A German Holiday

This is a splendid story by the ever-reliable R T Mason. Julie's submission and the inevitablility of her thrashing are well-described />

It was really hot and somehow Julie hadn't thought of Germany as being hot. Not like this. She should perhaps have studied that guidebook a bit more before coming here to stay with Margit but with her exams taking all her time she hadn't. Anyway on this sweltering July afternoon, her first day here, they were at least in the right sort
of place: a sandy beach on a lake where Margit's father had driven Julie and Margit and Margit's friend Grete after lunch. Julie slipped off her dress under which, like the two German girls, she was already wearing under her bikini.
Margit looked, her eyes rounding, at the pretty English girl's figure. In her good but rather stilted English she said, 'Oh my! Quite a stunner, is that what you English say?'
Julie blushed. Then Grete, who had slipped round behind her, added,
'And look, Margit! Her bottom is especially charming!'
The two German girls laughed while Julie's blush deepened. Her bottom was shapely but she would have preferred it to be somewhat
smaller - like Margit's or Grete's in fact. for they too had now slipped off their dresses.
Margit, putting her dress neatly on her beach bag, said, 'You will be very popular, Julie. You know that German men are very fond of girls with charming bottoms!'
The German girls laughed again.
'Especially Herr Friedrich!' said Grete.
'Oh yes: agreed Margit, 'certainly Herr Friedrich!'
Something was said in German, which Julie didn't understand, causing more laughter from the other two.
Then they all ran into the water, Julie wondering vaguely who this Herr Friedrich was.
Julie had arrived the day before, for a month's stay with Margit Kirchner. The visit had been arranged through a colleague of Julie's father who had got to hear of the Kirchners' wish for an English girl to improve their daughter's English. Julie herself spoke hardly any German but that was not seen by the Kirchners as a disadvantage, as it
would force Margit to use the English language. So it had been agreed, Julie and Margit had exchanged letters, and directly after the finish of Julie's A Level exams she had flown to Munich, there to be met by Margit and her parents in the family Mercedes.
It was Julie's first visit to Germany and her first meeting with either
Margit or her parents but from the beginning they had all seemed awfully nice, giving her an enthusiastic welcome into their rather lavish home. And Margit herself, 18 like Julie, blonde, blue-eyed and pretty, and with a self-assurance which the English girl at once envied - yes, Julie was sure they'd get on very well indeed.
The first morning had been spent in a quick tour of the town with Margit and her friend Grete, and it had already seemed very hot by midmorning. Margit had smiles at Julie’s query about the weather.
'Oh of course it is warmer than your English weather. But don't worry: this afternoon we go to a beautiful German lake.
And here they were. They splashed about in the cool refreshing water.
both German girls displaying powerful swimming styles which Julie couldn't compete with. Then they came out. dried themselves, and lay in the sun which, after the cool water was no longer quite so unbearable.
The two German girls already had well-developed tans: Margit, the blonde, her skin golden-honey in her brief emerald-green bikini. now wet and taut; and Grete, slightly taller than Margit, with short curling dark hair, whose darker brown limbs were shown to advantage in a trim pink two-piece.
Julie in contrast, what with exams and a longish spell of typical English weather, had not yet seen much of the sun and her skin was still pale - as she was self-consciously aware. But pale or not it was very shapely in the brief sky-blue bikini, the bottom half of which in particular was slickly tight over her swelling haunches.
Indeed the spell of energetic activity in the water had caused the brief elasticated material to ride up off the swell of Julie's bottom cheeks to catch in the cleft of her backside. She reached behind her to adjust it, remarking as she did on her own pale skin tone.
'Don't worry’ said Margit. ‘You will soon be brown’
She turned over and sat up, then unfastened her bikini top and took it off. Her firm medium-sized bare breasts were honey-brown like the rest of her, their brown nipples semi-erect.
Julie blinked. Her rather shocked expression brought a smile to Margit's face. She stuck out her breasts. 'Do you like my - how do you say - my tits?'
Julie coloured. 'That is not really a very polite word: 'No? Well breasts, then. Anyway you must take off your top as well to get a tan’
Grete had already followed Margit's example to bare her own brown breasts. Julie sat up and looked anxiously around. There was no one else near, the beach deserted except for a couple some way off. She didn't like the idea but she would seem silly if she refused to follow the others' lead.
'Come on!' encouraged Margit, her eyes on Julie's bikini top which clearly contained breasts larger than those of either of the other two. Flushing slightly, Julie reached behind her. The top came off. Julie's breasts were indeed bigger than either Margit's or Grete's, round and full and jutting firmly out, their paleness accentuated by the quite large reddish-pink nipples.
Julie had never had her breasts barein public before. And what made it worse, due either to embarrassment or having just had them in the cool water, was that her nipples were fully erect. Sticking out like fat pink thumbs.
Margit gave a low husky laugh. 'Look, Grete! I think Julie has been thinking sexy thoughts!'
In some confusion Julie lay down, turning on her stomach again, the full breasts flattening under her. For something to say she said, 'Who's this Herr Friedrich?'
The two German girls started giggling.
* * *
Herr Friedrich, it turned out, was a private tutor who saw both Margit and Grete in a number of subjects - including English - where it was felt extra work was needed. He visited their homes for this purpose and Julie saw him for herself the very next day.
Margit had made a face at breakfast, then said, 'Unfortunately, Julie, it is my bad luck to have to see Herr Friedrich this morning, at 10 am.
Perhaps you would like to sit in the garden while he visits. Then you can get more suntan.
As it happened Julie was still feeling a bit raw from the previous afternoon when she had spent rather too long in the sun. She had applied liberal quantities of oil to herself to ease it but her breasts especially were pink and sore and she had left her bra off under her dress. So more sun today did not sound like a good idea, but anyway there were plenty of nice shady spots in the Kirchners' quite extensive garden. 'Don't worry about me: she said.
Herr Friedrich arrived promptly at 10 in his Opel and Julie had a glimpse of him before she slipped out into the garden: a middle-aged man with the sort of serious look behind his rimless spectacles that you might expect of a German schoolteacher.
She sat under a big spruce tree for half an hour reading her book, then decided she needed to go inside to the bathroom. The Kirchners had a downstairs room which they mostly used during the daytime but Julie, forgetting this, automatically went upstairs, as if at home, where in fact the Kirchners had a second bathroom.
Then on the landing she rather lost her bearings so that she found herself going along the corridor which had Margit's room at the end of it.
The door to Margit's room was slightly ajar and she could hear Herr Friedrich's voice from the other side, speaking German. She couldn't resist looking through the door crack. Margit was standing in front of Herr Friedrich who seemed to be sternly lecturing her on something. Julie realised she was eavesdropping and was about to move away when Margit looked up and said something to which her tutor said 'Ja!' And Margit then went to an upright chair placed in the centre of the room. She stood close behind the chair, then bent herself forward from the waist, over the chair back, until her blonde head was down in the seat. Her two hands reached down and gripped the front chair legs near the floor. In this position of course Margit's bottom in her flowered white summer dress was thrust firmly, almost obscenely,
up and out. Julie realised her heart had started beating rather rapidly and her mouth felt dry.
Herr Friedrich had watched this performance with a stern but impassive expression. He now took a step forward and with one movement grabbed the hem of Margit's full skirt and flipped it fully up, as far as it would go so that it now descended like a bell over Margit's lowered head.
Julie could not prevent an audible gasp (fortunately not heard in the room) because it was just such a shock, like a blow in her stomach.
What was revealed seemed even more shocking. Under her dress Margit had on just a pair of brief, almost completely transparent, brief pink nylon knickers. Her bottom was effectively bare, startlingly white through the knickers against her honey-brown thighs. It was evident at least that when sunbathing she did not remove her bikini bottom.
Behind the door Julie was sweating. She knew she shouldn't be watching like this but the fascination - the horrified fascination - was just intense. Feeling a little faint she saw Herr Friedrich now firmly insert his thumbs into the waistband of those skimpy little knickers and draw them down, halfway down Margit's thighs.
He then said something in German, not so sternly as before, while at the same time his hand took hold of Margit's bare bottom, delivering a firm spank first to one pale cheek and then the other.
Then he walked over to one of Margit's cupboards, reached his hand in and drew out - a cane! A long thin whippy cane, the sort they use in boys' schools on difficult pupils; or used to.
It was something Julie had never seen before - and never dreamt could be used on a girl. But now ...
Cane in hand, he walked briskly back and stood to one side of the immobile, obscenely bending Margit. He patted the cane lightly across the bare bottom as he got himself in just the right position. And then he simply swung it back and brought it whistling down squarely across the centre of Margit's bare white buttocks.
Margit didn't cry out but gave a choking gasp. It was matched by a simultaneous involuntary gasp from the watching Julie, for as the cane swished down, juddering into Margit's soft flesh, it was almost as if it had landed on Julie herself. She gave another gasp at the imagined pain where now a distinct red stripe was clearly visible across Margit's tender bottom.
Margit herself, still gripping onto the chair legs, squirmed her bottom while Herr Friedrich waited. When she was once more still he raised the cane again and brought it slashing down for a second time. A second crisp THWACK! ... horrendously jolting into Margit’s firm, bare backside.
There was another grunting gasp from Margit, another desperate writhing of the buttocks. Julie felt dizzy. It was like an awful nightmare, yet riveting to watch. But feeling sick or not she couldn't leave, just had to watch as Herr Friedrich's cane continued to whistle down onto Margit's unprotected bottom. He gave her eight stinging strokes in all.
Through it all the German girl didn't cry out once or relax her grip on the chair legs. Just a grunting gasp each time the cane bit in, followed by a silent writhing of her buttocks.
When he had finished Herr Friedrich put the cane down, then reached his hand out to spank the red striped bottom sharply twice more, speaking sharply to Margit in German as he did so. Then he took his hand away and Margit stood up, red-faced, her hair in some disorder. She pulled up the skimpy knickers, then pushed her skirt back down into position.
Julie at last crept silently away and out into the garden, to sit down again by the spruce tree. Her heart was pounding.
She couldn't help imagining what it would be like to be bent over that chair, like Margit. It would be sheer torture, and dreadfully humiliating having her knickers taken down like that. But also the thought had an undeniable element of sexual excitement.
A little while later Margit appeared in the garden - with Herr Friedrich! Julie scrambled to her feet, feeling a hot flush.
'I want you to meet Herr Friedrich, my tutor: said Margit, her voice sounding quite normal. In fact they both looked and sounded normal. It was almost impossible to believe that only half an hour earlier Margit had been bent over that chair with her bottom bare and Herr Friedrich had been vigorously caning it.
Herr Friedrich was charming, saying the usual things you say to a foreign visitor and suggesting that Julie might help him with his English - although this in fact was very good.
As he talked, though, Julie was aware of his eyes going appraisingly over her - and more than once lingering at her bottom. It was only afterwards she remembered, with embarrassment, that she had left her bra off and he pretty certainly would have been able to see her nipples through the thin summer dress.
But as regards what had happened in Margit"s room half an hour earlier well, could it really have happened? Or could she possibly have dreamt the whole thing?
It wasn't a dream, though, or if it was she dreamt the same one the next day. After lunch this time, Margit saying, 'I must have an hour of work with Herr Friedrich, Julie. Please be patient.
Julie knew she shouldn't but she couldn't help it. Going back into the house after Margit and Herr Friedrich had been together for a quarter of an hour and silently up the stairs and along the corridor towards Margit’s room. There was no reason to suppose the door would be ajar again but in fact it was - possibly to allow some air movement in the heat.
Margit and Herr Friedrich were seated on the settee apparently going through an English text and today they were speaking mostly English.
After a while Margit said something in German to which the tutor replied, 'English please, Margit’
And then Margit said, 'I have as you know my visitor staying. Please I cannot stay too long. So if you wish to cane me it must be soon.
Herr Friedrich answered, 'But of course I wish to cane you, my dear Margit. You are a naughty girl and you must be frequently punished. Yes, we will do it right away’.
And then what had happened the day before was repeated. Margit going to the chair and bending over it; Herr Friedrich flipping up her dress, then pulling down a pair of (today) transparent tiny blue knickers. And then vigorously laying into the pert, upthrust bottom with the cane.
Julie watched the limber rod descend five or six times and then crept away. She again had that feeling of utter shock tinged with excitement, which together produced a rather queasy sensation.
She didn't know what to think, it was just so unbelievable: an 18-year old girl being caned like that – and apparently agreeing to it. Shortly Margit joined her in the garden, this time alone but again in seemingly good spirits which belied the fact that she had just received an undoubtedly painful bare-bottom caning.
That evening, after they'd visited Grete's house and were alone again, Julie couldn't help asking about Herr Friedrich.
'Yes, I have to see Herr Friedrich quite a lot. He is a very good tutor in many subjects. Grete also sees him and also other girls. He is now my tutor for two years. You ask many questions about Herr Friedrich, Julie’
Julie had blushed. But really, she told herself, it was none of her business what Margit did - or any other German girl for that matter. But when the next day Margit had another lesson Julie couldn't resist again going back inside...
* * *
And this time...Whether Margit saw the door move, or glimpsed something through the door crack ... In any event she suddenly stared directly across in the direction of the watching English girl. Then stood up and made for the door. Julie shot off – but not before Margit had opened the door and seen her disappearing along the corridor.

Julie didn't know what to do. She wandered about in the garden, just feeling sick. And shortly when Margit found her, the German girl's eyes blazing with anger, she felt sicker still.
Margit spat out. 'So, you English girls are spies I see!'
Julie tried to prevaricate but against the German girl's anger and her more dominant personality she had no real answer. She finally admitted that yesterday she had, accidentally, seen Margit being caned. (She couldn't bring herself to admit that she had watched it twice.)
'Oh, so you spy and see something awful, is that so?'
Julie, squirming, again prevaricated. Margit insisted: ‘Tht is so isn’t it?’
Julie had to admit that, yes, she did think that bring caned was awful.
‘Why does he cane you?’ she asked.
Margit pushed back her blonde hair ‘In Germany, men like to cane girls when they think they have misbehaved’
‘But why do you have to let him do it?’
She finally got her answer once Margit had calmed down a bit. The reason was that Herr Friedrich could apparently get a preview of the exam papers. If you let him beat you your exams could be made considerably easier.
Apart from anything else wasn't this cheating? Julie was unwise enough to mention this fact – which didn't do anything to further a reconciliation.
So things were inevitably a bit cool between Julie and Margit. But Julie at least felt a sense of relief that it was now out in the open and no longer a secret lurking between them. Margit told her she was to say nothing to Margit's parents - they apparently would not approve of Herr Friedrich's activities in that direction. This was presumably why he only came round when the elder Kirchners were out.
After lunch the two girls plus Grete went to the beach again; a prearranged trip with Grete's father taking them.
They swam and sunbathed, Julie now having got over the slight sunburn, and as the beach was once more deserted they again all took their bikini tops off. It was all very like that first day except that now there was a certain amount of talking in lowered tones between the two German girls in their own language.
Julie naturally wondered if Grete was being told about her 'spying'; but she decided the best thing was to try and forget it.
Grete's father called for them later (bikini tops having now been replaced) and in the car Margit said that probably they would go round to another girl's house that evening for a little party. Grete was going to confirm this and phone later.
The confirmatory phone call duly came and Margit and Julie went off after dinner on bikes. The friend Lisa was a classmate of the other two, a blonde, very German-looking girl.
Grete had already arrived and there were to be just the four girls: and as Lisa's parents would be out they would have the house to themselves.
'Just four good friends,' said Margit. 'But of course we want no one else for such a special . . er . .ceremony.'
'What is the ceremony?' asked Julie. They were in the lounge and as Julie spoke Lisa switched on all the lights, then closed the curtains although it was still light outside.
'An important ceremony!' said Margit mysteriously. 'Do we have wine, Lisa?' 'Oh but yes!' Lisa went out and returned with a bottle of Rhine wine and four glasses.
'What is it?' repeated Julie, baffled.
The three German girls exchanged conspiratorial smiles as the wine was poured out. Margit held up a glass.
'Julie, to your .. er . . what is Aufnahme, Lisa?' 'Initiation,' translated Lisa.
'What?' exclaimed Julie, taking an offered glass.
Margit's face, as she looked unblinkingly at Julie, had a blush of excitement. 'Yes, the initiation for Julie. We are going to let you see how the cane feels. On that so charming bottom.'
Julie almost dropped her glass. The three German girls were standing round her, smiling, like cats with cream. 'What . . !' she gasped.
'You have shown yourself to be so curious about our German habits and so we will show you. Like good hosts.
So will you please take down your knickers.'
Lisa suddenly had a cane in her hand - exactly like the one Herr Friedrich used. Red-faced, Julie gasped, 'you ... you must be mad!'
'Oh please, Julie. There is no need to say that. We will remain friends of course. But you must please cooperate.'
'No!' gasped the now alarmed looking English girl.
But Grete and Lisa grabbed her arms. Julie's glass fell to the carpet, making a mess but not breaking, as she yelled, 'Let me go!'
She struggled to free herself but was impotent in their grip. 'Don't be silly, Julie,' said Grete, sharply. 'It won't hurt too bad: and we all get it from Herr Friedrich.'
They dragged her to the table and pulled her face-down, across it, holding her arms stretched out. Margit pulled up the full skirt of Julie's knee length red dress and the other two held it bunched around her waist.
Underneath there were tight blue nylon knickers. The English girl let out a desperate yell as she felt someone's - it was Margit's - hands go in the waistband of the brief panties and yank them down.
She kicked her feet but made no contact. Then she felt her knickers down round her knees.
'Oh my!' said Lisa.
Julie's bare bottom, full, ripe, writhing with her frenzied movements, was a magnet for three pairs of eyes. 'Hold her firmly!' rasped Margit, now with the cane in her hand.
And suddenly Julie felt the most awful mind-boggling pain as the cane came down, squarely across those full ripe buttocks.
'Aaiigghhf' her head reared-up and she let out an ear-piercing gasping yell.
The buttocks, now with a red stripe across the centre, had gone into a wild writhing, but the upper part of Julie's body was held fast by Grete and Lisa.
Margit, eyes gleaming with excitement, brought the cane whistling down again
'Aaeegghhf' Another awful yell, another desperate squirming of the injured bottom.
'Oh Julie,' observed Margit, 'You make a noise like a baby. You must learn to be brave, like German girls.'
She brought the cane cracking down again. There was the same frenzied cry.
'Aaeeooogghhf'
Julie did not learn to be brave. Margit gave her six more and there was a similar desperate yell after each one. Towards the end the yells were mixed with a more continual sobbing.
Afterwards, when Julie had tearfully pulled up her knickers, Margit said, somewhat breathlessly, 'Now we' re all the same. How do you say all in the same ship. You have been caned like a German girl. But we are still all good friends of course.'
She held out her hand to Julie but the English girl angrily ignored it and turned away. The whole thing had been just diabolical - and quite unbelievable.
Margit put her arm round her. 'Oh please Julie. Your first time I think is perhaps a shock, but you will soon think it is really nothing. But Julie, you must learn to take it bravely, like a German girl, and not cry like a little baby. You are a naughty English girl who has been sneaking and spying on us. You clearly need more discipline. I think perhaps you should see Herr Friedrich in the morning.'

* * *
'Aren't you hungry?' Margit wanted to know at breakfast time. Margit herself was tucking into salami and ryebread and coffee as if she'd been starved for a day or two. But Julie did not feel hungry at all. Well, how could she when there was the thought of that meeting at 10 o'clock – with Herr Friedrich.
At first the suggestion from Margit had just seemed ridiculous - and it had seemed even more ridiculous for Margit to think Julie would agree. But Margit's voice had got that hard edge again as she said, 'Herr Friedrich says he must have you; and we really must do what Herr Friedrich wants, Julie. He has a certain authority, you know.'
And when Julie insisted that it was out of the question Margit simply put the screws on.
'You do not want the bad report home, Julie, I am sure. For instance your parents would be most unhappy if they are told you are behaving very badly and all the time are fucking many boys.'
Julie had gasped, 'You couldn't do that!' - but she wouldn't have wanted to bet on it.
'Of course I will not need to: said Margit. 'Because you are going to be sensible. It will be not much worse than what we did at Lisa's house. And think what pleasure there will be for Herr Friedrich!'
And so it looked as if Herr Friedrich was going to get his pleasure. But that didn't mean Julie felt like eating breakfast.
He arrived, in his punctilious German manner, exactly on time. Margit's parents were again out.
'Good morning, Herr Friedrich!' said Margit. 'It is another lovely day!
And here is your lovely English student to meet you.'
The lovely English student came forward, cringing.
'Ah yes, Miss Julie Smith!' His eyes glinted behind the spectacles. 'We meet again and I am to teach you a little of the German language, I believe. That will give me great pleasure.'
'You may use my room of course, Herr Friedrich' said Margit. 'And I shall go and sit in the garden.'
'Very good!' said the tutor. 'Shall we then go up without delay?'
Julie was wearing her red dress and underneath just bra and knickers.
(Margit had said, 'It is hot so you do not need a petticoat. Also Herr Friedrich is not liking the petticoats .. .') Trying not to tremble she went up the stairs - acutely conscious of Herr Friedrich close behind her swaying buttocks. Then along the passage - where she had crept to watch Margit - but now with the German tutor literally breathing down her neck. Into Margit's room.
He stood close in front of her. 'So my dear young English lady, I am to teach you something of our German language. And also perhaps, a little of our German customs? One of these I think which you no longer have in England is discipline. Discipline for the young people - for young ladies such as yourself. Am I correct?'
Blushing slightly, Julie said, 'I think we still have discipline.'
'We shall see then,' said Herr Friedrich. 'Fraulein Kirchner informs me she has persuaded you that I enjoy some authority here. Is that so?'
Julie bit her lip. Then, 'She has told me I . . I should do what you say.'
'Oh excellent! Well that is discipline, is it not? To do what the person in authority says. Let us see then if you can comply. A small test. Will you please take your clothes off. All of them. Except, shall we say, your shoes’
Julie turned crimson. Speechless at first. she then managed to gasp, 'I ...you can't You just can't ask me to do that!'
'It is nothing: a simple test. Fraulein Kirchner and the other girls would think nothing of it. Also Fraulein Kirchner tells me that if you are not co-operative a most unfavourable report will be sent to your parents. So let us have no more of this foolish and undisciplined behaviour. Please remove your dress. And then the undergarments'
It was outrageous ... and unbelievable. But there was the thought of her parents getting some awful statement about her. It would be blatantly untrue of course and they couldn't possibly believe it. Nonetheless for them even to get it would be an awful shock. And there was her father. Last year he had had a heart attack. They had said it wasn't serious, but even so...
She looked pleadingly at Herr Friedrich. 'Please, Please don't ask me that!'
The eyes shone behind the rimless spectacles. 'It is only a test. And I do ask it. It is a simple test of discipline’
And so there was nothing for it.
The full-skirted red dress had buttons down the back to the hips. She reached behind her to the buttons. Fumblingly, one by one, she unfastened them. Looking away from the intently staring German she pulled the top of the dress off her shoulders and arms, then down. And stepped out of it. Underneath she had just matching pink nylon bra and skimpy lace-edged knickers, light and semitransparent except for an opaque insert at the rounded bulge of her pubis.
Herr Friedrich's gloating voice 'Most charming, Miss! And now also the scanties, please’
She could feel beads of perspiration pricking her skin. It was hot in the room though there was a slight draught from the window and the slightly open door. But the perspiration was due to something else: being here like this and having to submit to this man's whim whatever it might be. She felt a bit faint. His funny dated expression 'scanties' stuck in her mind; going round and round. Scanties ... flimsies .. . frillies ... It would be laughable except . . .
She put her hand to her face. In spite of the heat it felt cold, and damp.
And then with a feeling that it wasn't herself doing it but someone else, both hands went behind her. To the strap of her bra. She unfastened it. The bra came off and, unseeing, she dropped it to the floor. What was next? Oh yes, her knickers. Her hands went down.
The knickers seemed to stick, the tight nylon clinging to her moist skin. But they came down all right.
‘Very good’ Herr Friedrich said 'Leave them at half-mast, as you say, by your thighs, and stretch your legs apart to hold them there’.
The room seemed to be going round and round a lot. But Herr Friedrich was there, close now. She was vaguely aware that she was nude. His hand on her arm. And then both hands on her bare breasts. She didn't try to stop him - again there was the feeling that it was happening to someone else.
His voice, silky, caressing: 'Good! Very good, Miss Smith! Now you learn to accept; to submit. That is very good for a naughty, disobedient girl . . .'
His hand raised and fell with a stinging spank on her left buttock
'And now I think a little of our German discipline. A little taste of the cane on this splendid backside.'
And then she was bending over that chair, the one she had watched Margit bend over. But she, Julie, unlike Margit, was nude except for her lowered knickers and her shoes. She bent right over, under Herr Friedrich's forceful hand, her head down in the seat and her hands down to grip the front legs of the chair.
And then there was a sudden sharp, searing, breath-stopping pain in her bare up-thrust buttocks. And then instants later, as breath came back, she heard a gasping shrieking cry. A cry of that English girl, Julie Smith, bending over over a chair in a bedroom in a little German town. And very far from home.
And then a second sickening, breath-stopping pain. A third ... a fourth . . . Each followed by the desperate cry of that English girl who had no choice but to submit. A fifth...a sixth ... but by then you had lost count and they were merging together and the English girl was sobbing more than crying out ...
At last the caning had stopped. She was still over the chair-back, still sobbing. Not the cane now but the German tutor's hand on her bare backside, first spanking it hard and then stroking and caressing the tortured red-striped cheeks. And also slipping, as if by accident, in between her legs. It was a further indignation which she had no choice but to endure, like the humiliation of the vicious caning, the hand coolly, appraisingly, going wherever it wanted. Because she had no option but to submit to this man.
The hand at last was removed and his voice said, 'Right: stand please!
Stand upright!'
She stood, holding the chair-back to control her trembling. The room and Herr Friedrich were all blurred because her eyes were full of tears.
'Good, Miss. That was a nice little lesson to begin with. But with someone such as yourself who has clearly had no discipline at all - your silly crying out makes that plain – we obviously have much work to do.
What I think we will do therefore is have a regular session at my apartment - each day of the week, to begin tomorrow. You can reach it with ease on your bicycle as Fraulein Kirchner will tell you. We shall say, I think, 9.30am; that is a time when I shall be free to deal with you. Is that understood?'
The only answer was a fresh outburst of tears. She could not believe this was happening to her; that she had no power to resist him whatsoever...
He moved from facing her to stand close behind, and his hands came round under her arms and cupped her breasts. He squeezed them.
'You have a good figure, Miss Smith, but one which certainly needs more discipline. It is for instance certainly not as firm as the bodies of Fraulein Margit and Fraulein Grete. What it is needing is the discipline of exercise to firm it more. And therefore I propose to place you in the hands of an Athletics Instructor. We have a very good man here, Herr Lehmann, who before was an instructor in the Army and is now an excellent trainer of girls.’
'Herr Lehmann is most commendably strict: he is not using the cane on his girls but, rather, a horse-riding whip. Wait, excuse me, in more correct English, a riding crop. Yes, the riding crop is most effective in keeping a girl, as you say, up to her mark. He will have you take those little knickers of yours down and will thrash you thoroughly with his crop. He says it stings even more than my cane. Perhaps you will let me know in due course’.
'So I shall take you to Herr Lehmann tomorrow after I have had my own session with you. He will start a programme of hard exercises plus running, etc. I think as you are on holiday you have much free time which can most profitably be used in this manner. Yes, Miss Smith, I think together Herr Lehmann and I myself can use your time most effectively.
It is three weeks more you have with us, I think. With that time we can, I assure you, do very good work.'
The hands which had been squeezing her breasts all this time, suddenly were taken away and the left one made a sharp contact with her right buttock which burst into fire again.
'So that will all commence tomorrow. For today you have had now a little rest and we will now resume your discipline with the cane. Please do get back down in position over the chair as before.'
As in a dream she complied, gripping the legs of the chair again, bracing her legs against the lowered panties and presenting the full globes of her already red-striped rear. She heard Herr Friedrich say, 'I shall give, I think, another ten.'
And then once more the sickening, searing pain, the feeling that her buttocks were on fire....

Six of the Best

A lovely caning shot, this one. She's perfectly positioned. The knickers are neatly removed and don't you just wish you were the one wielding that cane....?

A damned good spanking

I love the way the skimpy knickers are so drum-tight. And you just know they'll be peeled down later...

Headmaster's Introduction

Another of RT Mason's brilliant stories from Janus.


The bright afternoon sunlight was streaming in through the window in a sharply defined shaft in which dust specks could be seen dancing and swirling in a rather fascinating manner. Fascinating, that is, if you had to stand there, five girls in a row, and listen to the Headmaster's rather droning voice. The voice and the swirling specks together had an almost hypnotic effect.

All five of them, 16- and 17-year-olds, were newly starting in this summer term at Westlands School for Girls and so on this first day, as was usual with new arrivals, they had to get Mr Kingston's introductory talk. Normally, at the beginning of the school year with the much larger number of new entrants, the talk was given in the Hall, but with a small number like this – five – the Head's oration could more conveniently be delivered in his study. Having it in the privacy of his room had another advantage – it could be combined with another introduction to school life, but the five girls weren't to know that. Not yet at least.

Mr Kingston did have rather a droning way of talking especially when, as with this Introductory Talk, it was something he had said innum erable times before. One girl, then another, shuffled her feet as they stood there letting his words roll over them, empty sound in the heavy air, while the sun specks danced.

If you thought anything at all it was that he did not look too bad, not too frightening, although of course you probably knew that this school had a reputation for strictness, a no-nonsense attitude. Perhaps what you had heard had just been an exaggeration…

Mr Kingston's words rolled on. Having said it so often before he could do it quite automatically, the platitudes coming out almost of their own accord leaving him free to consider this new five. They had transferred schools for the usual reasons: one needing a boarding school because her parents suddenly had to go abroad; another not getting the right attention at her comprehensive; etc, etc. And of course the other reason: Hilary or Jane or whoever is just not making any progress and we do feel she needs a stricter regime. Well, that was something which Westlands and Mr Kingston, in spite of his mild appearance, certainly could supply.

This particular five were all of them a nice-looking lot, ranging from reasonably good-looking to the blonde at the left end of the row, Monica Taylor, who was really rather stunning. All with nice youthfully nubile shapes too, in their new uniform white blouses and blue pleated skirts with the pink-and-blue Westlands tie. Yes, the second part of his introduction, to be given direct ly after his talk, was really going to be rather pleasant. Not that one would like to admit it was a pleasure, naturally, for really it was very much in the line of duty.

As he continued talking he could see that several of them were looking rather stupified. It was a warm after noon, unusually so for May, and of course he knew that a lot of what he had to say was a bit boring. It had to be said nonetheless. Actually it was now just about finished. Which meant they had come to the part where these five pretty girls would suddenly wake up – if he was not very much mistaken.

'Well that's about it for general school procedures and such matters. And now we come to the matter of discipline. Discipline is of course a very necessary part of any establishment which contains largish numbers of individuals and I must tell you that we here at Westlands School pride ourselves that it is… ahem… you might say one of our strong points. Discipline here naturally very much includes Corporal Punishment.'

He paused, then directed his gaze at that very pretty blonde at the left end of the line.

'Monica, I think. Monica Taylor, isn't it?'

She suddenly focussed deep blue eyes from the evident dream she had been in. 'Uh… Uh, yes Sir?'

'Corporal punishment, Monica. Do you know what that means?'

'Uh… some form of punishment, Sir, I suppose.'

'That is correct, Monica, but hardly very enlightening. Corporal punish ment, Monica, means physical punishment of the body – from corpus, the Latin. Physical chastisement of the subject's person. For instance physical chastisement of Monica Taylor's very attractive person.'

The pretty blonde blushed.

Mr Kingston addressed himself again to all five. Five girls who now all looked somewhat more alert. 'Corporal punishment may be new to some of you but it is, as I say, very much part and parcel of the regime at Westlands. We find it much more effective than such measures as gatings and lines and detentions. And I should tell you that all your parents have signed the form acknowledging this and agreeing to it.

'So you may take it from me that all of you will be getting personal first -hand experience of our CP regime.'

He laughed benignly. 'Unless any of you can be almost superhumanly good, that is. What do you say to that, Monica? Can you be superhumanly good?'

She shuffled her feet, looked at the Head, then down at the carpet. 'I don't suppose so, Sir.'

'No, nor do I, Monica. And nor do I think any of you others can either. Now then!'

His voice had suddenly lost its rather bantering lone. 'What I now propose as the second part of this little introduction to Westlands, having given you my talk which I'm sure some of you possibly found rather boring, is to give you all a little demonstration of CP in use here. So that you will all know exactly what to expect.'

To five rather startled-looking faces he smiled and said, 'You may find this part a bit painful but certain ly not boring!'

He got up from his chair and walked over, through that beam of sunlight which several of them had earlier found so fascinating, to his glass-fronted cupboard. Opening it he took out a cane.

A two-foot long thin whippy rattan cane.

Mr Kingston moved round to stand in front of five now definitely startled-looking girls. He bent the cane into a tight horseshoe, then swished it vigorously through the air causing those dust motes to swirl in all direc tions at once.

'The cane, girls. The principal instrument of punishment at Westlands. Together, of course, with the palm of a master's hand. Now then, what you might call Punishment Number One, and something which you will not be getting very frequently because masters prefer others: Punishment Number One, the cane across the palm of the hand.'

He directed his gaze at the end girl again. 'Monica, I think. Step forward please where everyone can see you and hold out your right hand. Palm upwards at about waist height.'

The pretty blonde turned a bright red. 'But Sir! I… I haven't done anything.'

'I didn't say you had, my dear. I am just giving a demonstration so that you and all the others will know what to expect. Don't worry, you haven't been singled out. All the others will be getting a demonstration as well. Come on now, step forward. You will learn that at Westlands questioning a master is one of the surest ways to incur a punishment.'

She stepped reluctantly forward into the shaft of sunlight: the girl who had quite evidently caught the Head's attention. Short curling blonde hair framed a softly pretty face in which the full mouth was now trembling slightly. She was of medium height with a trim figure, with full firm breasts softly pushing out the front of her crisp white blouse.

'Hand out, please,' the Head re peated. Biting that full lower lip she forced herself to comply.

'Hold it steady!' The voice of the mild-looking Headmaster now had a steely edge to it. 'Good!'

He raised the cane and quite simply brought it slashing down transversely across the palm of her hand. She let out an anguished yelp. There were sharp in-drawings of breath from the other four girls. It must have stung like blue murder! Monica was now hugging her hand and there were obvious tears in her eyes.

'Now the left hand,' said the Head calmly.

'Pl… please… I c… can't!' she stut tered. 'It h… hurts… I…' Suddenly she was actually crying, fat tears running down the pretty cheeks.

The Head's voice, steely again. 'The left hand, Monica. And I don't want to have to ask you again. One thing you all have to learn is that at Westlands a girl obeys a master immediately.'

Still crying, Monica forced herself to reach out her left hand.

'Properly out. And keep it still!'

The cane rose. And again came slashing down. There was another gasping cry from the girl as she imme diately bent almost double, hugging both hands to her.

Mr Kingston's voice, mild again: 'Good! So that is Punishment Number One, girls. As I say you probably won't be getting it very often but it's as well you should know about it. Show your hands to the others, Monica.'

Still sobbing. Monica held out her hands. The others looked, blinked or bit their lips, then turned away. There was a general shocked shuffling of feet. Monica's hands had a bright red stripe across the centre of each palm.

'Right: back in line then, Monica. Now who have we got next? Jill, isn't it. Jill Palmer?'

The next girl did not have the obvious prettiness of Monica but was nonetheless a very pleasant-looking new Fifth Former with shoulder-length brown hair and a nicely full figure. And now with a most unhappy expression on her face.

'Step forward, Jill. Now girls, what we now come to is something which is rather more frequently used. The cane across the backs of the bare thighs. The backs of the thighs are of course one of the more sensitive areas of a girl's body, so caning there is a most effective punishment. We can call this Punishment Number Two, if you like.'

He took hold of Jill's arm and turned her towards his desk. The top was completely clear: a little fore thought on Mr Kingston's part in view of what was to come in this second part of his Introduction. 'Just bend your upper body over the desk, Jill.'

Jill looked rather sick but clearly there wasn't much choice. She got over the desk and Mr Kingston pulled her pleated skirt up round her waist. There, facing the other four, was a full round bottom in tight pale blue nylon knickers plus a pair of nicely rounded thighs.

'Bottom well up!' instructed the Head, taking firm hold of one cheek of the tightly-knickered bottom and pushing it further onto the desk.

'And legs together and nice and straight, please.' Bending slightly, he slid his hand down the thighs to her knees, then over her white school knee-socks, positioning her feet so that her legs were slightly away from the desk with knees straight.

Finally satisfied with this he straightened up. His hand went back to the blue nylon knickers, sensuous ly sliding over the taut surface. 'Good. As you see, girls, Jill still has her knickers on, and that is the normal procedure with a caning to the thighs. Right then!'

Briskly he reached for the cane which had been lying on the corner of his desk. He positioned himself, then patted the cane lightly across the slightly trembling thighs. And then he drew it back, sending the dust motes swirling again, and brought it down with a sharp CRACK! across the centre of the softly rounded limbs.

'Ahh... ooowww!' A yelping cry, an immediate spasmic writhing of bottom and legs, and two hands coming auto matically back in instantaneous res ponse to clutch the afflicted area.

'Hands back!' The Head's voice a sharp bark as he pushed Jill's hands with the end of the cane. As she gripped the top of the desk again the others, horror-struck, saw the angry red stripe across the centre of their colleague's thighs.

'Keep the position!' added the Headmaster. 'I am going to give you two more so that we can all have a good idea of what is involved.'

And he did: two more slashing cuts across the backs of Jill's thighs, each producing a gasping yelp of agony and each leaving its fiery red mark. When she got up she was openly crying – to nobody's surprise. Dab bing at her eyes she went back on trembling legs to her place.

Mr Kingston put down the cane. 'So that's the cane to the thighs, girls. Jill will tell you that it's still stinging quite a bit. Is that correct, Jill?'

Still wiping her eyes she stuttered, 'Y… yes… S… Sir.'

'Good. Now who have we next?' He looked inquiringly at the third girl in line.

'S… S… Susan Mitchell, Sir,' she said numbly. She was a medium blonde with shoulder-length hair and a delicately-featured face. She was about average height and somewhat slimmer than the other two.

'Yes, of course. Step forward then, Susan. We now come to caning of the bottom. At Westlands a girl's skirt is always raised for a bottom caning but, depending on which the master decides is the more suitable, he may leave her knickers on or they may be lowered.'

He took hold of Susan's arm and turned her towards his desk. 'Bend over then Susan: like Jill. You're going to get a little taste of the cane with your knickers on.'

He lifted her skirt to reveal another pair of those skimpy pale blue nylon knickers: this time enclosing a rather slimmer bottom than the one previously on show. Again he firmly gripped one cheek and pushed her further up on the desk. Again he fiddled fussily with her legs.

Then as the others watched, Jill still with tear-filled eyes, the Head took up the cane. Tapping the buttock-tautened knickers he said, 'Three, Susan. Keep nice and still though, or it could be more.'

He raised the cane and slashed it transversely down across the crests of the bottom cheeks to land with a zipp ing sound on the thin taut nylon. Susan let out a howl, bottom and thighs violently jerking, one hand reaching back to clutch desperately at her bum.

Mr Kingston grabbed the hand and placed it firmly back on his desk. Then raised the cane again and zipped it in a second time to the still-writhing rear. Another howl as the writhings were redoubled…

He put down the cane and looked at the others. 'What you have just witnessed is the proper normal pro cedure. However, you will also find that some masters will use a little modification when caning a girl with her knickers on.'

He turned again to the still bent-over Susan and reached both hands onto her bottom. 'They pull the knickers up: thus.'

And he grasped the hems of the pale blue knickers and pulled them firmly up off the cheeks of her bottom and into the dividing crevice. The lower part of Susan's bottom was now bare, showing two red stripes where the cane had landed.

The Head fondled the half-bared cheeks. 'As you can see, with Susan's knickers like this she can be given what is to all intents and purposes a bare-bottom caning. However this will still go in the Punishment Book as Caning With Knickers Retained.'

He took up the cane again. 'I will give Susan her third in this manner. Keep still please, Susan!'

The cane once more violently disturbed the dust specks as it rose and then descended as a flash to judder into the now bared flesh. There was a third agonised howl from the dis tressed recipient. And she also, not surprisingly, was in tears when she stood up.

'Good! Back in line then, Susan. And you can re-adjust your knickers. Now, girls, what we have not dealt with yet is a spanking.'

He put the cane down, then walked across the room to an upright chair which he brought back to place in front of his desk.

'Yes, a spanking.' He completely ignored Susan's whimpering sounds. 'Spankings at Westlands are always given with a girl over a master's lap and on her bare bottom; i.e., with her skirt up and her knickers either lowered or completely off. This is because firstly, the spanking can be more effectively done on the bare bottom and, secondly, there is, with the bottom bare, the added element of embarrassment, even humiliation. Having a master's hand spanking her bare bottom is to many girls a prospect much more unwelcome than the actual pain involved.'

He sat on the chair, then beckoned the fourth girl forward. She was Linda Harrison: short brown hair and hazel eyes, probably the prettiest after Monica Taylor and also with a nice full figure. She was now looking decided ly unhappy as she stood before the Head.

'Well, let's ask Linda, shall we? How do you feel about having a master's hand smacking your bare bottom, Linda? Is it a rather unwelcome prospect?'

Squirming – and blushing – she muttered in the affirmative.

'Yes? Well, that is all to the good. Because we are talking about a punishment, aren't we? So: let's have you over my lap and we'll let you see what it feels like – this rather unwelcome prospect.'

He pulled her over so that her hips were on his lap and her head down near the carpet. The skirt was dragged up to be bunched round her waist, and there was another pair of those light blue nylon knickers, enclosing a nice full bottom.

One of Mr Kingston's arms went round her waist to firmly hold her, while the fingers of his other hand hooked in the waistband of her knickers and snaked them down. He pulled them down to her knees, then slid his hand back up, to the now bare bottom. A preliminary brief fondling and then the hand started to come down hard: Splat!.. Splat!.. Splat!.. on the firm nicely-rounded buttocks.

There were gasping grunts from Linda and also some grunts of exertion from the Head as his hand vigorously rose and fell. He kept it up for quite a few minutes while the soft full bottom got redder and redder. The captive rear was wriggling and there were gasping cries of 'Ohh!' and 'Ooohh!' and 'Please!' and other less recognisable sounds. But Mr Kingston just kept going – until he was ready to stop.

At last Linda was struggling to her feet, and grabbing up her knickers. Not crying, but looking very hot and bothered and – well, decidedly unhappy.

The Head stood up. 'So that just leaves one more of you. And as it turns out five is just the right number for me to conclude my demonstration. Let's see, Alison Green, I think. Yes?'

The last girl muttered Yes. Slightly taller than the others she was a pleasant-looking auburn-headed girl; 17 and going into the Lower Sixth. She looked apprehensively at the Head, then down at her feet.

'Forward please, then! What we now finally have is a proper bare bottom caning. As a little change, Alison, I think for this I'll have you bending over the seat of the chair. Although of course a girl can be bent over a table or desk for a bare bottom caning – or indeed simply made to bend and touch her toes.'

She stood there hesitantly in front of the chair, in the shaft of sunlight which was still streaming in through the window. The Head said, 'Right: take your knickers down, Alison. Slip them down to your knees, and then get yourself over the chair.'

She gave the Head a rather sick look, then slid her hands up to fumble under her skirt. Then, face flushed, she lowered herself over the chair. The Head reached out and briskly pulled up the skirt. There was another full rounded bare bottom with the knickers bunched at mid-thigh. The knickers, though, were not the regulation plain pale blue but were light pink panties with a floral design.

'What is this!' exclaimed Mr Kingston. 'Why are you not wearing regulation knickers, Alison?'

The voice from the lowered head said, 'I… I thought it was all right… Sir.'

'Well it is not all right! At Westlands everyone is required to wear the proper attire at all times and that certainly includes school knickers. Other clothing may only be worn when you have a Pass to go out of school; and then of course you must first come to me or Matron to confirm that what you are wearing is accept able. These flimsy, sexy little panties are definitely not allowed. You had better take them off. Right now! Come on: off with them!' For the first time, he seemed genuinely angry.

She was not allowed to get up, though, and so her hands reached back and rather awkwardly she pulled the knickers further on down, then slid them off over her brown strap-over shoes. Mr Kingston reached down and placed the offending garment on his desk. Then he took up the cane.

A preliminary patting of the bare upthrust bottom and then he proceeded to lash the cane four times into the fullest out-curve of the rounded cheeks, each stroke sharply jolting the soft creamy flesh. There was an agonized yelp each time it landed, a frenzied wriggling of bottom and legs – which without the restraining presence of knickers round her thighs tended to part rather revealingly. It was clear for all to see that Alison's auburn locks were the genuine article, being matched with even redder hair in a more private region.

When it was finished and she had struggled to her feet she was also, like the other three who had had the cane, openly in tears. Her bottom hurt like sheer hell.

Alison rejoined the others and once more they were all in line. The Head perched on the front edge of his desk and surveyed them with a benign expression. Five pretty girls in a row. Five girls who were no longer happily dreaming away but were very much wide-awake – and were now under no delusions regarding Westlands School for Girls. It was a strict no-nonsense school with, in spite of that mild appearance, a strict no-nonsense Headmaster.

He smiled. 'So now we know, girls, don't we? If we get into trouble we know the range of options. None of them I suppose exactly pleasant but then that is the object of punishment, is it not? Good! So you may go now…'

They all turned, with relief, to door.

'Except, ah, Alison and Monica.'

Three quickly exited. The door closed. Two girls unhappily remaining.

'Just a word with you, Alison, about your knickers. Leave them here and come back and collect them after the end of lessons at 4.30. We will then have a private little chat about the need to follow school regulations. That's all: you may go now.'

The door closed. Leaving now just the very pretty blonde with the Head. He looked at her with sharply appraising eyes.

'Yes, Monica. Such a pretty girl! And with a lovely young figure too!'

He moved in close to her and, in a bit of a daze, she felt herself being turned around so that her back was towards him. And then his hands slid out and around, under her arms, and simply took hold of her quite full breasts in their crisp white blouse and the light bra underneath.

She gasped. The hands lightly squeezed. Mr Kingston's mild voice. 'Yes, quite a lovely girl.'

Still holding her he continued, 'But that can be something of a problem, I'm afraid, Monica. You see I'm quite sure various members of my staff are bound to find you very attractive as well, and that is where your problem will arise. It is unfair, I know, but human nature being what it is, I'm afraid they will be rather after you. You will, I'm afraid, be getting much more than your fair share of punishment. And it certainly won't be the cane across the hand which I gave you earlier. No, it will be your bottom they will want to get at: it will be knickers down and spanking and caning of your bare bottom. Probably on any trumped-up excuse.'

He gave her rounded breasts a final squeeze, then removed his hands. He moved round to face her. Monica looked queasy. His openly feeling her breasts like that, but mostly what he had said: it was like some kind of nightmare.

But he was talking again – still in that mild manner. 'Anyway, with that in mind I think it only fair to give you now a caning to your bottom. So that you will at least have some prepara tion for it. Otherwise you might find it quite simply unbearable.'

His hands were reaching for the waistband of her skirt. 'As we're alone I might as well take your skirt right off. And your knickers as well.'

The zip of her skirt was down and then the skirt was sliding down to the floor. His hands were at her tight blue knickers, pulling them down; then as in a dream she was stepping out of them.

The Head's eyes greedy as the girl stood before him, nude below the waist except for the white knee-socks and brown strap-over shoes. Pale smoothly rounded curves with, at their centre, a smallish bush of brown curls. She saw the direction of his gaze and one hand slid over to self-consciously cover it.

Mr Kingston shook his head. 'Yes, my dear. I'm afraid with you being such an attractive young thing that really there will be no stopping them.'

She looked even sicker and the pretty blue eyes were now rather watery-looking. The Head shook his head again.

'No, it's not at all a nice prospect. You'll simply get no let-up. However I could… I just possibly could… do what I've done once or twice before with a very pretty girl. Which is to put her off-limits to the rest of the staff. Of course I can only do it very rarely as otherwise it would destroy the whole basis of discipline at Westlands…'

She said numbly, 'Please, Sir…'

'Yes, then of course you would have only me dealing with you. And really I wouldn't need to cane you more than… mmmm… shall we say two or three times a week at the most. Whereas if I let all the staff loose on you, well…'

He shook his head sadly as if words failed him.

'Well, what do you think, Monica?'

She had started to cry – at the awful prospect which Mr Kingston had presented. The alternative, having him deal with her, couldn't be as bad.

'Yes Sir. I… I…'

'You'd like to do that?'

'Yes Sir.'

His hand slid round to stroke the bare bottom. 'Well I think in your case, Monica, it can be arranged. I will send round a note to the effect that at your parents' special request you are to be sent to me for any punishments. Yes, that's what we'll do.'

The hand at her buttocks finished its fondling and gave the springy flesh a little slap. 'Good. Now then Monica, with that sorted out let's have you over the seat of the chair, shall we. For that little caning.'

He fussily positioned her, getting her just right, and then gave her four nice crisp stingers on the undercurve of her rump. Not desperately hard but enough to send the pretty bum, evidently unused to such assaults, into agonized writhings. The writhings were accompanied by appro priate sounds of distress from the pretty bum's owner.

She was still crying when, having put the cane down, he helped her to her feet. Because it really had stung, dreadfully, just as earlier it had when she'd got it on her hands. And it all seemed so unfair because she hadn't done anything. Trying to control her tears she struggled into knickers and skirt. At least she wasn't going to be getting it from the other masters. Only the Head.

She glanced at him, then looked away. He was looking at her rather like a cat with a nice bowl of cream. He smiled that benign smile. 'So now we know where we stand, Monica, don't we?'

She said, 'I… I think so, Sir,' although she wasn't sure that she did. And she felt even less sure when his hand reached out to briefly fondle first one then the other of her rounded breasts.

'Yes,' said Mr Kingston, 'we're going to get on very well, I'm sure. Just as long as you do as you're told, Monica. Now I think you'd better run along to your classes. But come and see me tonight when you've got your pyjamas on and are ready for bed. I expect I can find a nice cup of cocoa and we can have another cozy chat.'

She went out and the Headmaster closed the door. The sun was still sending its bright shaft of light diag onally across the room. What a lovely afternoon. A lovely stimulating after noon that was also full of rich promise. He went to look out of the window, on his way casually picking up the pair of pink knickers from his desk. Outside the lawn was an impeccable sward of bright green turf, the blue cedar majestic in the background. Yes, life could be very rewarding.

He glanced down at the knickers in his hand, then turned to look at the clock. The owner of the knickers, Alison Green, should be back in half an hour. Yes, red-haired Alison, with that lovely creamy white skin so frequently found in redheads. Mr Kingston went over to his desk and took up his cane, thoughtfully flexing it.

A Classic Caning

This photo - from Janus in the early 90's - could have been taken to illustrate the Cold Cruel World - I love the way the knickers are drum-tight over the firm buttocks. You know they'll come down in the end but there's a lovely piquancy in this classic office setting.

The Cold Cruel World

This is a wonderful psychological thriller written by RT Mason and published in Janus in 1982. I've made minor changes to suit my tastes but the crux of this story lies in the building of tension and the inevitability that poor Alison is going to get a severe, and frankly not well-deserved, trashing at the hands of this wily monster. Nice flashback too. The original was illustrated with these wonderful Hardcastle drawings which add a special magic (although he fails to show the lowered knickers in the caning drawing which is annoying!).

The Cold Cruel World

The infernal jangling of the alarm abruptly shocked her from sleep. That diabolical, inhuman, nerve-jangling that she always hated. But today it was ten times worse.
Before, in all those years of marriage it had been for Mark: Alison could at least put her head under the bedclothes and ignore it for half an hour longer. Now today it was for her. Mark wasn’t here; Alison was alone in the double bed. The nerve-wracking racket meant that today she, Alison Clements, had to get up and face the cold, unfriendly world.
They had finally decided that the only answer was a separation, at least a temporary one, because things had been going simply from bad to worse. Constant arguments, frequently about virtually nothing, or alternatively horrible, stony silences. Mark had suggested it and Alison in turn said she thought it was a good idea.
Groaning, Alison forced herself to get out of bed. She naturally had to get a job now if she was going to survive. Mark was giving her an allowance but not a lot and anyway she wouldn’t want it, would she? Alison had her pride and if she wasn’t being a wife for him she wouldn’t want to be kept.
There were tears in Alison’s eyes as she looked in the bathroom mirror.
It was an appealing heart-shaped face, delicate and not too self-assured looking at the best of times. The tears and the fact that she as yet had no make-up made it look distinctly waif-like. A poor little babe-in-the-woods. Alison wiped away too fat tears and blew her nose. She wasn’t a babe, next year she would be 30. And today she was going off on the first day of her new job. An independent young woman, fancy-free. That’s that she was supposed to be; but it didn’t match her feelings in any way. Alison felt a desperate urge to get on the phone and tell Mark to come back. She didn’t want to be independent and she would never argue or quarrel again.
But Alison knew she couldn’t do that, she couldn’t give up before she had even started. And she’d been lucky to get this job. She splashed cold water on her face to get herself properly awake. She couldn’t give up.
Alison slipped off the shortie nightie and got in the shower. Now that she was up she didn’t feel so bad and the warm water spraying her slim, shapely form felt marvellous. That job, though, was scary; new people, a whole new frightening world, with everyone eyeing her, watching her mistakes. In particular her new boss – what would he be like?
Cut it out, she told herself. Once the first day was over she’s be laughing at herself for being so frightened. Before she knew it it would be part of her life – and probably very enjoyable. Getting out and meeting new people was just what she needed.
Alison put on what she had already chosen. Her smart gray linen suit with the white buttons on the jacket. Underneath she’d put on her favourite set of pale pink bra and lacy knickers to make herself feel good. Smart but not showy, a suitable outfit for a sensible but modern young woman. And 29 was still young. You still had all the world in front of you and at the same time the maturity to go with it. Alison told herself this but that unfortunate hesitant side of her said that the only real experience she had was of marriage. Of shopping and housekeeping. Office life could be so frightening.
Stop it, Alison, she said. She was being stupid again. She put on some make-up, not a lot, she didn’t want to look tarty just nice and attractive.
A crowded train and then a crowded tube. And on the tube, packed little sardines, a hand on her bottom that Alison felt sure was deliberate, but there wasn’t much you could do. The world wasn’t really a very friendly place.
The building when she found it didn’t look too inviting either. The wall-plate in the dingy foyer listed Rudgefield Engineering as being on the fifth floor. Alison felt an awful urge to go out and catch the train back home. But she couldn’t do that. Glancing at her watch she saw it was five past nine. The letter had asked her to start at nine. Oh well...
* * * *
Frank Kirkham, up on the fifth floor, had been in his office since 8.15. He enjoyed getting up early, a habit he had acquired in the army. In the army, naturally, everyone had to get up early whereas in business that was not the case. But at least you’d think that 9 O’clock was not impossible. He gave his watch another impatient glance. Where was this new bint?
‘Bint’ was of course the army term for members of the female sex and it did not imply any great admiration for them. The philosophy of the barrack room was that women were useful in only two places, in bed and in the kitchen, and if they didn’t perform satisfactorily in those areas you took the belt to their arses. Frank Kirkham looked at his watch again. Five past nine. What this new bint undoubtedly needed was Frank Kirkham’s belt across her naked arse as soon as she stepped inside the door.
He had in any case viewed her coming with some foreboding. His previous secretary had decided to retire and personnel were sending this Clements bint. Twenty-nine and ‘a pretty young thing’ according to that stupid woman on the phone.
Frank Kirkham knew what he’d like to do to a 29 year-old pretty young thing who couldn’t even make a 9 O’clock start on her first day. Bend her over his desk with her little knickers down and lay into her bare arse with his supple belt. Or that cane.
This stimulating reverie was interrupted by at last a hesitant knock on the door. He got to his feet glancing at his watch. 9.08.
‘Come in’ he barked.
Alison entered – a gloomy masculine sort of office with dark gray walls and an equally dull, non-descript carpet. Standing behind the central desk was a frightening-looking man, late fortyish. Heavy set, his craggy face wearing a decidedly unfriendly expression.
‘Uh...Mr Kirkham? She stammered ‘I’m Alison Clements’
‘Have you got a watch? He growled.
Alison mumbled ‘Yes’. ‘Perhaps then you don’t know how to tell the time?’ he queried sarcastically. ‘For your information it’s ten past nine’.
She flushed scarlet. ‘I’m sorry...The train..’
‘There are plenty of trains, young woman. I can get in at 8.15 so that’s no excuse. One thing I insist on is punctuality. Not the only thing but certainly one of them’.
Alison stood in front of him trembling, her hands nervously twisting the straps of her handbag. This was simply dreadful. This bully with the hard grating voice and the contemptuous gaze was going to be her boss. He was clearly going to be worse than anything she had ever imagined.
At last Mr Kirkham grudgingly invited her to sit down. Clearly she should have come for a personal interview; then she could have had a chance to say ‘no thanks’, and she would have done. But stupidly Alison hadn’t. Alison could feel herself sweating.
Across that big desk Mr Kirkham was going through her file. Why the patchy job record, his grating voice wanted to know. What had she been doing? And why did she suddenly want a job now – if getting in at ten past nine did mean that she wanted it?
Alison found herself stuttering out the facts – that she and her husband had separated, temporarily at least. As soon as she said it Alison knew it was not a good idea. Anything this awful man knew might be used...
Why had they separated, he asked, eyes glinting.
‘We...we kept arguing’, Alison whispered. Although clearly it was none of his business.
‘Arguing? Your husband must be a bloody fool; you don’t argue with a woman. You tell her what to do and if she doesn’t like it you give her something to think about’.
The bull-like head was thrust out across the desk at Alison ‘A touch of the stick, Mrs Clements, that’s what you modern young women need. A sharp stick across your backsides. Or a man’s belt. That’s the answer to arguments.’
Alison found herself studying her handbag with great interest. It was unbelievable.
‘Look at me, Mrs Clements. I hope you’re not planning any arguments with me?’
Briefly Alison met his eyes and then looked away. The incredible thought of what he was suggesting flared hotly in her mind.
‘Answer me, please’
Frantically Alison shook her head. Mr Kirkham persisted, evidently spurred on by her cowed, submissive reaction.
‘Didn’t your husband ever take the belt to you?’
‘Please...’ she whispered, blinking rapidly. Much more of this and Alison would be openly in tears. That was probably just what he would love.
This frightening man was suddenly on his feet and striding over to a bookcase full of catalogues and things. ‘Let me show you something,’ he said as he reached in behind the books.
When he turned Mr Kirkham held in his hand a long thin straight stick. A bamboo cane. ‘Do you know what this is?’ he demanded.
Alison felt too weak, too terrified to speak.
‘I got this in Egypt; when I was in the army. They may be wogs but they know how to deal with their women. This cane is the kind they use on their wives’ backsides.
Frank Kirkham gave the cane a horrifying swish through the air as he went gloatingly on. ‘I was given a demonstration by this Egyptian fellow. He took us round to his place one evening. He had a pretty little wife, in western clothes, and he’d found out she’d disobeyed him so he gave her a caning in front of us. Me and two fellow soldiers. He bent her over a chair, yanked up her dress and pulled down her knickers. And then just let her have it good and hard across her bare bottom. Six of the best.’
Mr Kirkham’s cane whistled again through the air and he was almost licking his lips. ‘A cane exactly like this one, Mrs Clements’.
The tears were welling in Alison’s eyes. How could she have got involved with this monster? A vivid picture of what he had described floated in her mind. Mr Kirkham and his mates greedily watching as that Egyptian man caned his humiliated wife. What if Mr Kirkham...
He put the cane down and produced a sardonic grin. ‘So now we know, don’t we, Mrs Clements. Now we know we must keep very much up to the mark. No sloppy work or typing errors. Everything filed properly away. No complaints of any sort. And above all, we get in before 9 O’clock’.
Alison sat with bowed head. ‘Look at me’ he barked. She gave a quick, darting look and then turned her head away – but not before Frank Kirkham had seen real tears welling from the big grey eyes.
He experienced a surge of excitement. He didn’t want a silly young bint in his office but if he was landed with one – well, there was something to be said for one he could scare the living daylights out of. And also...He glanced at his cane. Frank Kirkham had been daydreaming before when he thought of using it. A potential recipient might well complain to husband or boyfriend but not this Clements bint...this frightened little mouse.
‘Right; now we’re clear on that I’d better show you what you’ll be doing. It’s reasonably straightforward and I’m not a difficult man to get on with’.
Frank Kirkham could say that and somehow believe it; he was not difficult, it was other people, especially young bints. He showed this frightened mouse what had to be done. It was general secretarial work. As he showed her around, Alison’s new boss had his sharp eyes open. She had a nice shape on her in that snugly fitted suit. A full, firm arse emphasised by a slim waist. Probably with her skirt and knickers off she would look very like that Egyptian bloke’s wife’s arse, in a different shade, of course. He could see the outline of her knickers right there under the skirt. Brief and tight.
* * * * *
Alison phoned Mark that evening. She made herself wait until she had had something to eat. She didn’t want to appear too desperate. Not that Alison felt like eating, not with the horrifying prospect of going back to that dreadful office tomorrow, and the atrocious Mr Kirkham who quite simply made her freeze with fright.
Mark asked about the job and, doing her best to keep her voice even, Alison said it was quite interesting. What else could she say? She tried not to think of Mr Kirkham’s cane. The cane or a man’s belt, Mr Kirkham had said, in that first stunning meeting. And she could quite imagine him doing it. That harsh, grating voice ordering her to take her skirt off. And then take down her knickers. It was quite impossible but she could imagine it all right. What would she do if he took it into his head to do that? Because he literally scared the living daylights out of her.
‘Quite interesting...’ she told Mark.
What Alison wanted to do was tell him, Mr Kirkham, that she didn’t want the job. She knew he could insist on a month’s notice that was in the agreement she had signed, but...perhaps she could offer to pay something. Quite frankly she didn’t even want to go back there in the morning; Alison didn’t want to ever see him again. Not that Mr Kirkham had done anything, after that first devastating blast, but Alison knew that at the slightest excuse...
The two letters she had typed she had read through about a hundred times and even then had been afraid to take them in to him. Afraid that there might be one spelling mistake that she hadn’t noticed. And then...that cane that he had put back in the bookcase...Who could tell with a man like that?
When the alarm once more jarred her awake the next morning Alison’s automatic thought was that it was for Mark. And then...it all came flooding horrendously back. She had to be there before nine. It was alright because, by tearing around Alison managed to catch a slightly earlier train.
It was 8.55 when, after a nervous knock, Alison entered the office, for her second day. Frank Kirkham was, of course, already behind his desk.. She was on time, he noted, which meant that he had put the fear of God into her. Or more likely the fear of his supple cane. In a way he was sorry she was on time because he would enjoy having another go at her. She was scared of him, a scared little mouse, and a scared little mouse without a husband. If he put the screws on she would fold up, have no defence.
Like that Egyptian bint. A scared look round at those three eager-eyed visitors and then back at her husband who was ranting away and then simply submitting. Lifting the pale yellow dress and meekly sliding down those little white knickers underneath.
Kirkham’s eyes followed Alison as she went into her little room. The same tight-skirted suit as yesterday. Tight over trimly rounded buttocks Again, he could just make out the hemlines of her panties. Were they also white like the Egyptian bints? Quite probably. White seemed a suitable colour for a frightened little mouse. Or maybe something slightly sexier with a little floral pattern or polka dots? Yes, he quite regretted the fact that his new bint was on time. But still...
As Alison opened the door to her office Mr Kirkham’s voice grated out behind her.
‘Glad to see you’re on time, young lady. I daresay the thought of that cane made you hustle yourself?’
Scarlet-faced, Alison sat down. It was true but by spelling it out like that her dreadful boss had brought it out of the shadowy realms of possibility to become a clearly stated fact between them. What she should do was immediately challenge it: Say even if she did happen to be late there was no way she would accept such an outrageous suggestion. But Alison was too scared to speak.
By not speaking she knew that she was tacitly accepting that horrendous possibility. That if she did anything that her boss thought was wrong she was giving him the right to physically punish her. To take down her knickers, expose her bare bottom and....
Somehow she got through the day, keeping in her depressing little room, a quiet little mouse, while Mr Kirkham got on with his business of phoning people and seeing clients. At lunchtime he said ‘strictly one hour, Mrs Clements’ He didn’t say ‘or else’ but his hard stare seemed to say it. Or else, Mrs Clements, I shall have you bent over my desk and I shall very much enjoy thrashing the daylights out of that tight little arse of yours...
The afternoon was a repeat of the morning. Some typing and looking things up in catalogues. All the time Alison in a panic that something would be wrong and then...She was still thinking about saying she wanted to leave, trying to summon up the courage. When it’s time to go I’ll say it, she told herself. I can’t stand it here; i’d almost rather be destitute. And at 5 O’clock Alison almost felt she could find the nerve. But then Mr Kirkham got in first.
‘So, you’ve never had the cane?’ he inquired.
It simply took the wind out of her sails – what little wind there was. She looked at him like a dummy.
‘Not at school? No sensible headmistress putting the cane across the palm of your hand? Or across that bottom?’
No answer came.
‘Not even the strap or the tawse? Didn’t your father take his belt to you? Not even a good hard spanking with your knickers down over your mother’s knee? Good God, girl, no wonder you have no self-discipline’.
Colouring like a beetroot, Alison shook her head. Any thought of what she had been planning to say just disappeared.
Mr Kirkham pursed his lips. ‘It’s never too late’.
Going down in the lift Alison told herself: He’s just waiting for an opportunity, I know he is. Any excuse. Her pert little bottom trembled inside her briefs at what now seemed somehow inevitable.
Kirkham’s opportunity came the very next morning. Alison caught the earlier train than usual but ten minutes before its destination it ground to a halt. There was a 20 minute delay. She was feeling almost hysterical by the time she got in. The tube seemed to wait an hour before every stop. Alison didn’t dare look at her watch as she ran along the street as best she could in her high heels.
She did look at her watch as the lift made its leisurely ascent to the fifth floor. It was 9.12. She felt sick in her stomach.
Alison had her explanation ready but the words seemed to stick in her mouth; she was struck dumb with fright. Not that Mr Kirkham would take any notice of explanations.
He was standing behind his desk as he had on that very first morning, his face set and hard. But was there now a look of gloating anticipation as well?
He said, ‘You’ve heard all I’ve had to say about punctuality, Mrs Clements. Yet here you are, a quarter of an hour late on two of your first three mornings.’
Alison could feel herself shaking with terror.
‘I think you’re trying it on, Mrs Clements. I think you think I’m bluffing. Well, I shall show you that I am not. I’m going to give you a taste of that cane. You deserve no less.’
Alison heard herself whisper ‘You can’t’ It seemed like someone else’s voice. And anyway she knew that he could. And would.
‘You’re not arguing with me are you? In that case I’ll give you something else to think about as well. I’ll warm up that cheeky arse of yours with a good hand spanking first.’
The cold force of Mr Kirkham’s voice made Alison shiver. No, she wasn’t going to argue. Plead perhaps...
‘Please....’ More like a squeak form a mouse than the remonstration of a mature woman.
Mr Kirkham handed her a shiny key. ‘Get in your room and lock the door. Then take your skirt off. And take your knickers down. Then stand at your desk until I come. I’ve warned you what I’d do and you’ve chosen to deliberately disobey my warning. Now you’ll see - and feel - what the consequences are.
Alison stood there wondering if she could refuse. He couldn’t really....
‘Get in there!’
And Alison found herself walking, stumbling...
‘And if you’re not how I want you when I come in....’
She put down her handbag and looked helplessly round. It was impossible but there was no way she could stand up to him. Tears brimming in her eyes. Tears of hopeless impotence. Alison’s shaking hands went to the zip of her skirt. She was shaking all over.
Frank Kirkham was trembling too, with strenuous excitement. He had sensed him dominance over this young bint at the outset but you could never be certain. He had been pretty sure with this frightened mouse, though. He walked over to lock his other door and took out the cane. Eyes gleaming he slammed it down across the top of the desk with a fearsome CRACK!
Alison in the outer room almost jumped out of her skin. She had taken her skirt off. She was standing there in stockings, suspenders and with her knickers still up. She was wringing her hands in mental agony.

Kirkham went to glance through the half-open door. Christ! He felt a furious urge just to stride straight in there, but he restrained himself. Let her sweat a bit. Let her stand there half-naked and stew. He went back to his desk, head full of what he had seen. The little mouse standing there submissively at her desk. Her back towards him, her skirt off and her pale blue knickers tight around the curvy cheeks of her fine little arse.
‘Get those knickers down like I said’ He roared and Alison leapt to obey the order – her fingers inserted into the waistband as she then peeled them down to the tops of her thighs. Her ripe, pale rump now softly gleaming.
His mind went back to the Egyptian bint and the times he hadn’t mentioned to Alison Clements.
Because the next day the three of them had got on to Ahmed, with an offer of money. If they could go back...and use the cane themselves. It was an offer he wasn’t able to refuse. They had gone twice. She hadn’t really objected though she had made plenty of noise each time the cane landed. The cane now in Frank Kirkham’s hand was the cane he had used on her. That was twelve years ago. He had always kept it in his office and always dreamed of using it again. But circumstances had never been quite right until now. Now with this Clements bint. A pretty little thing...
Frank Kirkham looked at his watch. He would give her ten minutes then he would give her what she deserved.
Alison stood shivering. She had expected him to come straight in, cane in hand. She blinked away the tears. It was quite unbearably humiliating, standing there at the side of the desk with her skirt off and her knickers down. In her suit jacket and suspender belt and nylons – and her little blue knickers humiliatingly lowered round her thighs. This was the worst nightmare of them all. She started quietly sobbing.
It seemed to go on forever. Alison’s mind playing tricks, making her think her legs were going to give way and she would collapse on the floor. Why am I doing this, she asked herself, why don’t I just refuse? Put my clothes back on and sit down. What then? But Alison knew she wouldn’t.
At last....
‘Right, let’s deal with you then. You’re getting a spanking for being slow and then six strokes. It’s six for unpunctuality’
The harsh voice, the hypnotically intimidating presence. He made it sound as though this was a punishment laid down in some staff handbook. As if he had no option and it was perfectly normal.
‘Over my knee, young woman’
She hobbled over, constrained by her panties round her legs and bent over his trouser covered knees. Her buttocks were perfect peaches – nicely framed by the lowered knickers and stocking-tops. His left hand fell hard on her right cheek with a crisp spank. It was to be the first of many as she squirmed and squealed never having had so much as a finger laid on her. After a good few minutes of raining down some fearful swats, Kirkham was rewarded by the bright pink glow of the freshly-spanked bottom. By the way the arse coloured so nicely it was obvious that the bint had not been lying when she had said she’d not been chastised before.
‘Right, that’s warmed you up. Now clear one side of the desk and lay yourself over it.’
Alison wanted to scream. She was already smarting with pain and she desperately wanted to hide her naked bottom from Mr Kirkham’s steely gaze. Her hands came protectively behind her. She wanted to rub the pain away. Then she yelped as the cane struck sharply across her palms.
‘Cut that out and do as I say. At once’
Alison did it: hands clumsily responding, stinging like mad, pushing things aside, and clearing a space. So that she could lie down and be caned. Thrashed like a naughty schoolgirl in another era. She was crying again, tears falling on the desk. Kirkham told her to grip the other side.
‘And keep still...stick your bottom up and out higher. Higher, you disobedient girl’.
Alison now sobbing, with sheer fright. Her soft, defenceless bottom exposed, thrust up over the edge of the desk, obscenely raised for punishment. This couldn’t be happening....
CRACK!
A red haze before her closed eyes. And the pain...it felt as if she had been cut in two. She’d thought the spanking had hurt but it was as nothing to having a pliant rod lashed into her bare backside. Alison held on for dear life as the pain welled, pulsated through her. It was killing, utterly ferocious. She hung on as with a second fiendish CRACK! The thin bamboo that was used in Egypt for caning wives sliced in again.
Alison heard herself shriek. Six he had said. No. She couldn’t....Four more like that was not...
CRACK!....
She stood up and put her hands to her wretched backside. She needed to rub.
‘How dare you? I told you to stay down you wanton hussy. I can see I’m going to have to beat some decent behaviour. That’s two extra for disobedience. Now bend down and bottom up. Now’.
Mr Kirkham sounded genuinely angry and the thought of more extra strokes further terrified the poor Alison. Slowly she bent back over the desk and pushed her backside as high as she could.
CRACK! Down came the cane five more times. Her boss may not have used the cane for twelve years but he thrashed like a well-practised headmaster. The lines were clearly visible and he managed to place the sixth just where the buttocks met the thigh-back – a devastatingly tender spot which produced an particularly loud yelp from the weeping Mrs Clements.
‘Now, just the two extras’. With vicious accuracy, Kirkham placed the final two lashes at a diagonal from the previous six bring each and every stroke back to life in exquisite pain.
* * * *
When the final agonising stroke had been delivered, Frank Kirkham sharply told his tardy secretary to pull her knickers up, get dressed and get down to work. What could she do? She couldn’t tell her husband. It was as if by the mere act of conversing he would be able to see those eight very red stripes still very much in evidence on Alison’s previously untouched bottom.
Alison was feeling numb. When she got home she wasn’t really tired but she did want to go to bed. She found herself wondering if perhaps her train would be late again in the morning. If it was...well, there was nothing she could do about it. Mr Kirkham would presumably just cane her for lateness. Those were his rules. It hurt terribly and was horribly humiliating but....
Mr Kirkham was going to thrash her again anyway, whether Alison’s train was late or not. He had told her he also had an old school tawse, with two tails. He’d fixed her with those fierce eyes in that hard face that she guessed was contemptuous of women.
He had said she wasn’t filing things away properly. And he thought he had better deal with her in the morning. He’d told her to wear white knickers and had specified that they be ‘brief and dainty’. Alison had given him a quick darting look and then turned away. Mr Kirkham’s hand had spanked her smartly across the bottom as she went out. Reliving the unbearable stinging yet again.
As she went to sleep the stripes still glowing on her backside constantly reminded her of the humiliation and pain she had received at her boss’s evil hands. She trembled at the thought of what would happen tomorrow.
.

Nicola again.....

But this one is even better as the cane bites, the head jerks back, hair flies and the leg involuntarily kicks up. That is going to sting. Stunning.

Naughty Nicola

Here's a lovely image of Ms Redway from Janus in the mid-eighties.