, Jane clambered across the trolley. As she did so it moved about alarmingly on its four wheels but by placing her feet apart and pulling herself further over so that her hands reached the floor on the opposite side she was able to keep it stationary. However this was only achieved at the expense of modesty. Jane’s spread-eagled position over the trolley presented a lewd display, the bulging bottom cheeks and upper thighs forced outwards and once again she was grateful that her posture concealed her suddenly flushing face.
While most of the onlookers were enjoying this stark exhibition of Jane’s anatomy, Laura had taken hold of the birch and was having some practice swings through the air. Jane screwed her head round to watch and felt chagrined that her tormentor this time was to be a girl younger than herself. Laura moved nearer and positioned the birch gently over Jane's bottom stretched out so openly across the trolley. She felt a pang of real pity when she saw at close quarters how bruised and blotched the shapely bum had become. The whole wide fleshy expanse was deeply purply red with twin ridged weals showing where the two last savage strokes of Lionel’s cane had landed. What on earth is a birching going to feel like on top of this lot! thought Laura but Mr Hall was nodding to her to begin so steeling herself to the task she raised her arm well up and swiped the birch down across the outstretched bum. It landed with a loud Thwacksh! echoed by a drawn-out ‘ahhh’ from Jane as her bottom gave a sharp jerk and started twitching violently.
To her surprise Laura found that this reaction to what had been a rather casual first stroke gave her quite a thrill. Her sympathy of a few minutes earlier was overtaken by a feeling of power at the realisation that the ambitious Miss Forsyth , stretched naked across the trolley, was so much at her mercy. Her natural feminine bitchiness - which found no expression in her everyday personality, suddenly had an appropriate target. The upturned bottom was already acknowledging the effectiveness of the birch and the prospect of making it really dance excited the younger girl. The fact that this would involve more pain for the humiliated Jane no longer worried her.
Shifting her stance s1ightly Laura aimed her next stroke at the fleshy lower half of Jane's bum and was rewarded after the satisfying whistling hiss by seeing the curvy cheeks contract and expand in convulsive movement. Jane gasped loudly and could be heard giving a few sobs. She knew now why a birch was considered so effective an instrument of punishment. It was like several strokes of the cane landing simultaneously, all from different angles, and even that didn't describe it adequately, the twiggy branches still hard and firm despite the soaking in brine ensured that over the whole wide area of contact every square millimetre of bottom flesh received its individual intensely stinging message of pain. The result was a scorching searing sensation that left the entire bottom on fire.
Those first two strokes had been enough to revitalise the colour of poor Jane's bum from its deep purply red back to a fiery brightness contrasting vividly with the rest of her pale white body.
Down came the birch again on the middle of the rounded cheeks. A sharp cry from Jane and much writhing and wriggling showed that her bottom was once more receiving a most impressive punishment. Laura enjoying the effect her efforts were having, became a little careless with the next stroke. She intended to catch the very lowest part of the outstretched buttocks, the fleshy underhang, but the birch landed even lower, striking across the bottom crease with much of the impact being taken by the top few inches of upper thigh, she glanced quickly at Mr Hall remembering now he had admonished Muriel for strapping the top of Jane's thighs but realising it was unintentional he affected not to notice. Jane however certainly noticed, letting out a shrill screech and many 'oohs' and 'aahs' as the full effect was felt by the tender flesh.
The trolley cavorted as she bounced and writhed about. She would have jumped up if she could, but being arched right over the trolley made it impossible so despite the heaving her bottom remained thrust upwards fully available for further birching.
Laura, as though to correct any wrong impression given by the wayward stroke, quickly struck again - this time carefully aiming at the very middle of the writhing bum. This made it writhe even more energetically, whilst Jane continued moaning and sobbing. The squirming backside looked terribly sore with the bruised flesh cruelly scratched and scored by the twiggy birch.
Laura felt some compassion returning and decided one more stroke would suffice. She made sure that this landed squarely across the central mass of the scarlet bottom making it jerk about frantically and drawing a howl from Jane who remained up-ended, gasping between sobs. while Laura moved away and laid down the birch.
Carrie, who had been watching from her position at the end of the sideboard, came forward. Holding me trolley still she assisted Jane to clamber off and stand up. Once upright Jane swayed before walking stiffly back to her chair. She sat down very gently but even so gave a whimper of pain as her burning bottom met the leather seat. Trying to brush the tears from her eyes before fresh ones filled them she looked round the table. Surely they must be satisfied now, she thought. Each one had had his or her turn at giving her what Mr Hall called 'corrective lessons’, most of them extremely painful. In doing so they had exploited her nudity, forcing her to show off her intimate parts in a most rude fashion and thus humiliated her sexually.
After serving coffee, Carrie came round with liqueurs and Jane shakily accepted a brandy which she hoped would help her compose herself. Still giving an occasional sniffle, she watched anxiously as Carrie returned to the sideboard but to her relief the maid busied herself stacking plates onto the trolley which she then wheeled out of the room.
No new implement of punishment had been brought to the table. It really is over, thought Jane. She sipped her brandy, holding the glass with both hands so that her forearms partly hid her naked breasts which, perhaps as a result of her scorched bottom had become highly stimulated - the nipples sticking out like hard glistening cherries.
'I trust our home-produced birch gave you something to think about, Jane.' said Mr Hall passing his cigarette case round the table. ‘Laura only gave you a few strokes but they seemed rather effective. Anyway it means there is only one person who hasn't had a turn at thrashing you - and here she is!' he exclaimed as Carrie re-entered the room. 'I think we’ll allow Jane a few more minutes' rest, Carrie, before you give her a final dose of correction.’
‘No, oh please Mr Hall – I couldn’t stand any more. I really couldn’t....please’ gasped Jane who for the past few minutes really believed her ordeal was over and now found her hopes dashed.
‘I am sorry, Jane.' replied Mr Ha1l 'we agreed that everybody would share in punishing you so Carrie must have her turn.'
'Oh no, oh please Mr Hall I’ve taken my punishment from all of you, but not your maid - please!' Jane sounded offended as well as shocked. Despite the torment she had been put through deep down she was still a social climber and the indignity of having her bare bottom punished by a servant horrified her almost as much as the prospect of further pain.
'You are in no position to object to Carrie young lady' Mr Hall declared sharply. 'She is an employee of mine like you, but unlike you she is loyal and honest. And for your information I gave her some shares as a Christmas present so she is a shareholder too. Now then, Carrie our collection of punishment instruments have all been produced so which would you like to use?'
'Well.' said Carrie coming forward 'having helped to make the birch perhaps I should choose it - but I think it had better be the cane. I should be able to wield that more accurately’
'Right, that's agreed then’ said Mr Hall bluffly. ‘Give her six of the best! But I think we’d better let Jane put her knickers back on for the final beating – her bottom is looking just a touch sore. Jane, you will put yourself at Carrie's disposal. Carry on Carrie.' he joked.
‘Very good, sir,' Carrie answered obediently. She had picked up the cane. Her tone challenged ‘I would like to one you in the same position as you were when Mrs Muriel tawsed you. Miss Forsyth - bent over the back of your chair. So could you bring it out please and get into position!’
A very despondent Jane rose. She picked her knickers back up and pulled them over her aching bottom. They weren’t going to offer much protection but she was grateful to have something between her sore flesh and that wicked rod. She moved her chair to the required spot, reversed it and slowly bent over the back. She hoped at least that Carrie would be embarrassed at having to cane her and her strokes therefore nervous and light.
What she did not know was that Carrie was no stranger to corporal punishment, although up to now always in the role of the receiver rather than the giver. When he offered her a job Mr Hall made it clear to Carrie that wrong doing would mean a spanking. Now after a year they had reached a close understanding of each other's needs. At roughly fortnightly intervals or whenever she saw that particular look in his eye, Carrie would knock over an ashtray or clumsily spill something giving an excuse for the inevitable punishment. Over his knee she would go, down would come her little white knickers and an eager hand would first thoroughly feel it and then soundly spank her tight young bottom until it turned nicely pink and warm. However, although her bum was always well reddened the spankings were never too hard or prolonged and several pay increases plus the gift of shares already mention ensured that Carrie accepted the situation without complaint.
Whilst preparing the birch she and Mr Hall had discussed in detail the proposed dinner party disciplining of Jane, including the agreement that Carrie would give one of the punishments.. All day therefore she had been waiting for this moment and intended to make the most of it.
'Can you reach a little further over please Miss Forsyth and push your bottom out a bit more’. Jane was livid that a mere maid should be giving her such orders but also noted with some dismay that Carrie was speaking very firmly and appeared far from nervous.
So for the second time that evening, Jane found herself stretched over the chair back with her hand grasping the seat and her knicker-clad bottom thrust outwards to form a most tempting target. The thin satin was taut over the burning flesh – it did little to conceal what lay beneath and the bruised and tender appearance was not going to distract Carrie from her purpose. In her opinion Jane was an arrogant snob who looked down on the likes of maids. So, no matter how sore Jane's bum was Carrie looked forward to making it dance about a bit more. She was still not satisfied that the bottom was fully arched and outstretched and curtly told Jane to place her nylon-clad legs wider apart. This pleased the onlookers at the table who were once more treated to a generous view of an almost bare bottom awaiting it’s just chastisement.
Carrie placed the cane across the crown of the cheeks – tapping the knickers gently and noting with pleasure how the flesh quivered at the touch. Back and up she lifted it and then - Whack.!, the first stroke was delivered bang on target. It was a hard stroke and brought a sharp cry from Jane - her bum giving an inevitable reaction of jerking and moving about.
The second stroke was traumatic. Carrie just aimed again at the fleshy middle area but by sheer chance the cane landed exactly on top of the first stroke. The effect was electric. The acute pain that shot through her bottom, coupled with her pent up fury at being punished by Carrie, made Jane lose control. Emitting a shriek, as the cane struck, she jumped up from the chair and turned round her eyes blazing through the tears. 'How dare you hit me like that - it hurt much too much - you birch - you vicious little bitch!' As she spoke Jane was clutching her bottom squeezing the cheeks and then she groaned.
'Tch, Tch’ from Mr Hall. ‘I will not allow Carrie to be spoken to like that. She is only carrying out my orders; When you have calmed down, Jane, you will kindly get back over that chair. For your rudeness to Carrie you will receive an extra two strokes and we’ll have your knickers down right now – I was trying to be generous but you clearly still have much to learn. Carrie, lower Miss Forsyth’s knickers at once and then start again - give Jane a full six on the bare’.
I understand’, Mr Hall Carrie smiled and pulled the tiny, stolen, knickers down to the stocking tops where she neatly arranged them as if the frame the bottom. Stretched taut by the spread legs they reminded everyone of Jane’s submissive position. ‘When you are ready, Miss Forsyth!’
If looks could kill, Carrie would have expired there and then Jane seemed about to say something but thought better of it and once more turned and bend over the chair. Carrie took perverse delight in one more telling her to spread her legs more and stick her now naked bottom out. One sensed there was more to this girl than appeared in the normal course of her duties as a maid. When Jane had complied to her complete satisfaction, Carrie proceeded with the caning.
With deliberation and allowing plenty of time between each she delivered four hard, loud strokes of that capable cane to the out-thrust bum. This time none of them over-lapped but they still made Jane cry out and her bottom responded with its now familiar display of writhing and jerking under punishment. Bravely, Jane struggled to keep her bottom defiantly pushed outwards.
For the fifth stroke of this new series. Carrie aimed at and succeeded in striking the crease joining bottom underhand and upper thigh – just above the lowered knickers. Jane shrieked. She let go of me chair seat for an instant but quickly re-gripped it determined not to have her punishment extended further. But oh! how it did hurt. The skinfold was a sensitive area anyway but it had already been tenderised by Muriel's tawse and Laura’s birch - now this savage stroke of the cane sent a searing pain coursing through Jane’s system and seemed to take an eternity before starting to ease. Indeed Jane was still catching her breath from the shock when the next and final stroke contacted above the middle of her heaving bum. She felt it certainly, but only as an additional sting to rear quarters already on fire.
Vaguely she heard Mr Hall telling her to bring her chair back to the table and sit down. In a kind of daze she did so - stiffly and very painfully. This last caning coming on top of all the other punishments had somehow brought her to the end of her tether. Her bottom chastised to the limit of its endurance. And it was extraordinary how meek Jane now seemed.
Mr Hall passed her a brandy. 'Have another drink my dear, you look as though you need it - and then you can get dressed yes with those as well! He indicated the apricot knickers at half mast and the bra on the table 'You have paid for those now and I think you have probably learned your lesson. While you are dressing, Carrie will order a cab to take you home’.
Jane was quite unable to answer.