tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16947074295166223742024-03-18T21:21:58.573-07:00The Condign BlogThis blog is dedicated to English discipline and spanking. It is written by a connoisseur who has spent his adult life absorbed by the thought of elegant young ladies getting their just deserts.
The blog will consist of observations on spanking literature and flms and will give advice on real-life spanking as well.
Knickers down and enjoy the show!John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-78107762634180994842011-04-06T09:21:00.000-07:002011-04-07T02:59:50.946-07:00A Sister's Revenge<strong><em>An absolutely classic schoolgirl story with a bit of a twist at the end. Karen and Alison get a good caning but it's sister Kate's thrashing and then the ultimate humiliation of the beating on her hands that really clinches this one. From 'Mike From London's' wonderful collection.</em></strong><br /><br /><br /><br />A Sister’s Revenge<br /><br />At Bishop Hardinge's school it was considered rather daring to smoke cigarettes as this was against the rules and if you were caught you were likely to be caned. <br />Alison Allen was a quiet and law-abiding girl and kept out of trouble. One day, however, her new friend Karen Russell came up to her with some cigarettes and asked her if she wanted to smoke one. Alison knew that Karen smoked quite a lot and, in fact, she had got the cane for it in the previous term. She didn't want her friend to think she was scared so they went to a far off, secluded corner of the playing field. <br />It was only about the third or fourth cigarette Alison had ever smoked, and she wasn't really enjoying it, when they heard somebody coming. The girls were relieved when it turned out to be Kate, Karen's older sister. But they were shocked when she said that she was a prefect and that she was going to have to report them to the headmistress. They didn't believe that she could really mean it and Karen wouldn't give her the cigarettes when she asked for them. She walked off, saying again that she would report them both. <br />They finished their cigarettes before going back inside for the rest of the lunch hour. Alison asked her friend if she thought Kate might really mean it. She still didn't think so, but they'd had a row the day before and Alison got the impression that she was not too sure. <br />They found out as soon as afternoon school started. Miss Finch, their class teacher, read their names out and told them to report to Mr Fowler after school that afternoon. Mr Fowler was the deputy headmaster and was responsible for inflicting corporal punishment when this was deemed necessary in the opinion of Mrs Woodman, the headmistress. After that announcement Alison couldn't pay much attention to the rest of that day's lessons. She was aware of the other girls in her class looking at her and Karen and whispering to each other about what was going to happen to the two of them. <br />After school, as she and her friend made their way along the corridors to Mr Fowler's office, she asked Karen whether she thought there was any chance that they wouldn't get the cane. She was not cheered up when Karen said that she was sure that they would. She'd had the cane for smoking before and Mr Fowler was not likely to let her off with anything less this time. And if he caned her he would have to cane Alison as well. <br />Karen saw that Alison was really terrified, and she stood still to talk to her. "I'm not looking forward to this either, Alison." she said. "I hate getting the cane! It bloody well hurts like hell! But there's nothing we can do about it. And it's not the end of the world - we'll live! You'll only make it worse by getting so worked up!" Alison tried to put a brave face on, but Karen's words had not made her feel any better. <br />When they reached Mr Fowler's door Karen knocked and the girls went in. The deputy headmaster looked very angry. He asked them for the cigarettes and Karen opened her school case and dug them out. Unceremoniously he threw the packet in the bin. Then he told them both to go and stand facing the wall, hands on heads, and not to talk to each other. When the girls were in position Mr Fowler resumed the paperwork he had been doing. <br />Nothing happened for more than a quarter of an hour. The deputy headmaster knew that a period of waiting and apprehension would increase the effect of the punishment. He was certainly right so far as Alison was concerned. She was very near to tears when there was a knock on the door and Mrs Whitfield, the French teacher, came in. She completely ignored the two culprits and had a brief conversation with Mr Fowler. As they talked Alison hardly knew whether she wanted them to carry on talking and so delay her punishment or whether she wanted the awful, stomach churning, waiting to be over. When she had finished Mrs Whitfield glanced at the girls and said "Well, I'd better let you get on then. I can see you've got some work to do!" <br />After she left Alison, still facing the wall, heard Mr Fowler get up from his desk and open a cupboard. Then she heard something being placed on the desk. She could guess what that was. The deputy headmaster told them to turn round and Alison saw the light brown cane lying on his desk. It was slender, slightly curved, and nearly three feet in length. Alison's knees knocked together at the thought of the effect of that stick on her bottom. <br />Mr Fowler said that he had no alternative other than to cane them both. He said that he hoped that Karen realised that her sister had only done her duty in reporting them. He said that he would deal more severely with Karen as she had procured the cigarettes and she had been punished for smoking before. <br />"Right, Karen," he said, "you know the form. Let's show Alison what happens to naughty girls' bottoms! Alison, you stand where you are and keep your hands on your head. It will be your turn soon enough!" <br />Biting her lips Karen moved a tall stool into the centre of the office. The memory of her last caning, only the term before, was still very clear to her and she knew what was expected. Mr Fowler watched impassively as she slowly started to unbutton her blue school skirt, stepped out of it and left it on the teacher's desk. Glumly the sixteen year-old bent over the stool, gripping the lowest crossbar tightly. <br />Alison had a clear view of her friend's pert schoolgirl bottom, encased in tight-fitting blue knickers, trembling slightly, waiting for the cane. But Mr Fowler was not satisfied. <br />"Oh no, my girl! You're not getting away with that!" he said. "I warned you last time; if you were sent to me again it would be knickers down! Now, get them down right away, miss!" <br />Karen protested, but it was to no avail. Reluctantly the humiliated girl inched her skimpy knickers down, before Alison's horrified stare, until they fell to her ankles revealing the delicate pale flesh of her rounded buttocks. Then, with an audible sigh, she once more bent over the stool. She kept both her legs dead straight and tightly pressed together. <br />Alison watched in appalled horror as Mr Fowler removed his jacket and picked up the cane. He tapped it across the centre of Karen's bottom, denting the soft flesh. Then he slowly raised it to the full extent of his arm and whipped it down with great force. <br />Alison had not fully realised just how severe a punishment a caning was. It was just terrifying to see the speed and force of that stroke, and to imagine the effect of that flexible cane wielded with a grown man's full strength across a teenage girl's bared, vulnerable bottom. She gasped as the cane rose again and she saw a white line form across the full width of Karen's quivering behind before quickly reddening. Alison turned away and closed her eyes. She didn't want to believe this was really happening. <br />Alison could close her eyes, but not her ears. Karen's whole body had shuddered at the impact of that first stroke, but she had remained in position, grunting as the intense stinging pain bit home. But after the third stroke Karen gave vent to an earsplitting yell of pain "Arghh . . . Yeeowww!!" Shocked, Alison opened her eyes again and looked to see what was going on. Karen's feet were beating a tattoo on the floor as she bent over the stool and she could see some light brown curls peeping through the gap in her thighs. <br />Karen could no longer keep still. After the fourth whack, delivered with unrelenting force to her gyrating behind, she yelled again and half rose and turned towards the deputy headmaster. Alison could see that she had started to cry. She felt sick at the thought that it would be her turn soon. Mr Fowler caught hold of the tall fourth-former, bent her over again and forced her back into position. <br />"You don't seem to have learned anything from your last visit here," the deputy said, "I hope the message will get through to you this time!" Then he drew the cane back and was just about to deliver the next stroke when Karen suddenly reached back and protected her bottom with her hands. Mr Fowler just checked himself in time and angrily told Karen that she was lucky she hadn't got her fingers broken. He said that if Karen was not prepared to stay in position and take her well-deserved medicine he would ask Alison to hold her down and he would give her extra strokes. He said Karen had known what to expect if she was caught smoking again. <br />After that Karen stayed in position for the last two strokes but she yelled loudly at each and drummed her feet in pain. She was no longer trying to keep her legs together as she had at first and from her frantic squirmings and wrigglings and her anguished yelps it was obvious to Alison just how much of an effort it was taking her to stay in place. After the sixth stroke the deputy told Karen to get up. <br />She straightened and her hands went immediately to her wealed backside. The sobbing teenager danced around the office in agony, not even thinking about covering herself up. Mr Fowler allowed her a few seconds to recover and then told her to pull up her knickers and put her skirt back on again. <br />Karen had been slow about lowering her knickers but she took even longer to pull them up again. Ugly raised weals covered the whole surface of her bottom and she gasped and squealed as she painfully manoeuvred the navy blue knickers into place. Alison was absolutely petrified. Her friend was so tall, so tough. And yet a mere six blows from that supple wand had sufficed to reduce her to tearful humiliation. <br />The deputy ordered Karen to go and stand by the wall and turned his attention to the second of the two girls. "All right, Alison. Skirt off and over the stool!" <br />Desperately hoping that there would be some miraculous intervention the frightened girl took as much time as she dared to in complying with Mr Fowler's instructions, but she ended up soon enough draped over the stool with her trembling bottom upthrust for its ordeal. Mr Fowler allowed Alison to retain her knickers for her punishment. In fact he knew perfectly well that the thin brief knickers did not provide any real protection from his cane. But he was quite aware that the girls all hated having to take their panties down and be punished on the bare and regarded this as a much worse punishment. <br />Pretty little Alison escaped relatively lightly compared to her friend. Mr Fowler whacked his cane down four times over her tight white knickers, rather than the six awarded to Karen, and he did not use so much force in her punishment. Nevertheless the effect on the fourth former was traumatic. The normally well-behaved girl had never before even been spanked, and the acute sting imparted by the deputy's cane shocked her. <br />She yelled out loud at each stroke and, although she grimly held on to the crossbar of the stool for dear life, her bottom was weaving wildly from side to side by the time the fourth stroke sliced in. That final stroke was much harder than the first three, as hard as any that Karen had received earlier. Alison lost her grip on the bar and leapt upright in agony grabbing her pain-filled behind. <br />She hadn't known if she was going to get six like Karen and it was a marvellous relief when Mr Fowler laid the cane back on his desk and said "I hope that will help to remind you that there is a school rule against smoking, Alison." Then he entered the details in the school Punishment Book, told the girls to report for an hours detention the following Monday and finally allowed them to go. <br />As they limped slowly down the corridor each step was painful. Alison said some unprintable things to Karen about her sister and she agreed emphatically. They made their painful way to the toilets where they rinsed their faces and removed the signs that they'd been crying. They stayed there for about twenty minutes until the worst of the violent stinging was dying away, leaving a duller throbbing pain behind, which still hurt but was easier to bear without showing it so much. The girls practised sitting down on the cloakroom benches, but both, especially Karen, found it still too painful to sit down properly. If they tried this it brought back the first penetrating soreness. <br />Eventually Karen said to Alison that they really ought to start for home. On their way to the bus stop Karen said that she would make sure that they got their own back on Kate and Alison said that she would help if it was needed. <br />One of the worst things about the whole incident for Alison was telling her mum about it. Mrs Allen was very angry that her daughter had been caned for smoking and, although she kissed her and was sympathetic, she said she had deserved her punishment. Alison's father was also very angry and Alison was sent to bed early and had her pocket money reduced to less than her younger brother's. Mrs Allen also said that she shouldn't mix with Karen and would have gone round to complain to her mother about her getting Alison into trouble if her daughter hadn't stopped her. <br />________________________________________<br />A few days later, the morning after both girls had undergone their detention, Karen told her friend that she had thought of a way they could get back on Kate. She was the prefect responsible for the school library and a lot of the books had been missing recently and questions asked. Karen said that some at least of these were at their house, brought there by Kate. Of course she would not normally have told on her, but after what she had done for herself and Alison the girls both thought that Karen would be justified if she could do it without anyone knowing she had deliberately given her away. <br />It had taken her a while to think of a way to achieve this, but her plan was to get their English teacher, who was the master in charge of the library, to go back to their house on some pretext so that he would see and recognise the books, as Kate had just left them around the house, not expecting anyone from the school to see them. <br />It seemed a good scheme and the girls hoped that Mr Bradbrook, the English master, would report Kate to the headmistress and she would lose her position as a prefect. Karen also thought that if their mother found out that Kate had been taking books from school without permission she might well spank her or take the tawse to her. Both Russell sisters had often been punished in this way in the past, although the last time for Kate had been some years ago. Karen herself still paid regular visits over her mother's knees and thought that a dose of the tawse was just what Kate needed to bring her down a peg or two. She said she would tell Alison the next day if her plan had worked. <br />After the English lesson Karen had a short discussion with Mr Bradbrook and after school Alison saw her being driven home in the English master's car. <br />Next morning she saw her again as soon as she got to school. Kate said that the plan had completely succeeded! Mr Bradbrook had seen the books as soon as he had arrived at her house and had asked Karen if she had taken them. Karen had said that she had no idea how they had got there. Then Mr Bradbrook asked Mrs Russell if she knew anything about them. She said that her elder daughter, Kate, had brought them home. Not realising that they were the school's property, she thought Mr Bradbrook was just impressed with her daughter's reading! <br />Then Kate got home and was taken aback to see Mr Bradbrook there. He asked her about the books and on the spur of the moment she said that Karen had brought them home. But he told her what her mother had said. Then she said she'd brought them home to repair the bindings, but he didn't believe the change of story and in the end she admitted it, bursting into tears. He left with the books, saying he would report Kate to Mrs Woodman and that she should go to her office before assembly next day. <br />Karen said that then her mother had sent Kate to her room and she soon followed her. Soon Karen had heard the sounds of a vigorous spanking which seemed to go on and on. Then she could clearly hear the loud crack of the supple strap but no sound from Kate. Her mother was obviously not going to stop until she reacted and the thrashing continued remorselessly. Eventually Kate's resolution had to snap and she yelled out. Then, after a few last wallops, the sounds of the punishment ended. <br />Alison's behind had still not fully recovered and she was delighted to hear that the tall seventeen year old who had reported her had earned a sore bottom of her own. Karen said that Kate did not suspect that she had deliberately engineered the whole thing. That morning, before they had left for school, she had sympathised with Kate about her strapping and she had shown no signs of suspecting her. But she did ask Karen something which surprised her. She asked her if she thought that she might get the cane at school! <br />Karen and Alison had never really considered this a possibility when Karen came up with her plan because it was virtually unknown for sixth formers to get the cane and unheard of for prefects. The most they had expected was that Kate might get put in detention and have to sit in humiliation for an hour among naughty first and second years with her bottom at imminent risk from the leather strap frequently at use in detention class - and from which Alison's bottom had had the narrowest of escapes that Monday. Karen told Kate how unlikely it seemed to her that she could be caned, but she responded that she'd almost certainly not be a prefect much longer; that the headmistress would probably say that she'd abused a position of trust and that she'd probably made matters worse by trying to blame Karen at first. "It's the sort of thing they take ever so seriously, Karen. I know it is." <br />Karen saw that her sister was genuinely worried about getting the cane and noticed that she had decided to go to school wearing a pair of grey trousers rather than a skirt. This was permitted for fifth formers and above but Kate never usually wore trousers and Karen realised that she was motivated by the hope that, if she was sent to Mr Fowler, the deputy headmaster would let her keep the trousers on. Boys at the local grammar school were normally caned over trousers, which didn't interfere with the punishment so much as a loose school skirt. Karen knew that some fifth form girls had been caned wearing trousers last term. <br />Kate apologised to Karen for trying to put the blame on her, and even for having reported her and Alison the week before. Karen was still not ready to forgive her, as her own caning was still too fresh in her memory, and she did not encourage her as much as she might have done. Karen knew that Kate had been caned when she'd been in the second year, before Karen and Alison had joined Bishop Hardinge's school. She well remembered how, when she had been ten years old, her mother had made her big sister show her the cane marks on her bottom and had told her that that was what happened to naughty girls. But that was a long time ago and Karen thought that Kate had forgotten what it was like to be caned. So she pointedly mentioned to her sister that she still had the marks from her caning and that it still hurt her to sit down. <br />As she was relaying all this to Alison the bell went for assembly. In her announcements the headmistress said that the person who had taken the books from the library had now been identified. <br />"I am sorry to have to tell you," she went on "that it was Kate Russell, a sixth form prefect and the girl most responsible for the safe custody of the books. Kate is no longer a prefect and I can assure the school she will be regretting her behaviour bitterly before she is very much older!" <br />On their way to the first lesson after assembly Karen told Alison that she was beginning to think that Kate might actually get the cane. The headmistress's words had certainly left it as a strong possibility! The two girls resolved to hang around outside Mr Fowler's office at breaktimes during lunch hour and after school - the times at which canings were usually administered - to see if Kate really got her comeuppance. <br />The girls were a little late in arriving near the deputy headmaster's office at the beginning of morning break as the History teacher kept the class in for a couple of minutes after the bell went. They made their way along the corridor and stopped some way short of Mr Fowler's door and pretended to be interested in some notices pinned to a board. <br />THWACKK!! <br />Although the sound was muffled by the intervening door neither girl had any difficulty in recognising the sound as that of a cane lashing down onto a naughty schoolgirl's upturned bottom. Alison turned to Karen: "Yes! Kate's getting the cane!". <br />Karen was equally excited, but more cautious. "Hold on," she said, "We don't know it's her. It could be anyone. It won't be long, a couple more whacks like that and we'll hear her yell!" <br />But, in fact, stroke after stroke was heard to descend, at regular intervals of about fifteen seconds and no sound at all could be heard from the victim. Karen and Alison looked at each other. They had heard eight strokes, and there might have been more before they arrived, and there was no reaction from the girl being caned nor any sign that the punishment was reaching its end. <br />Perhaps Mr Fowler, too, was feeling some frustration. There was a longer pause before the next stroke and it sounded even more vicious than its predecessors to the listening girls outside. Still there was no answering yell. Karen realised that it had to be Kate in there. She had never heard of any girl getting this number of strokes before, certainly it had to be a senior girl's caning, and she remembered how long it had taken before Kate had cried out under their mother's tawse the evening before. <br />Finally flesh and blood could take no more. As the next stroke smacked down the girls heard an anguished howl, unmistakably in Kate's voice. Immediately there was another loud thwack, followed by an even louder shriek. The listeners realised that the unbelievable punishment was at an end when they heard, through the faint sound of sobbing, the clatter of Mr Fowler's cane being put down on his desk. Once again Karen and Alison gave all their attention to the noticeboard. <br />Sooner than the girls expected the door the deputy's office opened and Kate emerged. The tall seventeen year old was in a terrible state. Her long blonde hair was all over the place and her pretty face was screwed up in pain. She was crying. With her left hand pressed to the seat of her grey trousers the well-caned former prefect scuttled down the corridor as fast as her unsteady legs could carry her. She took no notice of Karen and Alison standing there. She didn't even see them. <br />As if retracing Karen and Alison's steps after their canings Kate stumbled along, half-blinded by tears, to the girls' toilets. There she locked herself in to a cubicle and proceeded to weep out her pain and shame, leaning on the cistern with one hand while the other, ever so carefully and tenderly, caressed her intensely stinging bottom. It was almost the end of morning school when Kate, by now a little more in control of herself, emerged from the cubicle and washed and dried her face. She did not even think about going in to her class, but went straight home. <br />When Karen got home that evening Kate was lying stretched out face down on her bed, stark naked, with a folded wet towel laid across her caned buttocks. Before Karen had a chance to say anything Kate once again apologised for reporting her and Alison. "I'm really sorry, Karen. I'd forgotten just how much that bloody cane hurts! Well! I won't forget again in a hurry!" <br />Karen felt a wave of sympathy for her brave big sister. She had been going to taunt her and explain how she and Alison had masterminded her punishment, but now she felt ashamed. "Oh, Katie!" she said, "I'm so sorry! Your poor bum! Is there anything I can do at all?" <br />Kate asked her sister to take the towel to the bathroom, rinse it in cold water, wring it out and bring it back to put on her behind. "My bum still hurts like hell," she said, "but I think the cold stops the stinging a bit." <br />As she picked up the towel Karen saw the mess that their mother's tawse and Mr Fowler's cane had made of Kate's rear. The entire area of the buttocks was bright crimson and covered with a network of raised weals. She could not restrain an exclamation at the horrid sight and scurried out to the bathroom on her errand of mercy. <br />On her return she very carefully laid the towel to cover her sister's battered bottom. "How many strokes did you get, Katie?" she asked, sympathetically. <br />But Kate could not tell her. Mr Fowler had not announced the number in advance and Kate had lost count well before the end. "It was really awful, Karen," she confessed to her sister. "Mr Fowler was really angry. He was snorting like an animal. He said he would make sure I knew what a real caning was like." Kate wriggled on the bed as a spasm of pain went through her. "Worst was he made me take my trousers down and gave it to me over the knickers. At least he didn’t make me take them down too!" <br />Karen, however, was not so sure. She thought that if Mr Fowler had seen the marks left by Mrs Russell's tawse - as he certainly would have done if Kate had lowered her knickers for a bare-bottomed punishment - he would never have caned her so hard or given her so many strokes. And not being able to see the cane marks, and Kate being so stupidly brave he probably didn't realise just how much he was hurting her. Apart from the caning and losing her position as a prefect Kate had also been sentenced to detention after school each Monday for the rest of term - and there were still seven Mondays to go. <br />At school next morning Kate was sent to Mr Fowler for leaving without permission the day before and the start of morning break found her once more in his office. He told her that if she had asked she would have been given leave, but that she had no right just to go off like that. <br />"So. How's your backside feeling this morning, Kate?" he asked. <br />Kate blushed. It was hard enough just talking to the man who had so outraged that normally private part of her anatomy, without him asking her questions about it! But she had to reply. <br />"It still hurts, sir. A lot! It's covered in bruises and it's really sore. I had to eat breakfast standing up this morning!" As she spoke Kate's hands went behind her to the seat of the school skirt she was wearing. <br />Mr Fowler permitted himself a smile. "Good!" he said. "I'm glad all my effort yesterday wasn't totally wasted! Now I shall endeavour to bring home to you the importance of not leaving school without permission!" The deputy headmaster rose, opened a cupboard and withdrew a cane. "Right, Kate," he said. "In view of yesterday's events I think two strokes will be sufficient!" <br />"Oh, no, please sir, no!" Kate pleaded, tears pricking at her large grey eyes. "Please not the cane! Oh, please . . ." <br />"It's all right, Kate," said the deputy headmaster, surprisingly, "I quite agree that your bottom suffered enough yesterday! Hold out your left hand. <br />The seventeen year old extended her left arm. She was almost as tall as Mr Fowler himself and he adjusted the height of the hand until its position was satisfactory. He tapped the cane across the girl's palm and then raised it high. Kate closed her eyes. "You don't leave school without permission, girl!" snapped the master, before lashing the slender rod down across Kate's palm, just below the base of her fingers. <br />Kate's whole body shuddered, but she kept her hand firmly extended, hardly altering her stance at all. Mr Fowler nodded approvingly. Kate Russell might be a very naughty girl, totally unfitted for the duties of a prefect, but she was certainly no coward. <br />Nevertheless he did not moderate the force of her second stroke. The cane slashed violently down to land parallel to and almost the first. The two weals quickly melded into one. As soon as the cane landed Kate jerked her hand away and waved it wildly in the air. She then brought it in front of her mouth and blew on it frantically. Finally she bent forward pressing her stinging palm to the pit of her stomach. <br />Mr Fowler did not allow her whatever meagre relief this may have brought for long. "Hands by your sides and go and stand facing the wall!" he ordered. <br />He kept her in this position until the bell went for the end of morning break. Then he asked her what her next lesson was and in which classroom. <br />"French, sir. In room 16." <br />"All right," he replied. "We'll go there together. We don't want you running off again!" <br />So the deputy marched the former prefect through the school like a naughty girl half her age, before delivering her to Mrs Whitfield's class. "Stand here at the front of the class" he ordered. “Now turn round, face the front and lift up your skirt”<br />All the girls watched as Kate carefully lifted her skirt revealing her firm bottom, clad in lacy black knickers (a sixth-form priviledge) with bright red marks emerging at the edges. Mr Fowler then inserted his fingers in the waistband and peeled them down to just above her knee making Kate wince noticeably and draw a deep breath of pain. <br />"Girls I want you all to profit from the example of Kate Russell," said Mr Fowler. "You are all sixth formers and are expected to behave like adults. If you behave as adults you will be treated as adults. If you behave like naughty schoolgirls you will be treated as naughty schoolgirls. And at this school, as you can see from Kate’s bottom, naughty schoolgirls get very sore backsides!” As he uttered each of the last six words he delivered a crisp spank to alternate cheeks to emphasise his point and bring the burning pain back to her bottom.<br />"All right, Mrs Whitfield, please carry on, Kate will remain in that position with her bottom on public display" he concluded leaving the classroom. Poor Kate buried her head in her hands and wept quietly to herself in humiliated agony for the rest of that lesson as twenty three pairs of eyes stared at her burning bum.John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-90442396974592634292011-03-31T09:14:00.000-07:002011-04-04T03:45:09.917-07:00A Glimpse Into 1994R.T. Mason is one of the best writers in this field - he manages to build tension, capture the exquisite agony of the victim and has an attention to detail which few can match. I don't normally like stories set in the future or the past but this one works superbly and Jenny's caning and tawsing are stunningly real. It comes from Janus (of course) from 1984<br /><br />A GLIMPSE INTO 1994<br />By R.T Mason<br />1984 did not turn out quite as George Orwell predicted, although few perhaps would dispute that there has proved to be a certain timely symbolic truth to his allegorical fantasy. But things can change very rapidly. Perhaps 1994 could be the year? The year when the\State and Big Brother take over, especially against undisciplined excesses of youth. Discipline is naturally the keynote: a strict non-nonsense regime reinforced with a liberal use of corporal punishment. Females will undoubtedly be treated as strictly as males. If not infinitely more so...<br /><br />'Oh no!' burst out Jenny. 'Look at the time!'<br />The digital watch on her wrist said quite unequivocally 20:57. And equally unequivocally the Curfew for schoolgirls in term time in 1994 was 21 :00 hours. She struggled desperately to her feet and went to grab her bike, propped against a nearby tree. Jenny's companion, her boyfriend Chris, began frantically bundling up the blanket they had been lying on. His face bore a dazed look. One moment he and Jenny had been quietly lying there smooching, and then suddenly . . . this awful frightening realisation.<br />They were on the Common outside their home town of Southdown. The Common was a very pleasant place to be on a peaceful. still-warm June evening such as this. It had in fact been rather too pleasant and seduced by the tranquil evening and each other's company they had quite forgotten the time. And the Curfew.<br />The Curfew did not apply to Chris because although he was the same age as Jenny he was no longer at school.<br />In 1994 boys could leave at 17 but because of the unemployment situation girls were kept at school for two more years, until they were 19. Both Chris and Jenny were now 19; and Jenny was in her last term at school.<br />But while she was still at school all the School Regulations had to be strictly observed.<br />One of the most strictly observed Regulations was the 21 :00 term time Curfew when all girls must be indoors, at home. The only possible exception to this would be if you were attending a State rally or lecture or something similar: you certainly couldn't be out on the Common with a boyfriend, or even cycling back home.<br />'Oh God!' wailed Jenny, straightening herself up and buttoning her blazer. 'Someone's sure to see me'.<br />And indeed that did seem very likely. For one thing she was in the full school uniform of State School for Girls Number 2417 (Southdown) . White blouse and navy-blue knee-length pleated skirt, and red-and-blue striped tie with the red blazer with blue piping and its crest 'Southdown School for Girls'. And of course dark nylons and black court shoes. All as in the School Regulations.<br />Because also in those School Regulations was the requirement that every girl must wear full school uniform at all times and not just during school hours.<br />One reason for this was that then a girl could be immediately spotted anywhere if her behaviour was in any way incorrect.<br />Such as for instance being out after Curfew.<br />The situation was pretty hopeless, for both of their homes were over a couple of miles away on the other side of Southdown. And you could be sure there would be plenty of good honest citizens about with their eyes wide open. Older male citizens, naturally. Indeed they were known to come out especially at about this time simply in the hope of finding a young and pretty female who had somehow missed the Curfew deadline.<br />'Well, we can only hope for the best.' said Chris. But his voice did not sound very confident.<br />They started pushing their bikes across the rough grass towards the road. And almost immediately, as they rounded some bushes, there was the very type they had hoped to avoid. A good honest middle-aged citizen. His name was Arthur Mannings and he came here most evenings, walking his dog, on the off chance that he might come across what he now saw: a girl in school uniform. Because it was clearly a good citizen's duty to see that breakers of Regulations were apprehended.<br />The good citizen immediately waved for them to stop. Chris felt a momentary impulse to try and make a run for it. But he knew that would only make it worse. They stopped. The man with the dog hurried towards them.<br />He was panting a bit when he caught up to them. Panting with the extra effort to get to what his keen eyes now confirmed was a nice tasty catch. Mr Arthur Mannings' eyes were small and rather piggy-like in a round middle aged face now pinkly perspiring. The eyes were of course focused on Jenny as she stood nervously holding her bike.<br />'Lovely evening: he observed, a bit breathless. But his thoughts were clearly not on the evening but on this quite tall but decidedly well-built specimen of girlhood. His eyes greedily took in the pretty shoulder-length blonde hair and the clean attractive features. Even more they took in the rest of her: the indication of firm breasts under the blazer; the nyloned calves; the shapely rounded hips under the pleated skirt.<br />The good citizen's gaze broke off to check his watch. It was now exactly 21:01. 'But late for a schoolgirl to be out,though. Southdown School for Girls, eh?' He added, 'By the way, my name's Arthur Mannings; I'm with the Ministry of Social Affairs: while his hand reached out and tapped the crest on Jenny's blazer. And then the hand gave a quite deliberate squeeze to the breast below.<br />Jenny flushed and backed away. The hand let go.<br />'Can I see your ID, Miss?' He bent down to let his dog off the lead.<br />Fumblingly Jenny felt in first one and then another pocket. She experienced a wave of panic for to be caught without her ID Card would really be the end. Finally, with relief, she found it and meekly handed it over.<br />Mr Mannings studied it, reading out the details. 'Jenny Susan Allison; 21 Westbourne Avenue, South down. Aged 19 years. Pupil, Southdown School for Girls (State School No. 2417). State identification No. 043,892,124/F.'<br />He looked at the photograph, comparing it with its owner, then slipped the ID Card in his pocket.<br />'Don't worry your pretty head’ he said to Jenny's look of alarm. 'You'll get it back. But we are past the deadline for pretty girls to be back home in bed. Aren't we?'<br />Jenny flushed red. 'We .. we just forgot the time. Pl . . please don't report me. I've n .. never broken the Curfew before.'<br />The good citizen had the expression of a cat with a big bowl of cream. He didn't in fact intend to report her, as indeed Jenny and Chris might have guessed. Well, why let some Official of the Education Ministry have all the fun.<br />The fun of bending this mouth-watering girl over a caning horse and slipping her tight knickers down. And then getting to work on her undoubtedly splendid 19-year-old rump with a nice supple three-foot cane.<br />Yes, why let some official have that pleasure when he, Arthur Mannings, might just be able to do a bit of that himself.<br />He gave them both an owlish look.<br />'It is of course a very serious matter as you both know. A girl could very easily get herself in trouble, that's why we have the Curfew. What've you two been doing anyway? If you've been having intercourse then you'll both be in very serious trouble.'<br />That was true. In 1994 it was strictly forbidden for a girl to have sex while she was still at school and girls caught transgressing this rule were sent off immediately to a Reform Centre. Which was not a place any girl would enjoy going to.<br />'No!' gasped Jenny, flushing afresh. 'We . . there was nothing like that.'<br />Good citizen Arthur reached forward and took hold of the hem of Jenny's skirt. And simply lifted it up in front of her waist. His eyes gazed greedily at what was revealed: Jenny's thighs in the dark nylons, the full pale flesh above crossed by taut narrow white suspender straps; and, above, her brief tight white knickers.<br />She stood crying, with Chris also having gone bright red in the face, but both knew they could do nothing.<br />'Well, you have got knickers on’ Mr Mannings acknowledged primly.<br />'Though of course you could have had them off and just put them on again.'<br />'No!' blurted Jenny.<br />'Turn round’ ordered our good citizen.<br />Jenny hesitated, then did so, still holding onto her bike. Mr Mannings now lifted her skirt up at the back, to her waist. Jenny's bottom was displayed, a splendidly full but firm specimen, the twin rounded cheeks tightly encased in the scanty skin-tight briefs. Chris's face bore a sick look as the hand reached out and intimately fondled his girlfriend's bottom; then gave it a sharp slap.<br />'Mmm ... Well we'll have to see. You should be reported of course: but maybe we can find some other solution. Both of you can come back to my place and we'll discuss it.'<br />He asked for Chris's ID and after a quick glance put it in his pocket. Then told them to leave their bikes there and they could collect them in the morning. He could take them back in his car, first to his house and later he would drive them to their own home.<br />Jenny and Chris glanced at each other but they both knew they had no option. What the man planned . .. well, it obviously wasn't going to be pleasant but they were well and truly caught.<br />He called his dog over. They left the bikes in the bushes and walked to where his car was parked. They got in, Jenny in front next to Mr Mannings, and he drove off. His hand was almost immediately down on Jenny's thigh.<br />Looking straight ahead, she felt her skirt being pushed back. The slightly pudgy hand took a firm grip on the nyloned thigh beneath.<br /><br />* * *<br />It didn't take long to reach his house, in a neat tree-lined street at the opposite end of the town to where Jenny and Chris lived. In the hall Mrs Mannings appeared, a pleasant-looking lady of about her husband's age. He explained that he had a couple of young visitors; a little problem of the Curfew. Mrs Mannings asked if they would like some tea: yes, that would be a splendid idea, said her husband.<br />She went off to the kitchen taking the dog. She could see Arthur was quite excited and no wonder. Muriel Mannings knew that when he went walking the dog he always hoped to catch a girl breaking the Curfew, but of course it was a reasonably rare event. He would be in a really good mood tonight after this. She felt a little sorry for that pretty girl, knowing what she would get from dear Arthur; but then it was her own fault. Young people, including young girls, had to be kept on a firm rein. Otherwise you'd have them running wild with drugs and vandalism like in the old days.<br />In the lounge Mr Mannings took Jenny's blazer: the promise of full firm breasts, he saw, was amply born out. He mentally licked his lips. 'Yes: he observed judiciously, 'the Education Ministry Inspectors take a very serious view of Curfew breaking, as you know. You could easily be sent off for a session at a Reform Centre.'<br />'No please!' whimpered Jenny.<br />'But clearly you have to have some punishment: for your own good. And I would be failing in my duty as a citizen if I let you go scot-free.'<br />Arthur Mannings' eyes gazed steadily at the shapely girl and the equally unhappy boyfriend at her side. Then pursing his lips he said it. 'I could of course, instead, give you a caning here and now.'<br />It was what they had both half expected.<br />He badly wanted to cane Jenny himself, that fact had been lurking just below the surface ever since he'd caught them. And what choice did Jenny have - unless she preferred going to a dreaded Reform Centre?<br />Looking down at the floor, she stuttered,'Yes .. I'll t .. take a c ..caning.'<br />Arthur Mannings this time actually did lick his lips. 'You're very sensible, my dear. Don't you think so, Chris?'<br />As Chris remained dumb Mr Mannings moved in close to Jenny and cupped her breasts in both hands. She gave a sharp grasp but kept still. The breasts in Arthur Mannings' hands were firm and ripe. Squeezing them, he looked smugly at Chris. A very nice-looking girl, eh Chris? But she's got to take a little punishment and I want you to be here to see it. That way I think it will be a bit more of an ordeal for both of you. Because you must bear some of the blame for this.'<br />He let go of Jenny's breasts as the door opened and his wife entered carrying a tray with the tea. She smiled sweetly at all three, then put down the tray and silently left..<br />They sat down and drank their tea at Mr Mannings' insistence, though neither Jenny nor Chris wanted any. Then Jenny was simply told to stand, lift her skirt and take down her knickers. Mr Mannings went briskly to a corner cupboard... and came back holding a wicked-looking 30-inch rattan cane.<br />He placed a stool in the centre of the room. Jenny was to kneel on it and bend down so that her head and hands were down on the carpet. The pretty girl looked at Mr Mannings, then at the stool. The humiliating position he was telling her to get into would be almost worse than the actual caning. She could picture herself over that stool - with Chris having to watch. <br />'Please ... ' she pleaded. 'C ...can Chris go. Please'<br />Mr Mannings' piggy eyes glistened.<br />'Certainly not, my dear. I've told you that is part of the punishment: for both of you. He has to watch. Now come on up on the stool.'<br />With beads of perspiration tingling her skin Jenny forced herself to comply.<br />Knelt on the 18-inch-high stool and then bent forward and down. Her hands down on the carpet, then lowering herself further until her face was down there as well. Her bottom by far the highest part of her body ...Arthur Mannings, with a look of gloating anticipation, took the hem of Jenny's skirt and flipped it up, over her back. Atrociously, her knickers were then lowered from her bottom, and there, thrust up and out by her posture, were the twin swelling hemispheres splendidly bare: a beckoning target of ripe resilient flesh.<br />He primly slipped the lowered knickers down a little further, to the taut tops of her nylons. Then his hand came back to openly fondle those swelling rondures, glancing as he did so at the red-faced boyfriend who was trying to look anywhere but at Jenny's bared bottom.<br />His voice sharp: 'I want you to watch remember, Chris!'<br />As Chris reluctantly brought his eyes back in the required direction Mr Mannings brought his right hand down to deliver a firm spank on the defenceless girl’s left buttock. It made a wonderful sound and left a clear red imprint.<br />Mr. Mannings then took up the cane again; and testingly applied it across the up thrust rear. Two or three teasing transverse taps causing the firm flesh to wobble slightly. Jenny, already cringing with humiliation, now felt a shiver of fear.<br />For Arthur Mannings everything seemed ready to go. A quick glance at the youth, and the cane was raised in earnest. Smoothly accelerating up in a high arc. .. and then, gathering momentum, down.<br />Whi ... iipp ... CRACK! A sound like a pistol shot. Almost simultaneously a strangled gasp from the victim and another, in involuntary unison, from the watching boyfriend. At the same time the raised buttocks went into a desperate jerking dance with their pale form suddenly displaying the stark twin lines of the cane's impact.<br />Good citizen Arthur Mannings evidently knew how to use the cane and he knew the value of a suitable pause to let the sting of its impact be fully appreciated.<br />He was well enough aware that the crescendo of pain from a soundly applied cane stroke climaxed a few seconds after delivery. And then the cane came zipping up through its arc again ...and again descending...<br />Whi...iipp ... CRACK! .. The pistol shot, the gasps, the desperate jerking of the stricken bum as before. And now two pairs of those-bright red tramlines. Arthur Mannings, eyes gleaming, was in his element. A heady sense of sexual excitement filling him as he continued, repeatedly whipping the cane down. A sense of sexual excitement which from the very beginning had the front of his trousers tightly distended.<br />He kept on, the cane rising and falling, intoxicated by its solid meaty smack into the girl's defenceless bottom; intoxicated by the increased desperation of her gasping cries, her tortured writhings which were stretching her lowered knickers almost to breaking point.<br />He didn't want to stop but eventually he had to. Even in 1994 there were limits. And the limit this evening came when after ten strokes and Jenny's bottom a welter of criss-crossing red lines, she simply collapsed forward onto the floor crying her eyes out.<br />Arthur Mannings reluctantly realised she had had enough and, panting, put down the cane. In any case he needed to break off himself. He briefly watched as the stunned red-faced boyfriend sprang up from his seat to go and comfort the girl as she lay sprawled on the carpet. In the lounge Jenny still lay sobbing. For Chris, having to watch her get it from Mr Mannings in that savage manner had been an almost mind-blowing experience: distressing and yet at the same time with an awful fascination.<br />That cane repeatedly jolting with its sickening thwack! into Jenny's bare bottom .. . He realised guiltily that he would have felt compelled to watch whether Mr Mannings had made him or not.<br />Because for Chris, as for Arthur Mannings, the proceedings had also had a fierce sexual excitement. And from about the third stroke of the cane Chris had shamefully found himself in the same state of response as the man who had been wielding the cane. He knew that he would never ever be able to forget hearing and witnessing those explosive percussive thrashing impacts.<br /><br />* * *<br />Jenny Allison's evening encounter with Mr Mannings was not particularly unusual in 1994 - though getting the cane in front of her boyfriend was a special refinement thought up by Arthur Mannings. Jenny, and most other girls, were usually careful to avoid breaking the Curfew but there were also numerous other rules and regulations which could lead to your getting a thrashing. Rules of deportment and dress and what you could and could not do: in fact rules about pretty much every aspect of life, in school and out. Rules which if you were caught infringing usually led to a sound caning or strapping.<br />Apart from in school, where it would be one of the masters, the caning was supposed to be done by an Education Ministry Official in the local Education Office where they had various small rooms set aside for the purpose, with caning horses, caning benches, etc. But many middle-aged middle-class men who would almost by definition be themselves State Officials of some sort, would feel free, like Arthur Mannings, to beat girls themselves.<br />Like Arthur Mannings, they tended to keep a keen eye open for any chance infringement of a regulation, however petty; and then, also like Mr Mannings, they could usually persuade her to submit to a little unofficial caning. Because if you went to the Ministry Office there was not only an on-the-spot caning, there was also a good chance of being sent to a Reform Centre. Where, for three weeks or whatever it was, you could be caned or strapped, or beaten with a crop morning and night if deemed necessary; and the caning wasn't all, there was plenty more to make sure you didn't want to return for a second visit.<br />All of this in England in 1994 was designed to keep the youth of the nation firmly in their place, and girls in particular very firmly in their place. That was partly State policy and partly just the way it operated: State Officials were 99 per cent men and the average middle-aged man undoubtedly found more pleasure in dealing with a pretty girl than with a youth.<br />So 19-year-old Jennifer Allison inevitably knew all about the cane: she got it regularly at school, at least once a week, and there were those other occasions when she got beaten as well. Like two weeks earlier when another good honest middle-aged citizen - not unlike Arthur Mannings - had accused her of being rowdy on the bus. It was not true but that did not help. Did she want t6 be reported?<br />And so she had gone with him to his house where she had had to take her skimpy black knickers down and bend over his dining table to receive six stinging strokes of the tawse on her bare bottom. Don't bother to complain, that was simply what happened in 1994. As it had with Mr Mannings. Mr Mannings was only special in that he had chosen a particularly humiliating posture for the caning and, more than that, had insisted on doing it in front of Chris.<br />For Chris Wilkins, though, things were rather different. He knew girls got caned and therefore Jenny got caned, but it was not something he had ever discussed with her. It was not a pleasant thought, Jenny for instance having to bare her bottom for her school Principal, and so he preferred not to think about it. But now having been forced to watch he could not avoid thinking about it. That scene in Mr Mannings' lounge was not something he would easily forget: disturbing and upsetting but at the same time mesmeric.<br />After the caning when Mr Mannings had dropped Chris off at his house his feeling of sexual arousal continued and got worse, becoming more centred on a sharp desire for Jenny. He and Jenny did have sex from time to time although sex before marriage was strictly prohibited by the State, with the girl especially being severely dealt with if it was discovered.<br />He knew it wasn't on: for one thing they only dared do it out in the country where they wouldn't be discovered and Jenny anyway was now home with her parents. But the desire grew stronger as guiltily Chris found himself imagining what it would be like to be that awful Mr Mannings, lashing that cane down onto Jenny's defenceless bare bottom. He couldn't get to sleep and finally there was only one thing for it ... picturing in his mind the cane being wielded first by Mr Mannings, then by himself, then by Mr Mannings again, but crucially, by himself.<br />Needless to say he felt awful afterwards. And his guilt was still present next morning. The next day was a Saturday, with no work or school, and Jenny and Chris met after breakfast to walk up to the Common and collect their bikes. It was another lovely day but neither had any thought for that as they set off in embarrassed and tongue-tied silence.<br />Both inevitably had their minds full of the evening before: Jenny remembering the dreadful humiliation of taking her knickers down and being so soundly thrashed and Chris with the guilty memory of using Jenny's caning for his own selfish pleasure.<br />Finally for want of something better to say Chris stated the obvious. 'It . .. it must have hurt’<br />Jenny bit her lip; then after a pause managed an almost inaudible, 'You get used to it’.<br />Her words produced again that guilty surge of excitement for Chris.<br />Those canings that Jenny got, that every girl and which he had never wanted to know about before. Now although it would still be like a knife in him, he did want to know. It was too fascinating a subject to let drop.<br />With his heart pounding he asked, 'How...how often do you...get it?'<br />Jenny didn't want to talk about it but Chris persisted. He just had to know now. Flushing, as they walked she told him first bits and pieces, then more and more: the details.<br />About school where all the senior masters could cane you: six masters plus the Principal. And how in the final year, to ensure that you were properly disciplined by the time you left school, the caning was twice as bad. So whether you had done anything or not you had a weekly appointment with the Principal and very often after a little chat the cane or tawse would come out.<br />And of course the other times. Like Mr Mannings last night. Like that man on the bus...<br />By the time he had got all this out of her they were on the Common and had reached that fateful spot where they had been caught. Their bikes were still there in the bushes. And it was there that Jenny told Chris the final bit.<br />That Mr Mannings hadn't finished with her. After he had dropped Chris off last night he had told her she had to go round to his house again this afternoon. She glanced up at Chris, then down again. 'I haven't any choice of course. Otherwise...'<br />It was another vicious twist of the knife - but one which sent Chris's heart pounding like a train. This on top of all she had just told him .. . it was just too much.<br />He pulled Jenny to him, putting his arms round her. He felt sick that she was presumably going to get another dose like last night. <br />Afterwards Chris's behaviour was a bit strange: after never wanting to know about caning he suddenly wanted to be told all the details. She could sense that it excited him ... in a way just like all those older men who so clearly enjoyed doing it.<br />She pulled him down on the blanket again and then simply said it 'That turned you on last night. didn't it? Watching me get that caning.'<br />A hot-faced Chris vigorously denied it, but Jenny didn't believe him.<br />'Anyway you won't be there to watch this afternoon. At least I won't have that humiliation.'<br /><br />* * *<br />That was evident. Chris wouldn't be able to watch, but what was going to happen again in Mr Mannings' lounge that afternoon was like a powerful magnet holding him in its grip. After the episode in the bushes they had cycled back into town where Jenny had to meet her mother for shopping.<br />But Chris left to his own devices, could think of nothing else. His mind, regardless of the realities and with a will of its own, immediately started telling him that maybe he could see. He could sneak into the house or maybe get in the garden and look in the window. It was crazy, he knew. In 1994 you could be sent away for five years or more for illegal house entry. As for getting in the garden, well, that was crazy too. Although he had noticed that Mr Mannings' lounge faced onto a rather overgrown plot full of trees and shrubs. Where you could possibly hide. But then Mrs Mannings would probably be out there and anyway how would you get in unobserved?<br />Yes, it was crazy, but after lunch, almost as if he had no control over himself, Chris found he was walking in the direction of Mr Mannings' house.<br />Jenny was due there at 15:00. He reached the street still hardly believing he was doing this, it was like being in a dream. He recognised the house, then walked on. It was 14:45.<br />Several houses further on there was a cutting leading through to the back on Mr Mannings' side of the street. He went down it, and there at the foot of the gardens was a lane running along parallel to the street. With his heart thumping Chris walked back along the lane in the direction of Mr Mannings' house. There were gates opening onto the lane. It meant that perhaps there was a chance. He came to the gate with Mr Mannings' number: 27. It was not locked. He looked cautiously in but there was no one to be seen in the garden.<br />The gate was not in view of the house and he slipped inside...If he was discovered he would just have to say he thought he had left something yesterday - his pen? - and had come back to check. Though that would hardly explain his lurking in the garden. It was very overgrown, Mr Mannings was evidently not a gardener (perhaps all his energies were taken up with girls' bottoms?) and Chris was able to get close to the house while keeping out of sight.<br />Crouching behind a large bush (it looked like a lilac) he had a good view inside. It was all as before, that vividly remembered setting from last night. The stool which Jenny had been made to kneel on now moved back to its place by the wall. The room was empty. Chris looked at his watch. 15:02. He had a sudden thought that perhaps Mr Mannings might use another room this time: a bedroom perhaps. But then the door opened.<br />It was Jenny, in her school uniform of course, followed by Mr Mannings. And then another man. A reasonably ordinary-looking middle-aged man, not unlike Mr Mannings. Mr Mannings had evidently brought a friend to join in the fun.<br />Mr Mannings closed the door, then said something to Jenny. Standing in the centre of the room she meekly took off her blazer. Mr Mannings moved round behind her and his hands came round under her arms, cupping her breasts. He was obviously discussing Jenny's breasts with his friend because he then removed his hands and the other man took hold of them. They were laughing to each other, with Jenny just standing there looking a bit sick. And then the man let go of her and both men sat on the sofa and it was evident that Jenny had been told to take some more of her clothes off.<br />Standing in front of them her hands went to the waist of her school skirt. It was unfastened and she stepped out of it. There were just her white knickers underneath and after a moment's hesitation Jenny took them down and off. She was bare below the waist apart from nylons and suspender belt. Then Mr Mannings pointed to his friend and Jenny came forward and got herself down across the man's lap. Chris, watching, felt faint and dizzy with excitement. Holding the girl firmly with his left arm the man simply started spanking that ripe bare bottom. His hand rising and falling in a regular rhythm, the firm flesh quivering at each impact and Jenny's rump rapidly becoming a bright hot pink. This went on for some time. Then something was said and she got up and, a bit trembly, moved over to get across Mr Mannings' lap. The spanking was resumed. For Chris the excitement was now so intense it almost made him feel ill. After a while the spanking by Mr Mannings came to an end and Jenny, red-faced and red-bottomed, was stood on her feet. Would they now? Yes they would. Mr Mannings, as yesterday, went to that corner cupboard and came back but this time he brought a twin-tailed tawse. It was to be the same position: the stool in the centre of the room and Jenny kneeling on it, head and hands down on the carpet. Perhaps Mr Mannings always used this position when beating girls.<br />He and his friend admired the presented buttocks, patting and fondling them, apparently commenting on their shape and dimensions. Then Mr Mannings got into his position.<br />And the strap was rising and falling ...rising and falling ... Chris, in his hiding place, his blood pounding, was part of what was happening. He felt himself carried away, riding the intense excitement of what he was doing.<br />The supple tawse was handed over to the second man. Jenny, gasping, taking deep breaths in an effort to cope with the pain, wondered desperately how many more she was going to get. She thought fleetingly of Chris. That young man, now feeling a bit sick with himself. was at that moment creeping back out of Mr Mannings' garden.<br />He met Jenny again 40 minutes later, as if by chance but in fact knowing the route she would take back home and waiting for her. They walked in silence to Jenny's house: as earlier that day neither knew quite what to say.<br />Finally when they were almost there Chris asked her about her visit.<br />'What d'you think!' blurted Jenny.<br />'He thrashed the daylights out of me, that's what. And not just him: he brought a friend along to have a go as well!'<br />Chris made sounds of shock and commiseration, though obviously he knew what had happened. His blood began to stir again at the memory.<br />When they got to Jenny's house her parents were in so Chris suggested they go up to her room. She gave him a questioning look: a look which he understood well enough. It would not exactly be private because The Eye would be watching.<br />The Eye was installed in the bedroom of every girl from the age of 16 just until she got married. It was a video camera which automatically switched on when the room was entered, relaying its picture back to the local Education Ministry Office. It was all part of the surveillance system: helping to ensure that a girl had no secrets from the State.<br />Thus a girl always had to undress for bed standing in front of The Eye, down to the nude, before putting on her pyjamas or nightdress. At the same time it ensured that she was in bed by the correct time (21:30 for 16-year-olds ranging up to 22:30 for those over 19).<br />Needless to say there was no possibility of any misbehaving, any covert indulgence in sex, with the unblinking Eye recording everything. There was the tell-tale click as Jenny and Chris entered, then the low hum as The Eye began its work.<br />They went to sit at Jenny's desk; sitting there and talking at least did not transgress any rules. But they spoke in lowered tones because no one really knew whether The Eye picked up sound or not.<br />'At least he seems to be finished with me’ whispered Jenny. 'But God, they really laid it on.'<br />Chris felt that guilty excitement mounting again. 'Let me see where they beat you.'<br />Jenny went slightly pink. 'You've got to be joking!' Revealing her bottom to her boyfriend would undoubtedly come under the heading of improper behaviour.<br />Chris looked up at The Eye, then back at Jenny. He really wanted to see those red stripes. 'Let .. let's go in the bathroom' he whispered. 'You can show me in there.' There was no Eye in the bathroom.<br />Jenny said No, but in the face of Chris's persistence reluctantly agreed.<br />They got up and walked circumspectly out past The Eye. They went in the bathroom, locking the door after them.<br />'Look, I’d rather not’ protested Jenny.<br />But Chris was not going to be put off now. He made her bend over the edge of the bath and excitedly grabbed her skirt up, then yanked down her knickers.<br />There were the criss-crossing red stripes all right still clearly showing and covering the whole of Jenny's ripe rear. They certainly looked hot and sore. His blood pounding again, Chris greedily pulled her knickers on down and off over her shoes.<br />'Hey!' she gasped. But it was obvious what he wanted and he was in a desperate state. This whole business of Jenny's tawseing had become overwhelmingly<br />exciting to Chris. He could scarcely control himself as he pulled Jenny close.<br />She struggled at first but then began to return Chris's embrace. They were alone, weren't they, with the bathroom door locked? And the horrid Eye was safely on the other side of the wall as well as being switched off. Gradually Jenny's ardour began to match Chris's. But this whole business did seem to be getting to him and she was going to have to have a serious talk with Chris. He was just going to have to learn to accept certain things.<br /><br />* * *<br />The serious talk with Chris was not to be needed, though. The next morning the Allison household had two visitors.<br />Two Inspectors of the Education Ministry wishing to talk to Jenny. White-faced she was confronted with the accusation of what had happened in the bathroom.<br />She started to stammer. One of the Officials bleakly told her it was all on video tape. She was to pack a suitcase.<br />She would be taken immediately to a Reform Centre. Jenny's mother started weeping as the two men marched Jenny up to her room. Yes, there was an Eye in the bathroom, hidden in the light fitting. Perhaps, in 1994, the possibility should at least have been considered, but neither Jenny nor Chris had thought of that. In her room Jenny was told to pack her things: change of uniform, underwear, toilet items. For the very serious offence which had been committed it would be a long stay at the Reform Centre - up to a year. But first of all before she was taken off. a little something else. A preliminary taste of what she would be getting rather frequently at the Centre. Jenny was told to strip down to her underwear. One of the Inspectors took a vicious-looking crook-handled rattan cane from his case.<br />Jenny was bent down over her bed. The other inspector inserted his fingers in the waistband of her tight black lacy knickers and slowly peeled them off her mounds leaving them stretched tight between her thighs.<br />The Eye watched impassively as the cane rose and fell; whistling through the air, cracking down onto already striped buttocks. It was all recorded but then there was nothing happening which would cause any questions back at the Education Office.<br />When Chris came round for Jenny an hour later he was told by her tearful mother that she had just been taken away.John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-58089851880274749172011-03-17T09:43:00.000-07:002011-03-17T09:46:43.814-07:00Return to School<em>This is one of my favourite themes (see July 2010)because it inevitably involves naughty girls who still deserve punishement even after their schooldays are over. Sally Middleton has a bottom made for the cane and it is clear that the deputy-head is not in the least averse to abusing his position. The story ends with a clear implication that young Sally hasn't seen - or felt - the last of him...</em><br /><br />It seemed distinctly eerie going through the school gates again - a strange disquieting feeling. Mainly it was the silence of course, no other girls running about and shouting and this was hardly surprising because it was out of term time - the end of July and a week after school had broken up. A hot and sunny afternoon and as she looked across the deserted quadrangle the memories came flooding back: some of them pleasant ones naturally - of her classmates and friends - but mostly the unpleasant ones - the spankings, and more especially the canings. The cane and St. Monica's: the two were inseparable, for St. M's was a school dedicated to the belief that middle-class girls developed into proper young ladies only as a result of strict discipline. And at St. Monica's that meant first and foremost the cane.... energetically applied to youthful rear-quarters.<br /><br />And thinking of the cane she couldn't help feeling a tingle of apprehension. She tried to dismiss it for really it was silly: she was now 21 and it had been nearly three years since she had been a pupil here and at the mercy of Mr. James and his staff. Sally Middleton, she told herself, calm down: and behave like an adult and not a schoolgirl. She unconsciously pulled back her high firm breasts out against the thin material of her blouse. Keith, at the wheel of the car and wondering where it was best to park, happened to look across at that moment and mopped his brow. He was hot enough without her doing that.<br /><br />Fiancé Keith had been feeling more than a little frustrated ever since their stop for a picnic lunch on the drive down. He had been hoping Sally would agree to a bit of slap and tickle after lunch - well, they were getting married in six months time and had been doing it for several months now. Doing it when he could persuade her, that is, but on this occasion all his efforts at persuasion got him nowhere: she simply wasn't having any. The truth was, although she would not have admitted it even to herself, Sally was more than a bit nervous about the coming meeting. With Mr. Grant, the Deputy Head.<br /><br />It had been the Head, Mr. James, whom she had been trying to contact when she had phoned. Well, when you needed a reference you naturally went to your Headmaster, but he had been unavailable. It was close to the end of term and she was told, to her surprise, that he in fact was due to leave the school and was very busy. And she had been put through to Mr. Grant. She would definitely much rather not have spoken to Mr. Grant and indeed she could recall telling herself when she left school that he was one master she quite definitely would be happy never to speak to or see again.<br /><br />He had always been the worst - worst with the cane that is, always knickers down and then lashing it into your bare bottom so that even in the Sixth Form you were almost immediately reduced to tears and abject pleadings for him to stop. And that had been exactly what he had done on her very last morning at school, catching Sally and two or three other school-leavers rather prematurely laughing and joking in the corridor and singling her out to be taken to his room. To be bent over that horrid chair and have her skimpy pink knickers taken down for one final dose of the medicine which he so loved to mete out to a pretty teenager. It had been an all-too-fitting finish to her school career: the caning and then having to stand tearfully before him while his hand went up her skirt 'checking' that her knickers were correctly back in place, but actually of course fondling her through the knickers and then delivering a couple of painful spanks with his open palm. As he did it she had the one consoling thought that at least it was for the very last time and she would never have to see him or speak to him again. Not ever.<br /><br />But then a year later suddenly there was his voice on the phone and she was automatically saying 'Oh Please Sir, sorry to bother you Sir.' And when he had asked what it was she wanted she had said 'Pl..please Sir....' and then found herself asking him for the reference she had intended to get from Mr. James. Having said it she immediately hoped he would say no, but he didn't. What he said was that of course he couldn't just write a reference when he knew nothing about what she'd done during the past few years. He would really need to see her again and have a talk first and then he was sure he could oblige. As it happened he was staying on at St. Monica's for a couple of weeks after the end of term and so it would be convenient if she came down there. And with an empty feeling in her stomach Sally found herself automatically agreeing, automatically also falling back into the role of the obedient pupil as she said 'Yes Sir. Thank-you Sir.'<br /><br />The truth was that if it were not for the fact that she really needed a reference she would definitely have ducked out of meeting him again - sent a note: thank-you very much but I find now it's not really necessary. But she was desperately keen to get this really good job with the Company Keith worked for - a job that was so much better than the rather menial one she had had for more than six months now. And of course really there was nothing Mr. Grant could do to her now she was no longer a pupil. Well there wasn't was there?<br /><br />Yes she really needed that reference, for the year since leaving St. Monica's had sadly failed to live up to what it had promised. Because that marvellous-sounding job - Personal Secretary to Mr. Larkin, one of the senior partners in the Law Firm of Merridrew and Larkin - well, if you had said it sounded too good to be true you would have been exactly right. What it was in fact was simply a continuation of the worst aspects of school, with Mr. Larkin finding an excuse virtually every day to take her knickers down, either over his lap or over the arm of that big leather armchair in his office. And at times using that awful riding crop which if anything was worse than a cane. And if that wasn't enough there were also those favoured clients whom you had to take documents round to and who had to be allowed the same privilege - taking your knickers down, that is, and spanking your bottom. Yes it had really been no different from St. Monica's and often quite a lot more painful and humiliating..<br /><br />Eventually, after a particularly touch client had given her twelve strokes of the crop of her bare bottom she felt she could take no more and she had given in her notice. Mr. Larkin had been very angry and said he would speak to St. Monica's about being so badly let down; but she didn't suppose he actually did, and anyway she didn't care, she wouldn't have worked there any more if they paid her £1000 a week.<br /><br />After that she had been unemployed for a bit and then the job she still had now - nothing more than glorified tea-girl really, with a firm of exporters. The pay was miserable and so were the prospects but at least she didn't get her knickers taken down all the time. And of course early in this period she had met Keith and that had more than made up for the limitations of her job. Now, though, the chance of this other post had come up and if she could manage to get it, because she would need to keep working after they were married. And with a good reference there was no reason at all why she shouldn't....<br /><br />'It all seems very deserted,' said Keith, having parked the car over in the corner of the quad in the only available patch of shade. 'Are you sure he's here?'<br /><br />Oh, Sally was sure he would be here alright. 2.30 sharp he had said and it was now just 2.20. Timed just right, she thought, and then felt another surge of fear, remembering of course the very last time she was here - that final day of school when Mr. Grant had managed to seize one more opportunity to get her knickers down. She just wished she were somewhere - anywhere - else; but such thoughts were pointless and anyway it would soon be over. 'Right. I'd better go in then. Mustn't be late!' Mustn't give him any excuse to be awkward. 'Hey! Stop....!'<br /><br />She kissed him briefly and then checked her lipstick in the car mirror. Not too much make-up on. Mr. Grant might not approve.... She realised she was thinking just like a frightened St. Monica's schoolgirl again. Well she couldn't help it, it was this place - being here again. Once again her thoughts went back to that last day at school. Mr. Grant taking her into his room and locking the door.<br /><br />'Right Miss, over the chair please. Then we'll have those panties down and see if we can't find a suitable antidote for unruly behaviour.'<br /><br />She forced a smile at Keith as she tried to obliterate the memory from her mind. It was time to go in....<br /><br />Keith watched her tall shapely figure walk away across the hot and empty quad, smart black heels going clip-clop on the tarmac. The short blonde hair, the crisp blouse, the demure calf-length skirt swaying rhythmically with the movement underneath of those thighs, that bottom, which he now knew so well. He could just trace the outline of her sexy little knickers He watched until she disappeared into the building opposite. Hopefully she wouldn't be long.... then they could drive back to that place in the woods.... where earlier he hadn't been able to get what he wanted. His thoughts ran on.... They would get the blanket out again.... <br /><br />To take his mind off such thoughts (and indeed to ease the tightness in his trousers which a growing erection had produced) he got out of the car for a look around. It seemed a fairly ordinary place - a typical school, nothing remarkable. Funny that Sally had never said hardly anything at all about it - not like some girls who were always going on about what they'd done at school. This Grant: he wondered what he was like.... The typical harmless old duffer, he supposed....<br /><br />-o-O-o-<br /><br />A harmless old duffer? Well yes he was, as long as you weren't a pretty girl who had to stand flinching in front of him - just as you'd had to all those times before: now with your pretty blonde head shining in the shaft of light streaming in through his window and your pretty knees trembling under your skirt. And your pretty tits trembling too and as you see the direction of his eyes, greedy behind the spectacles, you wish frantically that the tits were just a bit smaller and didn't stick out so much or at least you had not worn the rather tight thin blouse with just the light bra underneath which you knew showed the shape of your nipples. <br /><br />Because really you should have remembered that Mr. Grant had always liked girls' tits - in addition to their bottoms of course. But back at home you foolishly hadn't thought: as you foolishly hadn't realized that once in here, in his room, nothing would have changed and you would again be the defenceless rabbit mesmerised by the weasel's cold stare. For the clammy mesmeric fear had reached out and gripped you the moment you stepped inside that room which was hot and stuffy with the sun beating in through the closed window and altogether you felt a little faint.<br /><br />The weasel moved. The spectacles glinted, reflecting, as he got up from behind his desk and walked round it to you. And spoke: 'A reference is it? Hmm... I should have thought that these two were reference enough.' And the bony hand reached out and felt the weight of each breast in turn. 'Mmm. Yes. They seem somewhat bigger than when you were last here. If I remember correctly.'<br /><br />His fingers moved to fondle her nipples and she felt a little sick standing immobile in the stuffy room as his voice, that so-familiar voice from her schooldays, continued: 'Mmm... Perhaps we should have a better look. Don't you think? A proper check....' And the fingers went to the little buttons of her blouse.... and as if they had a perfect right began unbuttoning the top one.... and then the next.... methodically, unhurriedly. 'Yes, a little check.'<br /><br />What he was doing was quite outrageous and she should slap his hand away and tell him thank-you she could do without the reference and walk smartly out. There must be someone else who could give one. But she knew she was powerless to do this. Being here in his room, with his frightening, dominating presence, as she had been all those times at school, it was as if she had never left and there was just no way she could do anything except meekly submit.... to whatever he wanted. She felt beads of perspiration above her lip and had a sudden consciousness of her knickers, tight and brief under her skirt. Really much too brief. And she knew as her blouse was unfastened that they - the brief knickers - would be coming down. Knew it just as much as if he had already told her, for wasn't that what happened last time - and what always happened? There would be some excuse and she would be bent over the seat of his chair: her bare bottom flinching in anticipation....<br /><br />Yes she could see it all, just as it had been all those times before and there was really nothing to do about it except say 'Yes Sir.' and 'No Sir.' and... She felt a little light-headed and steadied herself with her hand on his desk as he finished unbuttoning the blouse and pulled it free from the waistband of her skirt. Perhaps he would just....? But no: his hands round her back to her bra strap, unfastening it, then pulling the bra up to release her breasts. The sudden shock of his hands on her bare tits.... squeezing.... the fingers playing, fondling... causing her nipples to harden and stick out.... like they did when Keith.... But this was Mr. Gram.... loathsome hands actually on her bare boobs. It was quite awful.... but there was nothing she could do to stop him. She could only stand still.... feeling sick....<br /><br />Finally he finished with them and she could do her bra and blouse up again; wondering vaguely as she did so whether he would now cane her right away or make her wait a while for it, as he sometimes used to. It seemed hotter than ever in the room and she thought of Keith outside, where it was hot but not stifling like this. Keith out there in another world....<br /><br />But Mr. Grant, who didn't seem bothered by the heat, was now seated at his desk again and telling her to come and stand at his side. She had had to do that before of course and, yes, right away his hand came up her skirt to grip the back of the nearest nyloned knee. He wanted to knew about what she'd been doing in the last years and as she haltingly started to describe her jobs so the hand moved up.... to the tops of her nylons.... and the full warm thighs above. Where Keith's hand had just recently been but unlike Keith's you couldn't push this hand away and say 'Stop it.' Not Mr. Grant's. The hand explored her thighs.... and then her bottom in the decidedly skimpy nylon briefs....<br /><br />His voice suddenly interrupting her as she tried to make what she did at Binney's sound more than just tea-girl: 'Have you had it very recently Miss?'<br /><br />'Wh..What Sir?'<br /><br />The hand pinched her bottom. 'What do you think I'm referring to? Sexual intercourse? Though I suppose you've had that alright. But what I am talking about is the cane. Have you had the cane recently?'<br /><br />'N... No Sir. Not... not since I've been at Binney's Sir.'<br /><br />'Really. You mean to say that Mr. Binney doesn't keep a cane in his office for girls whose work is not quite up to scratch?'<br /><br />'No Sir.'<br /><br />'And don't you think he should? For Miss Sally Middleton, at least?'<br /><br />Sally swallowed nervously. The direction of his remarks was all too obvious.<br /><br />'Sir I... I do my job properly Sir...'<br /><br />'Do you indeed? Well in my experience a girl is never doing anything completely properly and always benefits from regular correction. And your employers are most misguided if they think otherwise. Yes Miss - faults and shortcomings, including serious ones, are not difficult to find in young women of your age. His hand pinched her bottom again through the brief panties. 'For instance at this moment these knickers you are wearing are most unsuitable. Much too brief. Do you know that Miss?'<br /><br />'Well I... Yes Sir.'<br /><br />'Yes, well do you know what I am going to do then? Before I write out your reference? I am going to take them down and give you a little reminder of what apparently you have been missing. You know what I am talking about of course? I am talking about the cane. On your bare bottom. And then perhaps when next you think of putting on such unsuitably scanty garments you will at least think twice.'<br /><br />This was it. Sally, redfaced, head lowered, bit her lip. She had known that it would inevitably come to this. Mr. Grant's hand was withdrawn from her skirt. He got up and went to his cupboard.... the cupboard which she knew from long and painful experience contained his canes.<br /><br />'Right, Miss. Over the chair if you please. The usual position. And then we'll give that bottom a little taste of what it's been missing.'<br /><br />Automatically she did as she was told - well, didn't you always with Mr. Grant do as you were told? - lowering herself over the seat of the chair, her head down and her bottom up. Up and in position for that hateful whippy cane now lying on his desk.<br /><br />She felt her skirt abruptly pulled up, round her waist, to reveal of course the offending knickers - semi-transparent navy-blue nylon and very brief, leaving a good deal of soft pale rump quite bare. Quite definitely they were not St. Monica's approved wear and Mr. Grant made sounds of disapproval ('Really these are quite unacceptable!') as he peeled them down, to her nylon tops at mid-thigh. Sally cringed - terribly conscious of her bottom now completely bare.... unconstrained... defenceless... The defencelessness sharply emphasised as Mr. Grant's hand came down hard in a gratuitous spank across both buttocks.... 'Keep it still Miss.'<br /><br />Yes the moment of truth had arrived and there was nothing to do now except grit your teeth in anticipation of the first stinging cut. Her buttocks automatically clenched as for a moment she forgot that that was against the rules. 'Stop that!' His hand slapping her bottom again. 'Keep the cheeks relaxed.' His hand fondling.... 'And get it up a bit more.' Yes that seemed to be.... just about right....<br /><br />Thwack! 'Oooooh!' The first one as always even worse than you imagined it would be. The sheer pain of it slashing into the bare flesh, abruptly dispelling any trace of that half dream-like feeling that had enveloped you ever since entering his room; for you just could not be anything but wide awake after that.<br /><br />And barely time to grit your teeth again before.... Thwack! 'Ooooohh!' the cane searing down for a second stroke. Grit your teeth and try to keep your legs straight and your bottom still or he would simply add more to the six you'd been promised. Grit your teeth and grip the legs of the chair as tightly as you could....<br /><br />Thwack! 'Oooohhh!' Oh please Jesus! You are dimly aware that you are crying.... Thwack! 'Oh! Please! Please no more...' Thwack!......... Thwack!<br /><br />It was finally over, the six red stripes on her bottom the evidence. Her sobbing now the only sound in that brightly sunlit room.<br /><br />Then Mr. Grant's voice telling her she could get up. Painfully she did so; and pulled her knickers back up again, up over a desperately stinging rear. At least it was over and she had paid Mr. Grant's price. He would now write her reference and she would be able to go. She turned a flushed and tear-stained face towards him as he started to speak again....<br /><br />-o-O-o-<br /><br />Outside Keith stood leaning on his car - with growing impatience. It seemed an age since she'd gone - this chap must be writing reams and reams. Once again he gazed around: at the empty quad, the building opposite with its windows like blank vacant eyes. The place certainly appeared quite deserted, apart from a couple of pigeons wheeling around, though Sally and presumably this schoolmaster were in there somewhere....<br /><br />Not being familiar with St. Monica's of course he didn't know the lay-out, didn't know that Mr. Grant's room was in fact in one of the wings at the rear. And then also it was on the first floor so that you couldn't anyway look in - unless you were one of those pigeons. Couldn't look in and see.... Sally.... over that chair.... her bare bottom.... and the cane. No there was no way of seeing this, or of observing anything else round that side of the building. The Sick Room was there of course, again on the first floor....<br /><br />Keith heaved another big sigh: looked once more at his watch. Wherever had she got to? Perhaps the old duffer was giving her tea, that was why they were so long ....<br /><br />Finally, at last, Sally appeared at the entrance where she had gone in and looking at his watch Keith saw it was 3.40 - over an hour! She stepped out into the sunlight and commenced to walk, somewhat stumblingly, across the tarmac.<br /><br />Back in the car she seemed tense, distracted, and what with that rather uncertain way she had been walking Keith wondered if she was alright. Perhaps the heat? Or maybe this Grant had refused to write the reference? No, she was O.K. she said and she had the reference. What took so long then? Were they having tea or something?<br /><br />'Yes,' she said, 'Yes we had some tea.' It was a lie of course: a little white lie but what else could she say? The truth? She winced at the thought, at the utter horror of Keith ever knowing....<br /><br />The last thing she wanted to do now was to stop at that place - in the woods, but Keith insisted and of course he'd been planning on it but she really couldn’t face it had suddenly she blurted out what had happened. Keith naturally was furious. ‘You let him cane you? How could you? Let me see’ Quickly Keith grabbed poor Sally and pulled her over his knees. He pulled up her skirt and saw her reddened bottom. ‘I’m going to punish you for this’ He said ‘How dare you bare your bottom for some old teacher. It’s disgraceful’ , and with that he grabbed the waistband of her knickers, pulled them off her bottom for the second time in just an hour and began a painful hand-spanking which brought the poor, reddened globes back to life. Eventually he tired of his enviable task but not before he had told the poor gilr that henceforth she should expect similar – or more painful – treatment if ever she transgressed again.<br /><br />-o-O-o-<br /><br />Back at school the place looked as deserted as ever and indeed now had only the one solitary occupant. He - Mr. Grant, Deputy Head - was looking out from his window at the lawn and noting how parched the grass was getting. He had better tell the gardener to do some watering when he came in the morning. He turned away, and happening to notice that his cane was still on his desk went to return it to the cupboard. He was always a most precise, tidy man.<br /><br />He swished the cane through the air with some satisfaction. It had been a most rewarding afternoon. Well, it was not every day that an extremely attractive ex-pupil returned and you just happened to have something she wanted quite so badly..... mmmm... Rewarding in the extreme. And having once sampled it he had every intention of trying it again.<br /><br />It was true that he didn't have Miss Sally Middleton's address. But that was a minor problem for he could easily get it from her mother. Yes: in fact he might even.... try Mrs. Middleton's number right now. He went to his bookcase for the old list of parents' addresses and phone numbers. Yes, here it was....<br /><br />It was all very pleasant and civilized. A cordial chat with a charming lady - who like most mothers of St. Monica's pupils had no inkling of certain aspects of the school's regime, and certainly no inkling of what Mr. Grant could be like when he had a defenceless girl alone in his office. Yes, a cordial chat at the end of which he was writing down an address on his memo pad. A London address: Finchley.<br /><br />'She shares a flat with her friend Charlotte Greene,' said Mrs. Middleton, 'until she gets married at least.' And Mr. Grant was given some gratuitous details of the wedding plans, to which he listened with polite interest before thanking the lady.<br /><br />'Shall I tell her you called?' she inquired.<br /><br />'Oh I shouldn't do that,' said Mr. Grant. 'I might drop in to see her and I'd like it to be a surprise.'<br /><br />'Oh how nice. Yes, alright: I won't say a word then.'John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-1981674827403863732011-02-12T08:07:00.000-08:002011-03-17T13:39:19.072-07:00Naughty Nicki<strong><em>Mike From London again with another schoolgirl story. Nicki gets strapped and caned on her knickers and finally beaten hard on the bare. Quite right too. Ouch!</em></strong><br />Nicki Edwards knew she was in bad trouble when she was caught by a prefect in the act of writing a rude message on the wall of the girls' toilets in the school dinner hour. A great deal of graffiti had appeared recently and the headmistress, Miss Hayhoe, had announced in assembly earlier that week that any girls found to be involved in this sort of misbehaviour in future would be 'dealt with by herself'. Nicki knew what that meant. <br />"Look, give me a chance," she pleaded. "I'll rub it out straight away! Don't report me to Miss Hayhoe!" <br />But Jill Hastings was unimpressed. "Come on Nicki!" she said, "Leave that where it is for the moment. We're going to see Miss Hayhoe!" <br />"But I'll get the cane!" Nicki said miserably. "Oh, please, give me a chance just this once! This is the first time I've ever written anything and I'll never do it again, honestly! Come on, have a heart! Please . . ." <br />Jill looked at the naughty girl. Wearing her uniform of blue school blazer, white blouse, red and blue tie and knee-length pleated grey school skirt, and with her light brown hair tied in a pretty pony-tail, the pleading fifth former looked much younger than her sixteen years. Nicki bit her lower lip in trepidation and raised her large grey eyes pleadingly to the face of the prefect. She really didn't want to sample another dose from the headmistress's cane. Nicki could clearly recall the biting sting of that vicious punishment implement from a time she'd been sent to Miss Hayhoe's office over two years before. At the sudden clear memory her hands subconsciously went to the back of her skirt. <br />"That's enough, Nicki," Jill said sharply, amused despite herself at the way Nicki was obviously anticipating a very sore bottom. "I'm taking you to Miss Hayhoe and that's all there is to it! And I think we'll take this along as evidence!" Stooping down the tall, elegant sixth former picked up the marker pen Nicki had dropped in surprise at her sudden appearance. <br />"No, please!" Nicki tried for the last time. I don't deserve the cane for my first time, do I? Can't you report me to another teacher for the strap - or even give me the strap yourself? Only the cane's so awful . ." <br />At Chandos School only the Headmistress was permitted punish with the cane. Other teachers made use of a tawse or strap when they considered that physical chastisement was called for. Prefects were not really supposed to strap naughty girls, but quite often did so as an alternative to reporting them. Like most lively and mischievous girls in her class Nicki had been tawsed several times. It stung for a while but was not too bad and Nicki could shrug it off. But a caning was different! She'd only been caned once, but that had been enough - more than enough! <br />Jill considered the proposal. It might be quite enjoyable to strap this young lady's situpon! She made up her mind. "You should have thought of that before! Come on! Straight away unless you want me to report you for disobedience as well!" <br />Sullenly Nicki followed the prefect along the school corridors. She thought it was humiliating to have to plead for mercy to a girl less than a year older than herself and now to be marched by her through the school with everyone watching. What a cow! She bet Jill had never had the cane. Probably not even the tawse. She just hoped that one day that superior bitch found out for herself just how much the cane hurt, but she did not think there was much chance of it. <br />When they arrived outside Miss Hayhoe's study Jill told Nicki to wait outside while she knocked and went in. Nicki stood there, dismally wondering how many strokes she would get. It had been four last time and that had been bad enough, but it would probably be more this time. The last girls in her class to be caned had got 'six of the best' apiece for smoking. <br />After a few minutes Jill opened the door and asked Nicki to come in. The Headmistress was sitting behind her desk and the expression on her face did not provide any comfort to the naughty seventeen year old. Miss Hayhoe looked at her in silence for a few minutes and then spoke: <br />"Well, Nicola! Jill Hastings has told me that she caught you writing on the walls of the toilets. Have you anything to say?" <br />"No, Miss. I'm sorry, but that was the only time I've ever done it, honestly! I swear I'll never do it again!" <br />"I see," said Miss Hayhoe, dryly. Turning to Jill she went on, "All right, Jill, you may go now. You have done very well and acted as I would expect one of my prefects to act. I will deal with this young lady!" Jill left the study, happy in her Headmistress's approval. <br />Little Nicki was left, shifting nervously from one foot to another before Miss Hayhoe's cold glance. Nicki felt awful. It was dreadful that a girl of her age, old enough to go to bed with her boyfriend or even to get married, should have to stand there waiting to hear this middle aged spinster decide how much her rear end would soon be hurting! Miss Hayhoe broke the silence. <br />"You heard what I said in Assembly the other day, didn't you Nicola?" <br />Nicki nodded her head and mumbled "Yes, Miss" very quietly. <br />"Then you know that I have no choice other than to punish you severely. As you enjoy writing so much I will give you an opportunity! You will write out the words 'I must not write graffiti on the school premises' 300 times. You will hand the lines to me before Assembly next Monday." <br />Nicki was surprised. She had never been given so many lines before at one time. But she would have welcomed 500 lines if it meant that her bottom would escape Miss Hayhoe's cane! The Headmistress continued: <br />"I will confiscate this marker. If you want it back you can ask me for it at the end of term." <br />Nicki couldn't care less about the marker! She hoped Miss Hayhoe had finished, but she couldn't really believe it. Was it possible that she might be let off with just lines and a strapping? <br />Miss Hayhoe paused and Nicki's tension reached its height. <br />"All right, Nicola, you may go now!" <br />Nicki couldn't believe it. She had got off with just lines! <br />But Miss Hayhoe had not finished yet. "And you will return at four o'clock, when I shall endeavour to make you appreciate just how seriously I view your activities!" <br />Poor Nicki left the office feeling as though she was going to be sick. Miss Hayhoe hadn't said in so many words that she was going to be caned, but it was obvious. It was only canings, and then only severe canings, which took place after school. <br />Nicki made her way back to the toilets. There she locked herself in one of the cubicles - not the one with her graffiti - and had a quiet cry to herself for what remained of the dinner hour. <br />Her friends were sympathetic when they heard of Nicki's disaster, but they could do little to comfort her. <br />"Oh! Nicki!!" said Jane Elliot, her best friend. "What awful luck! That Jill Hastings is a right bitch. She got me a tawsing from Miss Hayhoe last term." <br />"It's just not fair, Jane!" Nicki said dismally. "You know most of those graffiti were written by Sally and Clare. Even you've written more up than I have! It's just not fair that you all get off and I get caned!" <br />Jane was quite shocked. "Come on, Nicki," she said, "you're not going to sneak are you? It's just bad luck. It could just as easily have happened to me." <br />Nicki thought that her friend would not be so casual about a caning if it had, but she reassured her that she would not tell on her or the other girls. <br />Nicki found it very difficult to pay attention in class that afternoon. She was thinking about how sore her bottom was going to be and how unfair it all was. She tried to think if there was any chance that she might escape uncaned. Perhaps Miss Hayhoe would suddenly be taken ill! There might be an earthquake! <br />"Nicola!" <br />Nicki was shaken out of her reverie by Mr Anderson's angry voice. <br />"Nicola, have you been paying attention?" asked the History master. "Stand up!" <br />Most of Nicki's classmates knew of her impending caning and guessed what she had been thinking about. Nicki stood up, blushing. <br />"Well, Nicola. What can you tell the class about Henry VII's taxation policy?" <br />Nicki remained silent. She knew nothing about the policy, not even if there'd been one! <br />"Come on, girl! I've been talking about it for the last half hour!" <br />Nicki looked down at the floor, but said nothing. <br />"All right, Nicola. Come out to the front of the class." <br />Nicki looked round at the rest of the girls despairingly as if someone might help her, and then reluctantly left her place and walked to the front. Mr Anderson made his intentions clear by extracting a heavy twinned tailed tawse from a drawer of his desk. <br />Nicki had reached the front. "Bend down over that desk, Nicola," ordered Mr Anderson, pointing at an empty desk in the front of the class. This was by no means the first time that Mr Anderson had had occasion to apply his strap to Nicki Edwards' shapely posterior. This time he intended to make sure that the naughty and inattentive girl really got the message. <br />Nicki hesitated before bending down. She had let the events of the past few minutes just flow over her and had reacted like an automaton, not saying a word since she had been roused from her private thoughts. But now that it came to the point she desperately didn't want to get the tawse today of all days. <br />"Please, Sir," she said in a tiny voice, "I've got to see Miss Hayhoe at four o'clock for the cane!" <br />"Oh! I see," said the master. "Well, that's no excuse for inattention in my class, is it? Get yourself down over that desk, Nicola, or you'll be seeing Miss Hayhoe sooner than you think!" <br />Mumbling a swear word to herself Nicki bent over the desk. <br />Despite his stern words the History master did feel sorry for poor little Nicki. If he had known about the caning earlier he would have let her off, but he was not prepared to lose face now that she was standing in front of the class. Nevertheless he was not nearly so severe in punishing the girl as had originally intended to be. <br />He had been going to lift strap Nikki soundly on the bare bottom but instead he merely lifted her skirt and brought the belt down for six moderate whacks on the seat of her tight white knickers. Nicki accepted the infliction in silence, except for an almost inaudible gasp as the last whack landed. She stood up when told to and walked back to her place, her bottom feeling hot and sore. She hoped dismally that it would feel less tender by four o'clock! <br />Mr Anderson did not pay any attention to Nicki for the rest of the lesson. Her other teachers that afternoon knew about the impending caning and also ignored her. Time passed and Nicki tried to prepare herself mentally for the coming punishment. Suddenly the bell rang for the end of school; it was ten to four. <br />The other girls prepared to leave and burst into animated conversation, ignoring Nicki. Their evident pleasure at the end of the school day made her feel worse at the thought of what was in store for her. Glumly she picked up her school bag and prepared to make her way to the Headmistress's study. "Hard luck, Nicki!" Jane sympathised as she left."It might not be as bad as you think." Nicki nodded, acknowledging her friend's good wishes, but they both knew that Miss Hayhoe was not likely to go easy on her. <br />Nicki stood outside the study door without knocking until four o'clock. Several pupils and teachers on their way home gazed curiously at the miserable fifth former. Nicki was oblivious to their stares. She was thinking about Miss Hayhoe's cane! <br />At exactly four o'clock the petite sixteen year old knocked on the door. <br />"Come in!" called the Headmistress. <br />Any lingering hopes that Nicki might have had disappeared at the sight of a crook handled cane, almost a yard long, lying ready for use on the Headmistress's desk next to a large black-covered book. It seemed to Nicki that it was longer and slightly thicker than the one she had felt two years previously. It looked wickedly painful and Nicki gulped at the thought of what it would make her bottom feel like. <br />"Close the door, Nicola, and put your bag down" ordered Miss Hayhoe. <br />"I've been in touch with your mother this afternoon, Nicola," the Headmistress continued, addressing the schoolgirl standing to attention before her "and she is completely in agreement with my proposed course of action. We both feel that you deserve a sharp lesson. Your behaviour has deteriorated recently and this graffiti writing is just the last straw. You have been strapped frequently and your conduct has not improved. I don't think you will shrug off the effects of another caning so casually!" <br />Miss Hayhoe picked the cane up off her desk and swished it through the air a couple of times. It hissed like an angry wasp, showing the terrified girl how viciously whippy it was. <br />"Bring that stool into the middle of the room," Miss Hayhoe instructed pointing at a high stool hidden in a corner of the study. Nervously Nicki carried the stool and put it down where directed. <br />"Now take off your blazer and your skirt and then bend down across the stool! You will receive eight strokes of the cane across your knickers." <br />Nicki did as she was told, placing her clothes neatly on a chair. Drawing a deep breath she leant forward over the stool taking a grip on the bar between its legs. A pair of tight semi-transparent brief white knickers encased the girl's trembling rounded bottom. Miss Hayhoe noted the fading marks left by Mr Anderson's tawse. She nodded grimly. This served to confirm her in her belief that strappings did not suffice for this young lady and that she needed a more severe punishment. <br />Miss Hayhoe lifted the cane up, behind her shoulders to get the maximum possible swing. She held it there for a few seconds waiting for Nicki's tensed bottom to slightly relax. Then it came whipping down. <br />It landed with a loud whack squarely across the flinching bottom. Nicki's head shot up, her ponytail flying out, and she gave a yell of surprise and pain. Nicki had thought that she could remember how much the cane had hurt last time, but this was worse, much worse. Somehow she managed to keep hold of the bar and to stay in position. <br />She had not fully assimilated the effects of that first stroke when Miss Hayhoe brought the second smashing down with equal power just below it. Once again the thin knickers were dented down deeply into the soft, yielding flesh. And once again Nicki screamed out at the violent sting. <br />This time Miss Hayhoe paused a little longer before the third stroke. After just two whacks Nicola was obviously finding it very difficult to keep still. The Headmistress knew that this cane was supremely painful and intended to make sure that the naughty girl found out as well. <br />She aimed the next stroke carefully, lower down where the girl would sit. Nicki really felt that one, she howled in pain and burst into tears. The legs of the stool wobbled on the carpet as Nicki nearly unbalanced. The fourth stroke followed quickly and landed on almost the same place. It was too much for Nicki. As she shrieked loudly at the top of her voice her hands flew off the bar and to her sore bottom. Frantically she tried to rub the pain away, but it refused to go - in fact it seemed to get worse! She could feel the swelling weals, rising a quarter of an inch from the surrounding flesh. <br />Miss Hayhoe allowed Nicki to dance around in an extremely unladylike manner for a few moments and then brusquely ordered her to bend down again over the stool. Sobbing bitterly Nicki begged to be let off, but it was to no avail. The sixteen year old had to resume her undignified position. <br />"Stay still, girl!" ordered Miss Hayhoe. But, in fact, the Headmistress would have been very disappointed if this naughty girl was able to stay still! <br />The fifth and sixth strokes lashed down onto Nicki's tender bottom between the two already caned areas. The teenager's reactions showed that these two had hurt just as much as their predecessors. <br />After Nicki had felt the sixth stroke bite deep into her anguish filled rear, sending waves of overpowering pain to all parts of her body, the schoolgirl tried to tense herself for the final two strokes. <br />To her surprise Miss Hayhoe tapped her on her shoulder and told her to stand up. Nicki felt relief. It was all over at last. She must have miscounted! She realised that Miss Hayhoe was addressing her. <br />"You have received six strokes, Nicola. I am prepared to believe that that is sufficient to remind you not to write graffiti for some time to come!" <br />Nicki, both hands clasped to the rear of her little white knickers, and with tears falling from her pretty face to the floor, fervently agreed. "Oh, yes, Miss! Oh! I'll never do owww . . . wowww do it again, honestly! Oh . . . oh . .oh! It hurts!" <br />Miss Hayhoe could not help smiling. "It's not as simple as that, Nicola," she said. "Your punishment is eight strokes of the cane. I will let you off the last two if you will give me the names of the other girls involved in this spate of vandalism." <br />Nicki remained silent. She remembered what Jane had said to her. She was not a sneak. Anyway her bottom was already so sore that she felt sure another two strokes couldn't make much difference. <br />The Headmistress allowed Nicki a little while to make up her mind. When it was obvious that she chose to remain obdurate Miss Hayhoe told her to resume the punishment position once more. <br />“Very well” said Miss Hayhoe “If you persist in being so stubborn you can have the last two on the bare” With that the stern headmistress put her finfers into the waistband of the drum-tight panties and slowly peeled them away from the burning bottom, down t the poor girl’s thighs. Her red-striped buttocks flinched in terror. <br />The last two strokes were the hardest of the punishment. Nicki found out just how wrong she had been in thinking that her bottom couldn't hurt any more! Miss Hayhoe directed both strokes at the fullest part of Nicki's bottom. It was as though her bare flesh had been sliced open with a blunt knife. <br />After the final stroke Nicki continued to lie across the stool, crying like a new born baby. She had never believed that it could hurt so much. There was no comparison at all to her last caning. <br />Miss Hayhoe put the cane down carefully on her desk. It had done its job well. She turned to the sobbing girl. "Stand up, Nicola, pull your knickers up" she said. <br />Nicki eased her pain-wracked body upright. Once more her hands went - in vain - to try to comfort her raw bottom. Miss Hayhoe made her return the stool to its place and put her skirt back on . <br />Once clothed the still-weeping Nicki stood squirming in pain in front of her headmistress, expecting her dismissal. Little did she guess that her punishment was not yet over! <br />"Come with me, Nicola!" ordered Miss Hayhoe. "You can leave your blazer on the chair and your bag there on the floor." <br />Nicki did not have the slightest idea what was going on. But she obeyed instantly - eight strokes of the number one cane on her rear had tamed the naughty girl considerably. Every step was agony as the weals on her blazing bottom rubbed together. Nicki would have walked slowly with small steps, but Miss Hayhoe marched her quickly along the cold and deserted school corridors, ignoring the girl's tears and squeals of pain. <br />Soon they arrived at the girls' toilets. Mr Pearce, the school caretaker (janitor), was waiting outside. Nicki felt really embarrassed at being seen by him so soon after getting the cane. Mr Pearce looked at the wriggling teenager with undisguised interest. Some of Nicki's agonised yells had reached him and he realised that this naughty girl must have a very sore bottom indeed. He felt little sympathy for her, however. It was his job to clean off the graffiti girls like this one daubed on the walls. Furthermore he recognised Nicki as one of a group of girls who had been rude to him the week before. He was glad that at least one of the little minxes had got what she so richly deserved. <br />"Now, Nicola," said the Headmistress, "I am leaving you with Mr Pearce for two hours, until", she glanced at her watch, "twenty past six. You will spend that time wiping off the graffiti you and your friends have written and cleaning the toilets generally under his supervision. And I expect you to put some elbow grease into it! I shall be checking with Mr Pearce afterwards." <br />"B b but, Miss!" Nicki protested, "My mother will be worried if I'm not home!" <br />"Oh no she won't, young lady," answered the Headmistress, "I told you before that I'd spoken to her. In fact it was her idea that you should clean off the results of your stupid behaviour! And I quite agree with her!" <br />Miss Hayhoe turned and walked back to her office. There she made a short entry in the Punishment Book and put it and the cane away before starting on a backlog of paperwork. <br />Meanwhile Mr Pearce had handed Nicki a bucket of soapy water and a large scrubbing brush. Gritting her teeth against the pain still pouring out of her outraged rear, Nicki accepted them and started to work. There was silence, only broken by the slushing of water, the rubbing of the brush and Nicki's snivellings as she fought back the tears. She worked methodically and well, finding that attention to the repetitive task took her mind off the sting in her nether regions. <br />Mr Pearce looked on approvingly. It seemed that this was one naughty girl who had learned her lesson. When the walls of the first cubicle had been scrubbed down Nicki left the brush in the water and put her hands back to the seat of her skirt, trying to assuage the still raging smart. <br />The watching caretaker was amused. "Still sore, eh?" he observed. "Your Miss Hayhoe don't use the stick half often enough in my opinion, but when she does she knows how to lay it on! You'll be eating your tea off the mantelpiece tonight, love!" <br />Nicki ignored the remark and moved to another cubicle to start work again. Mr Pearce kept her hard at it and didn't allow her a chance to rest. She was very tired, her arms and back ached, her bottom was still unbelievably painful, and she was hot, hungry and thirsty - it was long past the normal time for her tea - but the caretaker made sure she kept going. <br />After nearly two hours Nicki thought she saw her chance to get back at Mr Pearce and 'accidentally' splashed dirty water from her bucket over him. He just smiled and said "That's not very clever." <br />"Bastard!" mumbled Nicki, under her breath. <br />It was nearly half past six before Miss Hayhoe returned. <br />"Well, Mr Pearce," she asked, "has Nicola done a good job?" <br />"No, Miss. I can't rightly say as she has! She's been slacking and lazy and downright rude to me! Called me a 'bastard' she did!" <br />"I see. Well you can rest assured that she will be repenting it before she's very much older! Come with me Nicola!" <br />Directing a look of hatred at Mr Pearce, the sixteen year old followed Miss Hayhoe back to her study. There the Headmistress's lecture flowed over her head. She just hoped that that vicious cane would not reappear. It was with relief mixed with despondency that she saw Miss Hayhoe take a large leather strap from the shelf behind her. <br />"Skirt off again, Nicola! And we'll have those knickers down again as well!" Nicki did not even attempt to argue, she knew it would be no use. Miss Hayhoe came round and sat on the chair where Nicki's blazer still hung. Nicki put her skirt on the desk and started to carefully unpeel her tight white knickers. Christ Almighty her bum was sore! <br />"Come on girl! Over my knees!" ordered the Headmistress. <br />Tearfully Nicki draped herself over Miss Hayhoe. She had had a headmistress's strapping before, always administered bare bottom over Miss Hayhoe's knees, but never before on a recently caned and still searing bottom. <br />The Headmistress ignored the mass of weals and bruises on Nicki's battered backside. She slammed the belt down with full force for twelve stinging blows - six on each cheek. Nicki struggled furiously and screamed herself hoarse as she felt the effect of those violent impacts on the exposed and so-painful weals covering her behind. After the twelfth whack Miss Hayhoe pushed the punished girl off her knees. Nicki squirmed on the carpet, sobbing and making no effort to get up. Miss Hayhoe grabbed her ponytail and dragged her upright. <br />"There. Is that enough for you, Nicola? Or do you want some more?" <br />Dancing in pain Nicki shook her head. No more, please! <br />"Get dressed then, Nicola. And don't let me see you sent here for punishment again!" When Nicki was dressed Miss Hayhoe dismissed her, reminding her to have the 300 lines ready for Monday.John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-27310532306381015772011-02-11T09:34:00.000-08:002011-02-12T08:11:23.949-08:00Lauren's Christmas Present<strong><em>A great schoolgirl story from 'Mike From London' Lauren clearly deserves a thrashing but the final punishment does seem exceptionally harsh.</em></strong><br /><br /><br />Lauren Kennedy had joined her new school so as to take some 'A' levels which were not available at her former school. She had realised that the rules were much stricter there, and her mother had warned her to watch her step as the cane was still used. But Lauren did not think this would affect her in the Sixth Form. <br />She first realised that she could be wrong three weeks into her first term. The maths teacher arrived late for a lesson, and when she got there the class was in some disorder. Two girls, Sharon Hill and Angela Shepherd, were at the front giving imitations of the teacher's voice and manner. When Miss Peters finally arrived they rushed back to their seats and the class quietened down again. Lauren expected that the episode would be ignored and the lesson would continue. That was what would have happened at her old school. Things were different here. <br />"Right!" Miss Peters ordered, "Both of you come back here. And bring the Board with you!" The girls obeyed her, Sharon picking up the Board from the corner of the classroom on her way. Lauren did not know what the Board signified. She had noticed it before, though. It held a list of the names of all the girls in the Sixth Form, and there were copies in all the classrooms they used. Lauren noticed that both girls were looking very serious now, and that Angela in particular seemed really worried. <br />Sharon placed the Board on Miss Peters' desk and Lauren saw the angry teacher write something on it, using a ruler. Then she scribbled a brief note and turned to Angela. <br />"You are a very silly girl," she said. "Take this note, and the Board to Mrs Wallace. And come straight back afterwards!" <br />As Angela departed Lauren became aware of a special tension in the atmosphere. Could Angela be going to get the cane? But why hadn't Sharon been sent as well? It didn't seem fair! <br />Lauren took advantage of the teacher's turned back to whisper to her neighbour, Rosalind Baxter: "What's happening? Is Angela going to get the cane?" Rosalind nodded her head silently. She had no desire to attract the attention of Miss Peters in her present mood. <br />After about ten minutes the door opened and Angela reappeared. She walked slowly, with short steps, and was obviously in pain. As she entered the classroom all eyes turned to her and she blushed deeply. Lauren could see that her eyes were red and swollen. It was plain to see that she had been crying. <br />"Ah. Good," said Miss Peters, "You've rejoined us, then. It looks as though you've had a productive meeting with Mrs Wallace! How many did you get?" <br />"S-six, miss. I'm sorry I ..." <br />"You're sorry that your bottom hurts! All right, we've wasted enough time; sit down!" <br />Angela limped to her desk and sat down, carefully. It took her two attempts and even then she could not sit down properly and wriggled on her seat in evident discomfort for the rest of the lesson. <br />After the lesson Lauren asked Rosalind whether girls in their year were often caned, and why only Angela and not Sharon had been sent to Mrs Wallace. Rosalind explained that Angela had been 'on report'. If one of the teachers wanted to punish a girl they would place her on report, usually for between one and three weeks. This would be indicated by drawing a rectangle on the 'Report Board' against the girl's name, covering the relevant weeks. If the girl misbehaved again during a report period then she could be sent to Mrs Wallace, who would usually cane her. Angela had been placed on report earlier that week. <br />In answer to Lauren's other question, Rosalind said that canings were now relatively rare in their year, but had been more frequent in the more junior forms. Out of their whole maths class she said that only Jane and Wendy had definitely never been caned, and she wasn't sure about Alison. She explained that Mrs Wallace almost always gave at least six strokes when senior girls - fifth years and above - were caned, but that it could be more. Also when a girl was caned her report period was extended by a further three weeks after the week of the caning. Lauren asked her whether the cane really hurt terribly. <br />"Well! You saw Angie," Rosalind replied, "Of course it does! The most I've ever had was three strokes when I was in the fourth year, and I cried my eyes out. Six strokes must be sheer hell, but I don't want to find out for myself!" <br />Lauren resolved that she, too, would try to stay out of trouble. She was appalled at the thought that what had happened to Angela could happen to her. Her bottom had never been subject to any ministrations more severe than a few mild slaps from the palm of her mother's hand. <br />As the term wore on Lauren could see that Rosalind had been right. Sharon and Angela both survived their report periods without further trouble and, although two or three girls were put on report, no other girl from her classes was sent to Mrs Wallace. However Lauren could see that canings were still common in the lower years. Several times she saw younger girls waiting nervously outside the headmistress's office; and she sometimes saw them afterwards, tearful and in pain, hands clasped to the seats of their skirts. <br />Lauren herself stayed well out of trouble - until just before half term. Miss Peters told her off for talking in class, and Lauren answered her back. She hadn't quite lost the habits she had learned at her old school, but it didn't do here. Miss Peters called her out and she was put on report for the next week. <br />Lauren was very worried, but her new friends reassured her. Christine Parrish told her that she'd been put on report about a dozen times, but had only ever had the cane once. And Wendy Yates said she had also been on report loads of times, and had never had the cane. Even so Lauren decided to watch her step very carefully over the next week. <br />So when her friends went out to the local pub one lunchtime, to celebrate Caroline Jackson's seventeenth birthday, Lauren didn't go with them. If they were caught they would only be told off - she could get the cane. <br />Lauren mooched about the school in a very bad mood. Julia Bridger, a rather nasty girl in her year, who was not friendly with Caroline or Lauren, or indeed with anybody, started to tease her. This was a favourite game of hers with girls on report, who were usually not willing to respond for fear of the consequences. But in Lauren's mood it was like a red rag to a bull. She grabbed Julia's hair and started to hit her. Julia yelled at the top of her voice, attracting the attention of the duty mistress, who told the girls to get the Board and come with her to the headmistress. <br />"Oh no, miss, please," Lauren pleaded, "I'm on report. I'll get the cane!" <br />"You should have thought of that earlier, young lady. Come on, both of you!" the mistress replied sternly. <br />Mrs Wallace soon elicited the whole story. She gave Julia a thorough telling off, placed her on report for three weeks, and gave her 200 lines to do by the next day - under threat of a caning if they weren't ready on time. She then dismissed the crestfallen Julia who, however, derived some twisted pleasure from the thought of how uncomfortable Lauren would find sitting down that afternoon. But Lauren's bottom was not to feel the cane that day. <br />Mrs Wallace told her that she did not like to cane sixth formers, and that as she was a new girl, and had never been caned, she would give her a less severe punishment than usual: "It will still be six strokes, Lauren, but with the tawse rather than the cane, and on the hands, not the buttocks." <br />The headmistress selected the two-tailed tawse from the cabinet and brought it down with a hard whack on her desk. It was the first time Lauren had ever seen a tawse. She remembered Denise, who had been tawsed saying it hurt more than the cane but at least it was to be on her hands not her bottom which would have been so much more embarrassing. <br />"Hold your left hand out, Lauren." Mrs Wallace ordered, "Fingers together and hold your thumb away." <br />As the girl did so Mrs Wallace noticed that she was wearing a ring. This was against school rules even for sixth formers. It was not too rigidly enforced, but it was not tactful to wear jewellery on a visit to the headmistress's office. Mrs Wallace told her to take the ring off. She said that as Lauren was to be strapped on the hands she would not increase the number of strokes as she would normally. Instead Lauren's report period would be extended to the end of term. Then she told her once more to hold out her hand. <br />Reluctantly Lauren did so. She gulped as the tawse was raised. She could still not fully believe that she was going to be strapped. Surely something would happen to interrupt it, there would be a last minute reprieve! But the tawse began to whiz downwards, and Lauren closed her eyes tightly. <br />CRACK!! <br />The tails of the tawse whacked into the tender flesh of Lauren's palm with full force. She gasped at the sudden stinging pain, but kept her hand held out. The second stroke followed the first with equal venom. Lauren's face crumpled and she yelped with pain. Her hand jerked away and her body doubled forward. Mrs Wallace allowed her a few moments and then told her to hold her left hand out again for its last stroke. Bravely Lauren extended her stinging hand. Tears were beginning to trickle down her cheeks. Somehow she forced herself to keep her hand held out, open. The third stroke was the hardest yet. The strap slashed down on to the tender flesh of Lauren's delicate palm, crossing the emergent weals caused by the first two strokes. Lauren shrieked at the violent pain, waving her hand wildly and hopped from foot to foot in agony. <br />"Now the other hand!" <br />Lauren's whole body shook as she raised her right arm. Mrs Wallace steadied the girl's hand and took careful aim. Then she whistled the tawse down with all her skill on to the as yet unpunished palm. <br />WHACK <br />"N-n-n-n-nooooooo!" yelled Lauren, shaking her head wildly and snatching her hand away. <br />It was some time before Mrs Wallace could persuade the now weeping sixteen year old to proffer her painful right hand once more. Lauren pleaded to be let off but, although Mrs Wallace could see that the girl had already been punished severely she could see no reason for her to be given less than six strokes, the usual minimum for senior girls. She told Lauren that if she did not immediately hold out her hand Miss Kilmister, the secretary, would be called in. Lauren would then be forcibly held down to receive a further six strokes on her bottom. <br />With a groan Lauren obeyed. Mrs Wallace did not deliver the next stroke with full force, but it still stung sharply on the teenager's tender palm. Lauren yelled once again, but managed to keep her hand in position. <br />But as the tawse hissed viciously down for the final time she withdrew her hand at the last moment. The strap caught the ends of her fingers and Lauren shrieked at the top of her voice. That last stroke had hurt most of all. She bent forward with both hands squeezing frantically into her stomach. She was sobbing like a baby and totally oblivious to her surroundings; she was only aware of her hands, burning with intense pain. <br />Mrs Wallace allowed the shaking girl a few moments to pull herself together and recover from the initial shock of the strapping. Then she dismissed her, reminding her that she was on report until the end of term and that if she got into trouble again it would mean a return visit. "And if there is a next time I won't be so lenient!" she said. <br />Lauren didn't think she had been lenient. Her hands felt raw and swollen and even manipulating the handle of the office door on the way out was difficult and painful. <br />By the time that her friends returned, undetected of course, at the end of lunchtime, Lauren had recovered more of her self-possession. She was no longer crying and had dried her eyes. Both her palms still stung like crazy and the fingers of her right hand throbbed unbearably. The other girls were very sympathetic and tried to comfort her. Caroline told her not to feel ashamed about crying. "Nearly everyone cries the first time they get beaten," she said, "I know I did!" <br />Lauren found it practically impossible to write that afternoon. The worst of the stinging gradually faded into a soreness and then a tingling, but the effects of the last stroke took longer to wear off. Her fingers felt as though they had swollen to the size of sausages. It was to be two full days before Lauren ceased to be aware of her painful right hand constantly reminding her that she'd been strapped. <br />Lauren's friends tried to get Julia into trouble, and serve her as she'd served Lauren, by getting her a thrashing. But Julia was too wary for them and survived her report period unscathed. <br />Two days before school broke up for the Christmas holidays it was the turn of Sue Hillard, another of Lauren's new friends, to celebrate her birthday. Once again Lauren was urged to accompany the others to the pub during the lunch-break. <br />"Come on," urged Sue, "Staying behind didn't do you much good last time, did it! And Chrissie's coming, and she's on report as well!" Lauren allowed herself to be persuaded. After all it was the end of term, and it was Sue's birthday. Even if they were seen, surely they would be let off. <br />Lauren's luck was really bad that term, and this time it affected her fellow pupils. Mrs Pringle, the Latin teacher, was passing the entrance to the pub just as the group of high-spirited schoolgirls was leaving, still chatting excitedly and giggling. Lauren and Sue were smoking cigarettes. A shocked silence fell as the girls realised they had been recognised. Mrs Pringle wrote down the names of the seven girls, confiscated the cigarettes and told them all to report to Mrs Wallace's office at breaktime that afternoon. <br />The headmistress gave the naughty teenagers a severe dressing-down, telling them that under-age drinking was against the law. She turned to Lauren and addressed her: "You must be a very stupid girl, Lauren Kennedy," she said. "You're still on report and I have no choice other than to give you another caning. Last time obviously wasn't effective enough." <br />She then asked the girls whether anyone else there, apart from Lauren was still on report. Nervously Christine admitted that she was. "Right," said Mrs Wallace, "You'll be another one finding it difficult to sit down comfortably to Christmas dinner!" <br />She next turned her attention to Sue. "Well, Suzanne," she said, "I understand that this was all in aid of your birthday, that you provided the cigarettes that you and Lauren were smoking, and that it was you who invited the other girls along. Is that right?" <br />"Yes, ma'am," Sue replied. <br />"Right then. You, Lauren and Christine can leave my office now. You will return after school and I will deal with the three of you then." <br />Christine asked Mrs Wallace to let them off, saying that it was Christmas time after all, and it was Sue's birthday. But the headmistress remained adamant and told Chrissie that if she continued to argue she would receive more strokes. So the three condemned girls left the office and returned to their classes. <br />As they trailed dismally down the corridor Lauren discovered that Chrissie was just as upset about getting the cane as she was herself. Christine had only ever had the cane once before and that was way back when she'd been in the second year. She had only received three strokes but she could still remember, all too clearly, just how much they had stung. <br />Sue, on the other hand, was one of the most often caned girls in their year. She boasted to Lauren that she'd been caned at least once in every term so far, and said that it would have been a pity if this term was an exception. She was annoyed about getting the cane on her birthday, though. "She could have let me off, the bitch! I wasn't even on report! Still, it makes a change from the bumps, I suppose!" <br />Lauren found out what happened to the four other girls from Caroline. She told her that Mrs Wallace had not put them on report as it was so close to the end of term and all report periods were automatically cancelled by the holidays. Instead she had told them to do 300 lines which had to be handed in to her by the end of term. Any girl who didn't do the lines to Mrs Wallace's satisfaction would get the cane. <br />Lauren was not able to pay much attention to her work for the rest of that afternoon and four o'clock came before she was ready. Together with Christine she made her way back to the headmistress's office. Sue was already waiting there. As soon as she saw the other two arrive she knocked gently on the door and they were told to enter. <br />Mrs Wallace surveyed the three miscreants standing in front of her, before reaching a final decision as to the punishments they would each receive. Surprisingly Suzanne Hillard, the birthday girl, was the only one of the three wearing full school uniform. This was not compulsory for sixth formers although it was for the rest of the school. <br />Sue had big blue eyes, shining apple cheeks, and just a hint of lip gloss. The small pink flowers on her bra could be seen under her white nylon blouse. Her tie was loosely knotted at her neck. She had on a grey school skirt and a pair of white knee-length socks, one of which was an inch lower than the other. Her pretty face was surmounted by a mass of bubbly blonde curls. <br />Christine was the tallest of the three girls, taller than Mrs Wallace in fact, but despite the absence of school uniform she somehow looked much more 'school-girlish' than Sue. Her long brown hair hung loosely around her shoulders. She wore a woolly pullover and a pair of blue denim jeans. Her large glasses somehow made her appear even more vulnerable. Behind them she looked as if she was ready to burst into tears at any moment. <br />Lauren was slightly slimmer than Sue and taller, at 5'4". Her black hair was neatly tied in a pony tail. She was wearing a brightly coloured T-shirt and a tight-fitting black skirt. She shivered with apprehension. <br />Mrs Wallace addressed Sue first: "As it is your birthday, Suzanne, and as you were not on report this time I am going to make an exception. I will give you four strokes of the cane, rather than my usual minimum of six for senior girls. <br />"There are no special circumstances in your case, Christine, and you will receive a full six strokes. And as for you, young lady," she said, turning to Lauren, "You are a new girl at this school, still in your first term, and yet this is the second time that you have been sent her for a beating. I was easy on you last time, but I won't make the same mistake again. I am going to give you eight strokes with the cane. And I shall do my very best to ensure that you remember this thrashing for a long time!" <br />Lauren felt sick; it was even worse than she had feared. Only one or two of the worst behaved sixth form girls, such as Sue, had ever had eight strokes. Now she was to join them. <br />Mrs Wallace turned to her cabinet and extracted a cane. Lauren bit her lip. It looked a lot more painful than the tawse she had felt on her hands. <br />"Come on, Suzanne," the headmistress ordered. "You're first. You know the form. Skirt up, then over my desk." Sue didn't protest. She positioned herself in front of the desk and then eased her grey skirt up revealing brief, semi-transparent, white knickers marked with the same pink flowers visible on her bra. Mrs Wallace produced a safety-pin and pinned the hem of the girl's skirt to the back of her blouse. Then Sue lowered herself across the desk, grasping the other side. The desk was old- fashioned and wide, and only the tips of Sue's toes touched the ground as she stretched out to grip the edge. Mrs Wallace lightly tapped the cane against Sue's upthrust posterior, exposed in the girl's tightly stretched thin briefs. Lauren saw Sue's bottom tense, and then the headmistress drew the cane back. <br />She slashed the cane down for the first time. It landed with a tremendous Thwack squarely across Sue's bottom. Her body jerked, but she made no sound and remained in position. Sue gasped sharply at each of the next two strokes, but gave no other sign of how much they must have hurt her. Mrs Wallace paused for a while before the last stroke. While she admired the girl's courage she intended to elicit a more dramatic response to the final stroke. She stepped back and delivered a really venomous cut with all her strength right across the tops of the girl's thighs where the delicate flesh was deprived even of the slight protection afforded by her skimpy knickers. <br />"Oh-o-o-Owwww!" Sue yelled, her resistance finally broken. Mrs Wallace regarded the quivering bottom in front of her for a few moments. A vivid weal was already springing up as a result of that last stroke and marks left by the cane's earlier visits were visible through the nearly transparent briefs. The headmistress congratulated herself mentally. Even though Suzanne had only received four strokes she would feel the effects of the caning for some time. <br />Mrs Wallace unpinned the girl's skirt and told her to stand up. Then Sue was told to go and stand by the wall, facing it, with her hands on her head. <br />"Right," said Mrs Wallace. "It's your turn now, Christine. Take down those jeans!" <br />Christine blushed bright red with embarrassment as she undid the zip and lowered her jeans. Her knickers were white and covered a larger area of her bottom than had Sue's. She later told Lauren that she always made a point of wearing slightly larger panties when she was on report 'just in case'. But, as she was soon to find out, it made very little difference. <br />She bent over the desk, where Sue had been, with her trousers down to her ankles. As Christine was taller than Sue her feet were further from the desk. Her drum-tight knickers strained to contain the full flesh of her rounded buttocks. Mrs Wallace told her to keep her knees straight and then raised the cane. <br />THWACKKK! <br />Christine squealed as the cane thudded into her vulnerable behind. It hurt much more than she remembered. <br />THWACKKK! <br />Mrs Wallace brought the second stroke down directly on top of the first. Christine's head shot up, her brown hair flying wildly, and she yelled loudly. <br />THWACKKK!! <br />The third stroke landed about an inch below the first two. <br />"OOOWWWH . . . AAAAAHHH!" <br />Mrs Wallace aimed the next stroke so that the tip of the cane fell halfway across Christine's right buttock, digging in painfully. Once again the agonised yells of the tall seventeen year old echoed round the room. She lost her grip on the desk and shot upright, clasping her sore rear with both hands. She twisted round unsteadily on her long legs and implored Mrs Wallace to let her off the rest of the punishment. Lauren saw that tears were flowing down Christine's pretty face. <br />But Mrs Wallace had no mercy. She ordered the girl to get back into position unless she wanted extra strokes. Tearfully, and painfully, she did so. Mrs Wallace swished the cane across the girl's calves, hard enough to elicit a surprised yelp. "Straighten those knees, girl!" she ordered. <br />When she was satisfied with the girl's position Mrs Wallace lashed the cane down twice in quick succession across the lower part of Chrissie's bottom, just where she would sit down. <br />THWACKKK! <br />"OOOOW . . . O-O-O . . . OWWWW!!" <br />THWACKKK!! <br />"AAARGH . . . OWWWCH!!" <br />Immediately the last stroke landed Chrissie shot up like a released spring and pressed both hands to her smarting behind, weeping bitterly. <br />Regardless of the spectacle she was making of herself the caned teenager danced in agony as she tenderly massaged her blazing posterior. The reactions of the others to this performance were varied. Mrs Wallace was amused and gratified, but Lauren was horrified. Sue, meanwhile, had remained facing the wall throughout Christine's punishment. She didn't want to give Mrs Wallace any excuse to make her already sore bottom hurt even more. <br />After about a minute, for Mrs Wallace felt that her right arm needed a bit of a rest, Christine was told to put her trousers back on and to go and stand next to Sue with her hands on her head. Chrissie's jeans had come off completely as she had danced about after the caning and it took her a long time to put them back on. Finally she manoeuvred the jeans over her knickers and into place and limped over to join Sue. Now it was Lauren's turn. <br />Mrs Wallace turned to look at the trembling girl, whose bottom had as yet never felt the cane. A new girl sent to her twice in her first term! For drinking and smoking! And after being let off with a hand caning last time! Well, this time she would not escape so lightly. <br />Lauren's skirt was much tighter than Sue's and Mrs Wallace told her to take it off completely. Lauren undid the skirt and stepped out of it, revealing a minuscule pair of black knickers and the a set of suspenders which held up her sheer stockings. Lauren always wore very brief panties with this particular skirt so that the shape of her bottom cheeks was clearly to be seen, without any panty-line showing. She looked more like a glamour model than a naughty sixth-former. Mrs Wallace smiled grimly, this thrashing would certainly bring the miscreant down to earth and with such skimpy knickers on show it would effectively be a bare-bottomed caning. Lauren draped her body across the desk. The other edge was still warm where Sue and Christine had gripped it, and she trembled as she saw the wet marks of Chrissie's tears on the desk. <br />THWACKKKK!!! <br />The first stroke of the cane that Lauren's bottom had ever felt was one of the hardest that Mrs Wallace had delivered that afternoon. It crashed into Lauren's tender flesh just above her thighs. Two white weals instantly formed on either side of her tiny briefs, only to be quickly suffused with vivid red. Lauren shrieked out her pain and shock, but forced herself to remain in position. <br />Mrs Wallace drew the cane back and raised it above her shoulders. She took two steps back and delivered the next stroke with her full power, moving forward at the same time, in order to increase its punishing intensity. As she'd intended it landed just half an inch above the first. <br />"OOOOWWW! NOOO!! YEOWWW!!!" Lauren howled. Her head shot up and her legs kicked wildly. "PLEASE MA'AM!" she wailed, "PLEEASE, not so hard! It hurts too much!!" <br />"It's meant to hurt, young lady," Mrs Wallace answered, "And it will hurt a great deal more before I've finished!" <br />Lauren grasped the edge of the desk more tightly, her knuckles turning white. Once again the cane lashed down on to her tender seat with all the force and skill at Mrs Wallace's disposal. The headmistress's plan of attack was becoming clear. The third stroke contacted Lauren's bottom a further half-inch above the last. <br />THWACKKKK!!! <br />Continuing the sequence the fourth stroke whipped across the crown of Lauren's haunches. The accumulation of pain was too much for Lauren. She howled in anguish and her hands left the desk and flew to her bottom. She had never known that pain like that could exist, let alone be deliberately caused as a punishment just for visiting a pub. Mrs Wallace allowed her a few moments and then told her to bend over again. <br />Despairingly the miserable girl did so, sobbing at the pain. As Mrs Wallace inspected the quivering bottom in front of her she mentally congratulated herself on her accuracy. Four equidistant red lines traversed the pale flesh in a narrow band less than two inches wide. She intended that the next two strokes should diagonally cross the first four to produce a 'four barred gate' effect. But to do so she felt she needed a clear view of the target area.<br />“Right, young lady. It’s knickers down for you now I’m afraid”<br />Lauren shrieked loudly as Mrs Wallace inserted her fingers into the waistband of the lacy garment and peeled it down over the burning mounds. Their vivid weals were now exposed. The Head pulled the panties down to just above the knees and tapped the inner left thigh with the tip of the cane to get poor Lauren to pull her legs apart to keep them in place.<br />The bare buttocks flinched at each of the next two strokes, and Lauren drummed her feet hard on the floor, but somehow she forced herself to stay in position even though it hurt like hell as the cane landed across existing weals. <br />"Two more to come," Mrs Wallace informed her. <br />She gave Lauren her last two strokes in quick succession, lashing them down, very hard, across the previously uncaned flesh of Lauren's thighs, just above her stocking-tops. <br />Lauren jumped up and clutched at her blazing bottom with both hands, sobbing her heart out. She was totally oblivious to everything except the searing agony in her nether regions. <br />"Pull your knickers up and put your skirt back on!" ordered Mrs Wallace. <br />Lauren did so, unsuccessfully trying to fight back her tears. As soon as her skirt was in place, the tight black material clearly revealing the shape of her swollen buttocks, she pressed her hands firmly to its back, trying to contain the intense sting. <br />"Hands on your head!" said Mrs Wallace severely, telling the two other caned girls to come over and stand next to Lauren in front of her desk. Then she once more lectured them on their stupidity, and told them that they had to do the same 300 lines she had given the four other girls. They were given a bit longer to do them - their lines had to be handed in at the beginning of the next term. <br />"Remember you all start with a clean sheet in the new term," she said, "and I don't want to punish any of you again. And as for you, Lauren Kennedy, I am very disappointed with your behaviour since you joined this school. I shall be writing to your parents with my comments and advice." She then dismissed the girls, telling them to go home directly and not loiter in the school. <br />Lauren found that each step sent additional waves of pain through her throbbing bottom. She could only walk by taking very short steps. As soon as they were outside the office she and Chrissie Parrish both clasped their hands to their bottoms and hopped frantically. The pain was unbelievable. Sue watched them ruefully. Her own bottom was still very sore but she was more inured to the effects of the cane, and this time she had been let off more lightly than the others. "I'm really sorry I invited you two and got you into all this," she said, "But I got my comeuppance as well! God, she was in a foul mood!" <br /><br />Lauren had a miserable Christmas, unable to sit down in any comfort until the new year. She became the subject of many family jokes, and various relatives took pleasure in applying a gentle slap to her hindquarters and observing the disproportionate reaction. <br />But undoubtedly the worst event of the holidays for Lauren was the arrival of an unusually shaped parcel addressed to her parents. It was long and thin and, despite the colourful Christmas wrapping, Lauren knew what it must contain even before her mother drew out the headmistress's Christmas present - a senior school caneJohn Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-77455288793296737952010-11-16T07:12:00.000-08:002010-11-16T07:19:45.119-08:00Night-time Canings<strong>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.</strong><br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /> <br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'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.<br /><br />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 . . .<br /><br />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 . . .<br /><br />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. . .<br /><br />Then the door opened. A shaft of light from the corridor against which were silhouetted the forms of two girls - two Prefects.<br /><br />'Lisa Howard! Come out. Prefects' Court!'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br />'Lisa Howard! Come forward!'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'Stand at the stool!' commanded the Head Girl.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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,<br />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.<br /><br />'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?' <br /><br />Lisa had gone bright red. She stuttered, 'I haven't .. done anything.'<br /><br />'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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'Come on! Right down to your knees!'<br /><br />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. <br />‘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.<br />Poor Lisa put her fingers in the elastic waistband of the tiny panties and slowly peeled them down.<br />‘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.<br /><br />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?'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />She gasped as the cane whipped lightly across her trembling backside 'Come on! Get it up!'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'Keep still, Lisa! And get it up again otherwise I'll have you in here for another eight on Wednesday.'<br /><br />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 . . .<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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<br />which almost threw Lisa off the stool. <br /><br />The Head Girl put the cane down and went back to her chair. Lisa's extravagant writhings gradually stopped. Her sobbing continued.<br /><br />'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’.'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'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.'<br /><br />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 . . . ?<br /><br />'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.'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'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.'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Mr Bannister, red-faced, looked grim. 'Just look what you done, my girl! It'll be Prefects' Court for this and no mistake.'<br /><br />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.'<br /><br />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.'<br /><br />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?<br /><br />Julie whispered , 'Promise. That you won't . . . take my knickers down . . . '<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Blinking away the tears she got up and adjusted her knickers. Mr Bannister had a red face and a leering grin.<br /><br />'You . . . you're just b . . beastly and awful!' she managed before stumbling over to unlock the door. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 . . .<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'Julie Hollings! Come out. Prefects' Court!'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'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?'<br /><br />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 . . .<br /><br />'Well' demanded the Head Girl.<br /><br />Julie blinked back the tears. 'H . . he made me.'<br /><br />'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!'<br /><br />Julie looked at the cane, like a rabbit transfixed by a weasel, then up at the grim face of Helen Reynolds.<br /><br />'Look . . please . . He . . he did make me . . ' She could hardly speak, she was so frightened, and her voice was little more than a whimper.<br /><br />'Get them down, girl!'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Nothing could feel like that!<br /><br />'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!'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Through the desperate pain Julie heard Helen Reynolds' tight voice: "That's two; and there's six more to come!'<br /><br />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!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Afterwards, in the morning, they wanted to know what it was for.<br /><br />Biting her lip Julie mumbled, 'Cheeking Helen Reynolds.'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'Ah, young Miss. I heared you got a caning. I warned you it could happen, didn't I?'<br /><br />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?'<br />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.<br /><br />'Julie Hollings! Come out. Prefects' Court.'<br /><br />'Oh, no!'<br /><br />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!'John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-75166578343601639162010-09-03T00:47:00.000-07:002010-09-03T00:52:21.988-07:00'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.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoZKXmAhwDCY6ouE55B1gr_YEGPLfIr9Bgrw3ecDEPq0nMReroxGk3P81gH1MmuvsieDo4lny2AaJaLOaAIs4AlcaZXX6aX_SUkUoj6_BZtWST9HVDv-mqkoW-iVxrBPuKIcDoQCEeZghg/s1600/Assume2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 290px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoZKXmAhwDCY6ouE55B1gr_YEGPLfIr9Bgrw3ecDEPq0nMReroxGk3P81gH1MmuvsieDo4lny2AaJaLOaAIs4AlcaZXX6aX_SUkUoj6_BZtWST9HVDv-mqkoW-iVxrBPuKIcDoQCEeZghg/s400/Assume2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512591356976433618" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvn3vVCpHHAak2dpBE_l1tpWJ4xm7oSIDLtJviRWxp7amXV33j_ILg2rBnkIMkStkSfKgSfEUvmKSmdNdhQNspMsWzFihmIqeNbKJuBNExZm_1U-35lKixLb1LjAnJPJFd87lB-41ZPx1s/s1600/assume.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 286px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvn3vVCpHHAak2dpBE_l1tpWJ4xm7oSIDLtJviRWxp7amXV33j_ILg2rBnkIMkStkSfKgSfEUvmKSmdNdhQNspMsWzFihmIqeNbKJuBNExZm_1U-35lKixLb1LjAnJPJFd87lB-41ZPx1s/s400/assume.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512591103243607650" /></a>John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-71439791067583807162010-08-04T10:17:00.000-07:002010-08-04T10:20:03.414-07:00Katy CanedThis 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?<br /><br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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! <br />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. <br />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!" <br />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." <br />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?" <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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." <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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." <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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!" <br />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. <br />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. <br />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." <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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! <br />Still crying non-stop and squirming in pain, Katy considered this awful choice for a long time - and then reluctantly agreed. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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." <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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.John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-41125312030734152522010-07-05T09:07:00.000-07:002010-07-05T09:25:16.151-07:00Back to School<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV9DQO4pilJxsFpA5VBa5JCoUCXVqMfMJV44m_Z0qHD_pOKE1WCmrDdJSSXLBCDLZzHOBApLv10ukXoBVU60i-8F_zhNvFuDDflDN674ka-XjLCch8QzGIP8e9-dEQ4c0qp0yEMFApLQiG/s1600/Selina+pic.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 232px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV9DQO4pilJxsFpA5VBa5JCoUCXVqMfMJV44m_Z0qHD_pOKE1WCmrDdJSSXLBCDLZzHOBApLv10ukXoBVU60i-8F_zhNvFuDDflDN674ka-XjLCch8QzGIP8e9-dEQ4c0qp0yEMFApLQiG/s400/Selina+pic.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490455526819223954" /></a><br /><em>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.</em><br /><br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />'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?’<br />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.<br />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. <br />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.<br />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.<br />‘Gail Wethered. Come here at once girl! How many times do you think I am going to tell you?’<br />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.<br />‘Did you hear me when I reprimanded you for talking not ten minutes ago?’ she asked, her voice low and even.<br />Gail seemed to shrug. ‘No Miss, I mean yes Miss’<br />‘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’.<br />'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.<br />‘Get across it.'<br />'Oh no, Miss, please!' <br />'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. <br />‘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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />'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.<br />'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!' <br /><br />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.<br /> * * *<br />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.<br />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.<br />Selina entered without knocking, causing the single occupant of the room, a middle-aged woman seated before a typewriter, to look up.<br />'Can I help you’ she asked.<br />'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.<br />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<br />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.<br />When she was convinced that the other was suitably impressed. Selina spoke.<br />'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 -'<br />'Miss Felton, yes, that's right’<br />'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’<br />'I don't know of her’ replied the woman archly. 'I know her, she teaches English here on Tuesdays and Thursdays’<br />'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?'<br />'It's a Thursday. isn't it?'<br />Really thought Selina, some people scarcely know their place.<br />She extracted a small gold propelling pencil and a leather-bound notebook from her handbag and wrote busily for some moments.<br />‘Would you give this to her' She passed over the folded slip of paper.<br />'Why not wait for her!' asked the woman. 'Her class starts at six and she's always well ahead of time’<br />'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.<br />‘Er...I said is there anything else?’<br />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.<br /> * * *<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />'Bare your bottom,' rapped the mistress. 'And get across my lap this minute. Come along, girl!'<br />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.<br />'Oww!' she heard herself squeal.<br />Whack! The strap landed again.<br />'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.<br />Whack! The tawse seared across her soft curves, her hips churned and swivelled around on Miss Felton's lap.<br />Whack!<br />'Owww! Oh please, Miss -'<br />Whack!<br />'Eeeek! Oh Miss, no more, please -'<br />Whack!<br />Would it never end? Would Miss Felton's hand rise and fall until Selina lost all her composure?<br />Whack!<br />'Oh, ow, ooh - I'll - '<br />Whack !<br />'Miss. I'll be good, I will!' -<br /><br />* * *<br />'Well, well, so it is you! little Selina Smith! After all this time’<br />Selina looked up, totally flustered. A figure, weighed down with a satchel full of books, stood before her.<br />'Uhh, actually, it's Selina Parker, now, uum, Miss Felton, excuse me. I I I was miles away, s s s-sorry'.<br />Damn the woman, thought Selina, standing up, first waving to the landlord and then offering her hand, coloured with confusion.<br />She has me stammering like a schoolgirl already, she realised.<br />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.<br />'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?'<br />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.<br />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. <br />‘What happened to the Waterford Glass?’ she asked.<br />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.<br />‘That would be best, yes, I never was given it before, was I?’<br />'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.'<br />Miss Felton inclined her head. ‘I can understand that’ she said.<br />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.<br />'Do you want to tell me how it came about!" asked Miss Felton, lifting the sherry glass to her lips.<br />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<br />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.'<br />'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.'<br />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.<br />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?’<br />‘Yes. I do: Betty Trask.' <br />Selina sighed, ‘That’s right. But tell me: if you knew, why didn't you cane us anyway.<br />Miss Felton shook her grey locks and tutted. 'Can't you answer that question for yourself. After all I tried to teach you’<br />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!'<br />Miss Felton looked at her with what Selina could swear was warmth and affection. <br />'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.' <br />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?’ <br />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.'<br />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.<br />‘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'<br />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'<br />Selina raised her eyes, now filled with tears. ‘What do you mean "settled her account" she asked.<br />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.<br />'D-d do you mean' stammered Selina. ‘B-b-but how! I mean wh...wh...what?’<br />'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’<br />‘But she's a grown woman. She must have been! I mean she couldn't just bend over for a caning, could she?'<br />'Of course she could. And did. It did her the world of good to bare her backside for a good dose of the stick’.<br />‘But- but where? How? Selina could scarcely take it in. No one who knew her now had ever seen her like this.<br />'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.<br />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.<br />'Miss Felton: she said. 'Do you still have keys to the college? It's gone nine o’clock. hasn't it?'<br /> * * *<br />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.<br />'Please’ she said. 'Could we have the blinds drawn?'<br />Miss Felton obligingly complied then went to the table and shook out the long black academic gown and shrugged her way into it.<br />'I'm glad you had that here’ murmured Selina. 'It makes it seem more, more sort of official, somehow.'<br />'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.<br />Selina spoke, her voice coming out at first in a nervous squeak. Her knees had turned to jelly.<br />'Uhh, Miss Felton, umm, er’<br />'Yes, my dear?'<br />'Urn, I was wondering, so I can prepare myself, er: how many?'<br />Miss Felton pursed her lips, 'Well now. I should have given you six at the time, so what do you think would be fair?"<br />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.<br />'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’.<br />Selina’s high heels tapped hesitantly on the floorboards as she approached. She gestured down at her full swinging skirt ‘Er... shall I, er'<br />‘If you'll just bend over, my dear. I'll arrange you how I want you’.<br />Selina stood ~behind the chair and leaned forward grasping the seat of the chair with both hands, bending straight from the waist.<br />'Right down, please Selina. Head well down now, bottom sticking up.'<br />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.<br />‘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.'<br />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.<br />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<br />below her stocking tops. She took a deep breath. Her bottom felt fragile and vulnerable.<br />'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?<br />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?'<br />•Yes. Miss: Oh, the comfort of falling back into that former diction.<br />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.<br />Swish!<br />‘Owwwww! Uhh, I'm sorry Miss. One, Miss, thank you Miss’ A thin red stripe now bisected Salina’s twin cheeks.<br />‘That is alright, Selina. I don't expect you to hold completely still, or to keep silent. Next one coming up.'<br />Swish! It was really loud.<br />‘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.<br />Swish! No holding back at all!<br />'Eeek. Oooh! Oh, sorry. Miss. Three, thank you’ Selina moaned.<br />Ducking her head, which had involuntarily bobbed up, down again. Selina awaited the next stroke.<br />Swish! It cut the air.<br />'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.<br />Swish! The sound seemed to rip the very fibre of the air.<br />'Eeeow! Oh Miss! It stings! ... Five, thank you’ she quaked.<br />Swish!<br />'Six' Owww! Oooh, halfway, Miss!'<br />Swish, whack!<br />'Oooooh! Oooh Miss. Please! A moment! Uhhh. seven. Thank you’ The pain was now atrocious – searing into her bottom.<br />‘Sorry, Miss’.<br />Miss Felton shifted her stance and the cane rose once more aiming higher.<br />Swish!<br />'Owwwww! Oh Miss, please, lower! Where I'm plumper, please.. Miss Felton! Eight, thank you Miss’<br />Swish, whack!<br />'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.<br />Swish! Similarly ear-splitting.<br />'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.<br />Swish!<br />‘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.<br />'Ooh! Ahh! Sorry, Miss. Eleven, thank you Miss.'<br />'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.<br />Swish!'<br />'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.<br />‘Ohh Miss! You did lay it on, didn't you?'<br />‘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?’<br />Slowly, Selina agreed that she did.<br />'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 ?"<br />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.<br />‘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.’<br />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.John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-13958114082837820632010-06-17T12:35:00.000-07:002010-06-18T04:28:23.159-07:00The Dinner Party<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnBotQ3Zc5B33RWFwQfuFqGT3_QWIWdxlE4UKb_r09rjNlPrgxgnHDH7i_A27zn3l1UHyTHD2YARh07zwy25xsJ6bf_GkgMQ8j-GavG1EE42GOx5TYwTL5C5OxoAVpDK1iItjyfcMB6r-U/s1600/Dinner+2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 286px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnBotQ3Zc5B33RWFwQfuFqGT3_QWIWdxlE4UKb_r09rjNlPrgxgnHDH7i_A27zn3l1UHyTHD2YARh07zwy25xsJ6bf_GkgMQ8j-GavG1EE42GOx5TYwTL5C5OxoAVpDK1iItjyfcMB6r-U/s400/Dinner+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483834154216588546" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbWIljlYWLiOJWsZy_3J_a8I_AnBiL4pWXqtNqEcrb8xn2vMUA1kTMgJNSTy_bNuxULe6JZiK1Dt3d6juXtzvNqJT9atsaCOLAdzhbXpOIjcCXZPEFhxph-75dRPb6v01YSySFXufmizc5/s1600/Dinner+pic.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 241px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbWIljlYWLiOJWsZy_3J_a8I_AnBiL4pWXqtNqEcrb8xn2vMUA1kTMgJNSTy_bNuxULe6JZiK1Dt3d6juXtzvNqJT9atsaCOLAdzhbXpOIjcCXZPEFhxph-75dRPb6v01YSySFXufmizc5/s400/Dinner+pic.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483833446024705954" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMZw24Xqk4iiwH3bwAVc2TkGh4xMqp9TShEFGbU6IRqSe6bdceo-vFa-3jEfyZKKUnTQ83ZfP8uOEXT35kmWk2rprWAYV5rihvp-7jfr1rA7qwiq1eeoXFPHvyO_URSPNGGrPLKIpEWvbd/s1600/Dinner+3.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 265px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMZw24Xqk4iiwH3bwAVc2TkGh4xMqp9TShEFGbU6IRqSe6bdceo-vFa-3jEfyZKKUnTQ83ZfP8uOEXT35kmWk2rprWAYV5rihvp-7jfr1rA7qwiq1eeoXFPHvyO_URSPNGGrPLKIpEWvbd/s400/Dinner+3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483832389580190370" /></a><br /><em>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.</em><br /><br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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. <br />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.<br />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.'<br />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.<br />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 .<br />‘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. <br />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?'<br />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!<br />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.<br />'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?'<br />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.<br />'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.'<br />'Do - do the others know about - about my being punished’<br />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?’ <br />'I suppose so, mumbled Jane as they re-entered the drawing room and she thankfully accepted another gin.<br />‘I’m going to need this’ she thought to herself.<br />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.<br />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?’<br /> ‘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’<br />'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’<br />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.<br />Carrie appeared in the doorway. 'Excuse me Mr Hall. Dinner is served'<br />'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'<br />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?’<br />'No, really’ stammered Jane. 'it's absurd'<br />'At once, if you please,' commanded Mr Hall sternly. 'Remember our agreement is that you obey all instructions without question'<br />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.<br />'Yes’ said Tony, 'lace-trimmed pure silk in Apricot Blush - our newest colour.'<br />'Lower your dress Jane: said Mr Hall 'and before you sit down kindly remove those knickers.’<br />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’. <br />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.<br />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.<br />'Come and stand here - now lift your dress up above your waist.' <br />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.<br />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.<br />She felt foolish, awkward and highly embarrassed. Not at all the prim elegance she had hoped to project at this gathering.<br />‘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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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. <br />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.<br />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.<br />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. <br />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.'<br />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!'<br />‘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.’<br />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’.<br />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.<br />The effect was devastating – Jane shrieked and drew the hand back towards her body’. Tony was unmoved. ‘Other hand, at once’ he snapped.<br />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.<br />‘Just two more’ Said Mr Hall ‘Jane’s got a lot to take this evening and that ruler seems to be biting hard’<br />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.<br />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. <br />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.<br />'Aren't you the lucky one!’ quipped Tony<br />'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’<br />I'll bet you will, thought Jane with a feeling of dread. Aware of how much Muriel disliked her.<br />'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’<br />'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.'<br />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.<br />Jane stood uncomfortably, blushed scarlet and hoped against hope that they wouldn't want her to ... But it was a vain hope.<br />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.'<br />Jane looked pleadingly at Mr Hall but there was no help there.<br />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’.<br />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.<br />‘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’.<br />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.<br />‘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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />'Is that hurting you! - you hussy’ Muriel hissed in Jane's ear.<br />'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.'<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />And thought Muriel to herself I’ll make it even sorer to ensure she really remembers the message.<br />She raised the strap once more and thwacked it downwards.'<br />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.<br />'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.<br />'Sit down Jane - if you can.! - and we'll continue our meal’<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />'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’ <br />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.<br />'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.<br />‘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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />With rising excitement Lionel again measured the cane against the heaving bum, drew it well back and delivered it hard and true.<br /><em>Thwack</em><br />'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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />'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’<br />'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.' <br />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.' <br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />'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.’<br />‘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.<br />‘I am sorry, Jane.' replied Mr Ha1l 'we agreed that everybody would share in punishing you so Carrie must have her turn.'<br />'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.<br />'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?'<br />'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’<br />'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.<br />‘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!’<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />'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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />'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’.<br />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!’<br />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.<br />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.<br />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. <br />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.<br />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’.<br />Jane was quite unable to answer.John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-10262749529852274142010-06-01T08:29:00.000-07:002010-06-03T08:54:14.752-07:00A Very Painful Lesson<em><strong>One of RT Mason's finest stories. I took this and the next story from Dimitri's brilliant British Spanking Magazines blog http://britishspankingmagazines.blogspot.com/?zx=1c49697f194a4801 Dimitri is much better at this than me and I am grateful to him for his diligence. It comes from an early eigthties Janus. Poor Susan gets her just desserts more than once. In the original she is told to wear gym shorts for her caning but I always prefer knickers - even if they are taken down pretty quaickly - so I've changed it accordingly and hope RT won't mind</strong></em>!<br /><br />A Very Painful Lesson<br />by R.T. Mason<br /><br />THE NOTEPAPER bore the School Crest (St Stephens School, Eastminster. Headmaster: R.A. Harrison, M.A.). The note was short and very much to the point:<br /><br />'This afternoon (Friday, 15th May) at 4.30pm there will be a Formal Headmaster's Caning in my office. As is customary on such occasions you are expected, in the interests of school discipline, to be present. If there is any pressing reason why you cannot, will you please let me know immediately.<br /><br />The pupil involved is Miss Susan Roberts, Lower Sixth.<br /><br />Signed: Robert Harrison,<br />Headmaster.'<br /><br />The note in its innocent brown envelope was in the pigeonhole of every male member of staff that Friday morning. (Women teachers of course would not be required to attend a Formal Caning, canings in general being regarded by the Head as strictly a male preserve.) The innocent brown envelopes had been opened one by one and one by one, like little bombshells, producing sounds of shocked amazement, ranging from sharply indrawn breath and low whistles to varied exclamations: 'Good Lord!'; 'Incredible!'; even 'Fucking Hell!' from Mr Dale (Maths). The sounds of shock were mixed, though, with here and there noises of undoubted excitement – as with Mr Fulton (History) who sharply stuck an elbow into the ribs of his crony Mr Stanley (Geography) while exclaiming, 'Something not to be missed, Ron. Susan Roberts! Mindblowing! Think of that bum...!'<br /><br />What might be deduced from all this was that the announcement on that crested notepaper was something out of the ordinary, and this was certainly correct. A Formal Caning was far and away the most severe punishment meted out at St Stephens and was given only rarely. It was rare indeed for a boy to get it; but for a girl... For a girl to be bent over the Head's desk in front of the assembled male staff – well, you needed a very good memory to remember the last time that had occurred.<br /><br />And more than all this of course was the name on the note. Susan Roberts. Because really she was one of the last girls you would expect to do anything remotely deserving of a Formal Caning. High spirited at times, yes, but for most masters she was a hard-working, well-motivated girl, as well as being friendly and charming. Not only that but she was also one of the most attractive girls in the school, her youthful pretty features – hazel-green eyes, pert full-lipped mouth – framed by curling trimly-shaped chestnut hair with just a touch of auburn.<br /><br />And that wasn't all, for below there was, too, a trim shapely figure firmed up by her twin hobbies of gymnastics and athletics. A slender figure except for her backside which, again no doubt as a result of that athletic activity, was well-developed with a full taut flare to the cheeks. Indeed most masters who had seen those shapely hindquarters in buttock-moulding gym or athletics shorts – or indeed in a skin-tight swimsuit – would rate Susan's backside quite as highly as her pretty face. Which is really saying something.<br /><br />Hence indeed Jack Fulton's excited, 'Think of that bum!' – for he and Ron Evans were in fact in the habit of paying special visits to the gym during Susan's practice sessions for the express purpose of gazing on that delectable part of her. Because when pretty Susan got working, in her energetic way, on the vaulting horse or bars, her firm limbs soon bathed in a light sheen of perspiration, those ultra-tight pale green shorts would inevitably, in spite of embarrassed tuggings, start sliding further and further up off the ripe bottom cheeks and up into the tight crack of her bum. It was a riveting sight for these two ardent admirers of young female athleticism, routinely producing flushed faces and a pleasant tightness in the front of the trousers.<br /><br />So for Messrs Fulton and Stanley and all the other masters in the Staff Room that morning the note was indeed nothing less than a bombshell. Stanley, eyes shining, looked at his colleague and licked his lips. 'Could she get it... on the bare?'<br /><br />Jack Fulton squeezed his arm. 'Could be, old son. Could be!'<br /><br />Both men shared the same mouthwatering picture: Susan Roberts bent over the Head's desk with that choicest of rears bereft of its knickers and completely bare... and the cane descending...<br /><br />'Just depends what the young beauty's done. Anyone have any idea?'<br /><br />One master there did, of course. Mr Pritchard, Senior English Master. He coughed, in his dry schoolmasterly way. 'I think you'll find... it could very well be on the bare...'<br /><br />Those close to him who heard, turned with shocked eager looks. What had she done then?<br /><br />The eyes glinted behind those gold-rimmed spectacles, Mr Pritchard's prim mouth pursed then said, 'Moral Turpitude, I think the term is...'<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />Somewhat earlier that same Friday morning the subject of all this excitement had herself received a brown enveloped letter, personally delivered to the Roberts' home, No. 17 Frobisher Avenue, by the school caretaker Mr Bert Davis at 7 am. Mrs Roberts found it 15 minutes later when she went in search of the milk, and placed it in front of her daughter as she sat at the breakfast table. 'Not a love-letter, Susan?' she laughed, and then, 'Ah, that sounds like the milk at last. He's late this morning.'<br /><br />Susan, dry-lipped, tore open the letter as her mother went out again. After the events the last two days she had been expecting something. Not a love-letter, however; something unpleasant, though she didn't know quite what. She took out the folded note and after a moment's hesitation opened it... Yes, it was from school... the School Crest... Headmaster: R.A. Harrison, M.A.... She looked away... Please!... then forced herself to look, to focus her eyes on the black typed print. She gasped, refolded it... got up...<br /><br />'Aren't you having any cornflakes, dear?' asked her mother, coming back in with the milk.<br /><br />'N... no... I'm not very hungry.'<br /><br />Susan went out... straight to the loo, locking the door behind her, and sat down on the flat seat top. She bit her lip, then opened the note again. This time she forced herself to read it properly.<br /><br />'Dear Miss Roberts: I am writing further to our meeting earlier today. On reflection I am afraid I have no option but to treat this matter as one of the utmost seriousness. Accordingly you will present yourself at my office at 4.30pm on Friday when you will receive a Formal Headmaster's Caning. As is customary with such a punishment all male members of Staff will be present.<br /><br />Please wear games kit: i.e. a sleeveless cotton top and gym skirt, plus knee-socks and plimsolls. White knickers are always required for Formal Canings.<br /><br />Signed: R.A. Harrison, Headmaster.'<br /><br />She re-read the words. She felt sick. She also felt an urgent need to scream. The note was already screwed-up and bedraggled in her damp hands when she stood up and adjusted the blue pleated school skirt and her white school blouse in the mirror. She was in a state of extreme nervousness – sheer fright in fact. She felt sick in her stomach.<br /><br />Susan unlocked the door and went out, then automatically went through the rest of her routine for school – brush her teeth, brush her hair, put on her school tie, and then the blazer... all with her mind quite divorced from what she was doing, her thoughts fixed only on the horrendous contents of the Head's letter. A Formal Caning... It was so horrible and awful that really it was hardly credible. Had she perhaps imagined it? But she had only to open that fear-crumpled note again, now in her blazer pocket. She said goodbye to her mother. Then, still in that zombie-like state, Susan walked slowly to the bus stop.<br /><br />Bob, her boyfriend, would be waiting there but really he was the last person she wanted to see. Not that, hopefully, he would know. Because a Formal Caning wasn't announced to the school, only of course... all the masters. Presumably they would all know by now and she would have to face them with that knowledge – in Assembly and then in each of her classes through the day until... at 4.30...<br /><br />At least she had no lesson today with Mr Pritchard, her English master. Mr Pritchard of the gold-rimmed spectacles and the tight prim mouth which would utter bone-dry sardonic jokes when he was in the mood. Mr Pritchard who did not like being thwarted by a pupil. Mr Pritchard who had of course set her up for this.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />It was easy to say that she could have agreed to what he wanted: what ever since she turned 16 he had first obliquely alluded to and then later quite openly stated. That he wanted to cane her. The problem for Mr Pritchard was that he wasn't allowed to – because caning girls at St Stephens was supposed to be reserved for the Head and Deputy Head. Girls were of course caned at times by other masters, everyone knew that, but only when the pupil had agreed to take this punishment rather than lines or a detention or something. If she agreed then everyone was prepared to turn a blind eye. But Susan hadn't agreed, and she had continued to refuse adamantly all Mr Pritchard's repeated suggestions. He wasn't the only master: others had also from time to time proposed she take a caning – Mr Fulton for instance several times – but none of them had been so persistent as Mr Pritchard. Or, as it turned out, been prepared to be so ruthless in pursuit of what he wanted.<br /><br />Susan had been caned once at St Stephens – that was by the Head last winter, when she'd been involved in some larking about when they'd gone to another school to give a gymnastics display. Naturally for that sort of offence it hadn't been the desperate horror of a Formal Caning – just a routine caning, in private in the Head's study. It hadn't been pleasant of course – but as Mr Harrison said, it wasn't meant to be pleasant.<br /><br />Canings were naturally not something girls liked to discuss, but from what she understood from other girls what had happened was his normal routine. She had had to stand in front of him as he sat sideways at his desk and then had to raise her skirt to her waist while he reached out and inserted his thumbs in the waistband of her knickers and drew them down to mid-thigh. And then he had made her stand with her skirt up around her waist and her knickers lowered while he delivered a stern lecture on proper behaviour. It had been awful – embarrassing and humiliating – but that was all part of the punishment. And when he'd finished lecturing her, she had had to walk – still with her knickers down and holding her skirt up – over to the upright chair he had placed out in front of his desk... and then lower herself over the chair seat, and stretch her arms down to place her palms on the carpet on the other side, quivering with fear.<br /><br />And then those four bottom-juddering slashes with Mr Harrison's whippy rattan cane. It had stung dreadfully and in addition there had been the awful humiliation of having to expose herself like that. But quite obviously it was nothing compared to what a Formal Headmaster's Caning would be... with all those other masters looking on...<br /><br />That caning, of course, being from the Headmaster, was official and she'd had no choice in the matter: there was no question of refusing. And another fact was that a caning from the Head or Deputy Head was pretty rare – unless you were up to some devilment all the time – whereas Susan had a pretty good idea that with Mr Pritchard, once you'd let him do it he'd be wanting to do it all the time and it would be difficult to say no then.<br /><br />So she had steadfastly continued to refuse and perhaps it should have been evident to her that his patience had been running out. His last proposal had been made on Tuesday last week. He had kept her back after the lesson, then started going on about her homework not being up to scratch – though she knew it hadn't been that bad. Those eyes behind the gold-rimmed glasses had stared at her in that unblinking way that always made her feel she was standing nude in front of him. And then, in that prim voice, he had said it again:<br /><br />'You know what I think is needed, Miss. A touch of the cane on your backside. It would be over and done with in five minutes and I would then be much more favourably disposed towards you. Whereas now... I'm afraid I regard you as a very annoying young lady.'<br /><br />She had blushed, but stubbornly said, 'No... Please Sir... I'd rather not...'<br /><br />Mr Pritchard, red-faced in turn, from suppressed anger, had given her a detention and 200 lines. As she turned to go he added, 'Miss Roberts! I should warn you I am not a man who likes to be crossed. You may well come to regret this stubbornness. Do you understand me?'<br /><br />She had stammered, 'Y... yes... Yes Sir.' – while of course not understanding at all.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />Because who could imagine that a master could be so heartless and cynical, that he could stoop so low, as to do what Mr Pritchard had done? It had been just a few days later – the Wednesday of this week and the window-cleaners had been in the school. Susan had had Mr Pritchard for English just before morning break and at the end of the class he called her to his desk and asked if she would run a small errand. He wanted some books collected from the room behind the gym where for some reason he had left them. Would she be so kind? He had actually smiled and Susan, eager to make up at last for all those No's she usually had to give to what he wanted, smiled brightly, said, 'Of course, Sir!' and went briskly off.<br /><br />The room in question was not somewhere you were allowed to go during break so it was going to be deserted; and it was except that one of the window-cleaners was there, cleaning the window on the inside. He was a youngish man, in his twenties, and when Susan arrived for the books he immediately started chatting her up. He wasn't doing it in an unpleasant way and she didn't rush off right away with the books but chatted a bit to him, because anyway it was break time.<br /><br />But then his behaviour changed, coming on a lot more strongly. He put his arm round her waist and as she tried to disengage it he laughingly said he knew all 17-year-old girls (she had said she was 17) were ticklish. He started tickling her and running his hands over her. She tried to push him away but he was very persistent, and seemed to become suddenly very aroused. He was far stronger than her and he got his hands on her breasts and then as she struggled she felt the sudden shock of a hand up her skirt sleeting up her thighs to their apex. She was struggling wildly in reaction to this ardent mauling when suddenly Mr Pritchard was in the room.<br /><br />The window-cleaner abruptly stopped – and disappeared. Susan, shocked and upset, was left alone with Mr Pritchard who instantly started upbraiding her in hard tight tones for unseemly and disgraceful conduct.<br /><br />This second shock on top of what had already happened – it was almost too much to take in. And then Mr Pritchard was saying, 'A caning is what you need, Miss!'<br /><br />Recovering a little, Susan expostulated that she had simply been struggling to get away from the man but Mr Pritchard, in that tight precise voice, said it hadn't been at all like that. He had clearly seen her co-operating in what was taking place, egging the man on. And the only suitable treatment for such immoral conduct on school property was a sound caning.<br /><br />Sue started crying at the desperate unfairness of what was obviously happening. Mr Pritchard couldn't possibly believe what he was saying, he had to be making it up – simply as an excuse to cane her. Through her tears she obstinately shook her head.<br /><br />'No... I'm not going to let you...'<br /><br />His eyes had glinted angrily. 'You'll be sorry, my girl!' he actually shouted. She wept, still severely shaken from the window-cleaner's assault. He took hold of her arms, rattling her. 'Do you understand me, Miss? This time you'll be sorry!' But she continued to shake her head, trembling all over.<br /><br />And then the next day – Thursday – there had been that summons to the Head's study. She went in... Mr Pritchard seated with the Head, and both of them with very stern expressions. With a nasty feeling in her stomach Susan stood in front of the Head's desk.<br /><br />'Sir... you... sent for me.'<br /><br />In icy tones he said, 'Indeed I did, Miss Roberts. I was wondering if you had any explanation for your disgraceful conduct of yesterday morning?'<br /><br />Hotly she asked, 'What? Sir... I don't understand...'<br /><br />'Carrying on like a common guttersnipe, Miss Roberts, that's what I mean!' the Head snapped. 'Not only that but on school premises and during the school day.'<br /><br />Susan stammered that it was all a mistake but the Head blared: 'No mistake, young lady! I have the word of a senior member of my staff who witnessed your shocking misbehaviour. I also have here,' he held up a sheet of paper, 'a signed statement by the person involved, one Kevin Billings, who came on the premises for the purpose of cleaning windows and who states that in Room G7 during morning break he was invited by you to... engage in sexual relations.'<br /><br />Susan started crying, horrified, mortified and terrified of the consequences of having been set-up by Mr Pritchard. But her sobbing cut no ice with the Headmaster. He said to her coldly, 'You may go now. Meanwhile I shall consider what is to be done about this quite unbelievable behaviour. You will be informed as soon as I have reached a decision.'<br /><br />And she had been. That brown envelope delivered before the milk the next day – Friday morning.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />She only just caught the bus – either an unconscious reluctance to get there or simply the fact that her mind had been somewhere else entirely. Bob was there as usual... She sat with him and he started chatting... as usual... She felt sick again. Then he asked if she wanted to play tennis after school and automatically she said 'Yes' – then remembered... She stammered that she had to do something for the Head. She hated lying to anyone – especially Bob. But it wasn't really a lie, because Bob didn't pursue the matter and force her to say something definite.<br /><br />Then the ordeal of Assembly... All the masters on the stage... all looking at her, or so it seemed. She forced herself to stand still, look straight ahead – through the various announcements... then the hymn, opening her mouth but not actually singing...<br /><br />Her first lesson was French, with Mr Rawlings. He was one of her favourite teachers, a nice friendly man and she thought he especially liked her. But today he seemed to want to pretend she wasn't there. He must have been told that awful story... and she felt herself sweating at the thought. Then next it was Miss Gilbey, Art. Miss Gilbey wouldn't be there of course, only the men teachers would be there in the Head's study... to watch her get caned. But Miss Gilbey probably knew nonetheless...<br /><br />Last lesson that morning was History – Mr Fulton. Susan didn't like Mr Fulton although he was quite friendly to her. Too friendly, in fact, with a sort of leering attitude. She also didn't really like the fact that he frequently came into the gym with his friend Mr Stanley to watch her practice. There was no real reason why he shouldn't watch of course and perhaps she should be flattered. But she had the feeling that it wasn't the gymnastics they were interested in, so much as looking at her body in the revealing gym outfit, the exercises being just a sexy bonus.<br /><br />Unlike Mr Rawlings, Mr Fulton seemed to be looking at her almost all the whole time during the lesson and she found this as disconcerting as Mr Rawlings seeming to ignore her. At the end of the lesson he came swiftly over to her desk before she could get out. He started chatting about the lesson subject until the others had left... and then squeezed her arm and said confidentially, 'I understand you've got into a spot of hot water, Susan. Just remember if you've got any problems you can always come and talk to me about them.' She felt herself flushing. Mr Fulton was almost the last person she was likely to confide in. She said, 'OK' and started to move away... but not quickly enough as Mr Fulton's hand left her arm and, darting down, gave her bottom a quick feel. She had half expected that because he had done it once or twice before. She went hotly out... as he called after her, 'Just remember, Susan, any time...'<br /><br />But Mr Fulton and his unpleasant ways were soon forgotten – at least temporarily – as the time moved inexorably on, and 4.30 loomed closer and closer. It was like one of those Greek Tragedies, an awful fate that could not be avoided – coming steadily nearer and nearer...<br /><br />At lunch she could hardly eat a thing.<br /><br />'Slimming, Susan?' laughed her friend Joanna.<br /><br />Susan raised a wan smile. 'No, it's just... I'm not hungry.'<br /><br />She excused herself as soon as she possibly could and went out. Usually when she felt tense she would do some gym practice but today she couldn't face even that. She wandered aimlessly... and then suddenly in the corridor outside the Music Room... she almost walked into Mr Pritchard.<br /><br />He appeared as startled as she was but quickly recovered. His mocking voice: 'Ah, Miss Roberts. Preparing yourself for the ordeal, I expect.'<br /><br />Her heart started pounding. In a trembling voice she said, 'I... I don't know... how you could do such a thing?'<br /><br />He looked around, then opened the Music Room door and motioned her inside. It was empty, being lunchtime, and he shut the door behind them, then stood close to her. So close that his hot breath hit her face as he hissed: 'I should warn you, Miss, that it would be most unwise to make foolish accusations. You are in enough trouble already. Do you understand me?'<br /><br />All Susan understood was that it was some kind of threat and she had ignored the last one with disastrous consequences. Eyes downcast, she mumbled, 'Yes Sir.'<br /><br />Mockingly again, gormandizing the situation, he asked sharply, 'Are you looking forward to it?' and she felt another surge of panic. The thought of that terrible Formal Caning... She glanced up at him, then immediately averted her eyes. There was only one possible way out.<br /><br />Susan took a deep breath. 'Please... Sir... If... I let you... do what you want... could you ... see the Head and get the caning cancelled. Please Sir...'<br /><br />The prim voice said, 'I'm afraid that's just not possible. You have got yourself in this situation and there is no way to avoid it now.' Mr Pritchard hesitated, seemed to think for a moment and then went on, 'Actually... it is possible that the Formal Caning will not be the end of it. I know the Headmaster is taking a particularly serious view of what happened, and is thinking of seeing the Governors. It is quite possible that you could be asked to leave the school. However I could... possibly ... put in a word regarding that. So that the matter would be closed with the Headmaster's Caning. Do I make myself clear?'<br /><br />Once more a miserable mumbled 'Yes Sir.'<br /><br />Oh what a pretty girl to have in this position! the Senior English Master was thinking, his head spinning.<br /><br />'Good!' He looked up at the wall clock. 'There are 25 minutes to the start of afternoon classes. I think we have time for a first little session.' He went to the door. 'Come to my room in five minutes. Miss. Be sharp, please.' He went out.<br /><br />She felt tears starting. She looked blankly round the now empty Music Room. The Greek Tragedy was unfolding... and she had no option but to accept it...<br /><br />Five minutes later, as if in a dream, she was knocking at his door. 'Come in!' 'Ah Susan: good.' He closed the door behind her. On his desk she was appalled to see a tawse. A vicious-looking piece of leather with twin tails at its end. Just waiting to make contact with the up-thrust flesh of some poor school-girl.<br /><br /> 'Good!' he said again. 'Yes, I think we've got just time to give you a little taste. Nothing too serious because we don't want to mark you up for later, do we? But just a little start. Right: take your knickers down please. Down to your knees.'<br /><br />Still as in a dream, standing in front of him, her hands up under her skirt, fumbling... and then her knickers were coming down...<br /><br />'That's good. Now I usually place a girl over the seat of my chair. However, in your case, as you have been so reluctant and uncooperative, I think perhaps we could have you in what one might term... a more submissive position, don't you think? Yes, I think instead we will use the stool.' He indicated a leather-padded stool almost the height of Susan's hips. 'Bend right over it please and grip the bar on the far side with both hands!'<br /><br />She gulped, and just stood there. 'Please...' she whispered.<br /><br />'Come on, girl!' his voice sharp. 'We haven't all day. Get yourself over the stool!'<br /><br />As in a dream, with her little white knickers down round her knees, she moved the few paces to the stool... and knelt on it.<br /><br />'Now down, please!' The prim voice now with an excited edge. 'Head down, grip the bar at the base!'<br /><br />Yes, an excited edge, for if it felt like a dream to Susan, to George Pritchard it was likewise something he had dreamt of doing for a considerable time. Dreamt obsessively, and at times, almost continuously. He flipped the kneeling girl's skirt up over her back... and there it was: Susan's bottom, her twin firm swelling buttocks, offered up, bare, beautiful, trembling slightly, with just a glimpse of auburn hair at their confluence with the smoothly rounded, sleekly tapering thighs. He was trembling... the moment had arrived... he had accomplished it. His bold, rather frightening move, bribing that window-cleaner... £20... He took up the strap... Control... not too much... She mustn't be marked up for 4.30. Because anyway there would now be plenty of more times to come...<br /><br />He raised the tawse and after a few seconds' gloating enjoyment of his power he brought it down with a stinging whipping WHACK! across the fullest curve of that upthrust rump. Springy buttock-flesh juddered. Susan gasped. Twin red marks now across the pale smooth flesh.<br /><br />He waited for a moment, letting the sting develop. Then he raised the tawse again... The firm smooth globes beckoning... CRACK! 'Ooohh!' – a gasping yelp this time as the two tails bit paralleling the first impact. The injured buttocks squirmed, trembled, burned...<br /><br />Easy, though, he told himself. Not too much. It was only a couple of hours until 4.30 and it would not really do to have her in there with her backside covered with red marks. He'd just give her a couple more... stingy but not so that the marks would stay on the flesh...<br /><br />So Susan got four and then the strap lightly patted her smarting rump and Mr Pritchard was saying, 'I think that will do for now. Get up and pull up your knickers!' She complied, tears in her eyes. 'Good!' he said, 'Now we know where we stand, don't we? That was just a gentle little warm up. To get you tuned up for 4.30.'<br /><br />He put the wicked strap down and then turned to her again. 'Now, Miss, after you've had the Formal Caning... I should like you this evening to come round to my house. Do you know where it is? 36 Albany Terrace. At 8 o'clock. Then we can have a nice little talk. Right: off you go. You will doubtless want to prepare yourself... for 4.30.'<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />4.30. It had come in no time at all. Three lessons in which she'd sat like a zombie, mostly feeling sick – at what had happened at lunchtime, at what was to come – and then at the 4 o'clock end of school going tight-lipped to the gym. To change into her white sleeveless cotton top and the pale green gym skirt. She checkers her knickers too – they were brief like all her pants but she hoped they would give her some protection against the sharp sting of the rod. They were tight though and that was what she was thinking when at 4.30 sharp, she forced herself to knock on the Head's door.<br /><br />Inside, a sea of faces. Male faces. It looked like, well, 20 or 30 but could only in fact be the ten men members of staff. All standing around in little groups – twos and threes – where they had obviously been chatting, drinking sherry, discussing what was to come. But now with her entrance they suddenly fell silent. She flushed scarlet, all eyes inevitably on her. Behind her the Deputy Head, Mr Miller, quietly closed the door.<br /><br />The Headmaster, standing at the other side of his desk where he'd been talking to Mr Rawlings, coughed and glanced at his watch.<br /><br />'Good. Right on time, Miss, I'm pleased to see,' he said. 'Well, I don't think there is need for any preamble. We all know what we're gathered here for and I expect you'd like to get it over with – as indeed I shall. I never enjoy giving any pupil a Formal Caning, and especially a girl pupil. But... it has been decided that in your case it really is the only option. Are you dressed as instructed?'<br /><br />Susan nodded, feeling herself sweating.<br /><br />'Good. In that case if you'll just remove your blazer and skirt.' He turned to go to a cupboard. Susan started unbuttoning her blazer. It came off. Then, trembling, her hands went to the waistband of her skirt. Fumblingly she pulled down the zip and then, trying not to look at any one of the faces which were all focussed intently on her, she slid the skirt down and stepped out of it. Gym top, skimpy white knickers, white knee socks, white plimsolls; she stood cringing in the centre of the room.<br /><br />'Stand up straight, please!' said the Head crisply. Biting her lip, Susan straightened her posture. Firm, lightly brassiered breasts stretched the tight cotton top – not overly large but each one a lovely little handful, thought Jack Fulton gloatingly. And, beneath, curvaceous contours lower, the brief panties were skin-tight over swelling hams, and in front equally taut over the rounded bulge of her pubis.<br /><br />'Excellent, girl,' the Head said. He placed the cane which he had just taken from the cupboard on the desk.<br /><br />'Now I'll just explain the rules for a Formal Caning. You will be bent over the top of my desk. In view of the seriousness of the offence your knickers will be taken down and you will be caned on your bare bottom. I shall give you four strokes to start with. Then the Deputy Headmaster will give you four, and then two other members of staff will each give you three. If you have difficulty in maintaining the position I shall call for a master to hold your arms.<br /><br />'Is all that clear?'<br /><br />Susan had flushed crimson. She had not known exactly what the Formal Caning involved and there had been the possibility – the desperate hope – that with the Head's note stressing the requirement for white knickers they might have been retained for the caning. But now the dreadful prospect of being bent bare-bottomed over the desk in front of all these men...<br /><br />Mr Harrison said, 'Right: let's begin then.' He took her by the arm and led her across to the front of his desk.<br /><br />Addressing the others he said, 'If you'd all get in a position where you have a clear view of the proceedings but at the same time leave me room to use the cane...'<br /><br />To the accompaniment of a general shuffling for position his hands went to the girl's waist. Thumbs briskly inserted in the waistband of her panties, one on either hip, and then without further ado they were skinned down... as far as her knees. For some members of staff there was a brief view of full auburn pubic bush before the girl was pushed firmly down over the desk. And there it was for all to see: the focus of the afternoon's activity. Her bared hindquarters: the two full swelling cheeks and their dividing cleft which started on the dimpled flatness of the small of her back and continued through to where the first slight fatness of the tops of her thighs started – where more of those auburn curls were to be seen.<br /><br />As ten pairs of eyes stared intently Mr Harrison took the girl's arms and stretched them out across the desk top, making her grip the far edge. The stretched posture caused the short white shirt to pull higher, its hem now barely reaching her slim waist. He continued fussing with her position... precisely placing her feet, pulling her legs apart so they strectchd the knickers tight across her thighs, causing the full bottom cheeks to wobble slightly... and then one hand sliding lightly over the actual backside... Around the room a certain amount of heavy breathing now, some masters' faces now pink, one or two bright red. And some feet being shuffled where trouser fronts had become sharply though quite forgivably tight. Because even those masters, like Mr Rawlings, who found the whole performance distasteful could not help experiencing the tense excitement.<br /><br />The Head finally seemed content with the girl's posture. 'Good. Now I want you to hold that position.' He took up the cane... swishing it through the air to loosen his arm... then positioned himself to one side of her. The final bland statement: 'I need not tell you, Miss, that none of us here enjoys this.' A statement of course quite blatantly untrue. But it was a signal that he was now ready.<br /><br />Testingly the cane tapped across her buttocks, causing them to flinch. One... two... three... horizontal movements of the cane patting the full soft undercurves... the region of her bottom he evidently intended working on. And then suddenly it was happening: the cane drawn sharply out in a full horizontal arc... then back in, gathering pace... in the same plane... to CRACK!... across those soft undercurves, juddering them, momentarily sinking into the yielding sensitive flesh... producing an agonized gasp from the girl... a desperate squirming of her bottom... The first one had been delivered. As the cane was drawn away a bright red stripe remained in its wake.<br /><br />Susan continued to gasp and wriggle. The Head waited... letting her feel the full effect. Then again he got set... swung the cane out again... and back, accelerating, so that once more it was at its maximum velocity when... CRACK!... it met those softly curving cheeks again. A gasping yelp of anguish this time... more violent writhings of bottom and legs... and one hand breaking away from the desk top to grab desperately at the smarting backside... Then returning when Mr Harrison brought the cane sharply back across the errant hand. Two bright red stripes now: parallel and about an inch apart.<br /><br />Another pause... until the worst of the agonized writhing had abated... then another firm hard CRACK!... to the same ultra-sensitised area. A sharp scream... The girl's lower body once more into a series of frenzied squirmings... with this time both hands breaking away to clasp the red hot rear. A stern admonition – 'Back in position, Miss!' – reinforced by a sharp, extra cut of the cane across the hands... The position was resumed.<br /><br />'One more from me then, Miss.' It landed... CRACK!... almost on top of the line of one of the previous three. She yelped again... and again the desperate writhing of the bum, as if to try and shake off the fearsome smart which the cane had left.<br /><br />Mr Harrison put the cane down, thoughtfully inspected his work, then straightened up. 'Fine. Now if you'd like to take over, Miller.'<br /><br />Mr Miller stepped forward, took the cane, and in turn, frowning slightly, inspected the girl's rear and the effect of Mr Harrison's caning. He took up position where the Head had stood... and proceeded at once to deliver his own required four strokes. Not to the lower region of her bottom which the Head had worked on, but higher up, across the approximate centre of the cheeks, the cane rising and falling now in an arc of roughly 45 degrees to the horizontal. Each one landed fully as hard as the Head's, with a resounding shot-like CRACK!... to finally produce a second tight bunch of four strokes. Susan was now obviously crying, but the punishment was not of course over.<br /><br />With the Head and Deputy Head having carried out their part of the proceedings it was now necessary for the former to call for two masters representing the general staff to each give her three strokes. George Pritchard, who had viewed the proceedings thus far with an impassive self-satisfied air from behind those glinting glasses, did not volunteer. He had no wish to appear too desperately keen to get personally involved in something which he had initiated. A more magisterial, righteous air was appropriate... because of course he did not need to feel too desperate now: he at last had the girl where he wanted her.<br /><br />Instead, not surprisingly, it was Messrs Fulton and Stanley who quickly, in turn, stepped forward to take up the cane. By the time it got to Mr Stanley, Susan was finding it very difficult to keep a grip on the table edge. The Head had a quick word with Mr Rawlings. He stepped forward, took hold of her hands and firmly held her while Mr Stanley completed the ritual Formal Caning.<br /><br />And finally it was over. Mr Rawlings released Susan's hands, but she just lay stretched over the desk, sobbing and churning. He reached out and gently patted the chestnut head. The Head's voice: 'Right, pull your knickers up and get your skirt back up. Gentlemen. I think that concludes the proceedings. I thank you for your attendance.'<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />Afterwards? Well, there was 36 Albany Terrace at 8 o'clock that evening of course. Susan, feeling dreadful, nonetheless went because she had no real option – not after what Mr Pritchard had said at lunchtime. The Formal Caning had been just unspeakable – the actual dreadful caning itself and, perhaps even more, having it in front of all the men teachers. The pain in her poor bottom had slowly abated afterwards but the feeling of abject humiliation remained as strong as ever while she had her tea (in fact just sitting there, hardly eating anything) and then afterwards as she sat upstairs alone in her room. But... there was nothing for it but to go round to Mr Pritchard's at 8 o'clock...<br /><br />The prim voice again, now smug and gloating. 'Well, my girl: now you see what happens to girls who try to go their own way and refuse to cooperate with a master's wishes.' He led her into his study. 'Right. Let's have a look at you. Take your knickers off and bend over the stool.' A tall stool very similar to the one in his school office was in the centre of the room. 'Head down, fingertips on the carpet... Go on, stretch.'<br /><br />Susan complied, she simply had to. He flipped up her skirt. The marks of the caning were still discernable on the rounded buttocks: the twin tightly bunched groupings from the Head and the Deputy Head, together with the less precise pattern resulting from the other two masters' efforts. George Pritchard gazed, eyes gleaming... Then his hand came down in a sharp slap across the bare bottom.<br /><br />'Right. Get up!'<br /><br />She stood miserably before him, wondering fearfully what was next... but for the moment it was nothing. 'I think you've had enough for one day, Miss. We won't overdo it. But I shall require you to report to me here each Friday evening from now on. We will then discuss the previous week's work and behaviour and I shall mete out whatever punishment I think is necessary – over this stool.'<br /><br />Then, as an afterthought, he added, 'Oh, there is one other thing, before you go.' His eyes were shiny, boring into her. His voice thickened when he spoke again.<br /><br />'I think a little extra smartness – an element of formality – would be appropriate for these visits. Therefore you may wear your school uniform or a dress as you think fit. But in addition I should like nylons and a suspender belt. And a smart pair of heeled shoes. Oh yes, and your knickers can be any colour you like – but keep them brief, please. Yes. Otherwise... I think that's all...'<br /><br />Yes, that was 8 o'clock at 36 Albany Terrace. But there was one further thing: another note, addressed to Miss Susan Roberts and delivered again by Mr Bert Davis to 17 Frobisher Avenue, this time on the following Monday morning at 7 am. Another innocent-looking brown envelope which, when opened in the privacy of Susan's room, was again seen to have the School Crest... Headmaster: R.A. Harrison, M.A.... etc. The date was yesterday, 17th May. Numbly she read it:<br /><br />Dear Miss Roberts,<br /><br />Further to recent events and the Formal Caning of Friday, I have now discussed this matter with the Chairman of Governors who, I must tell you, was shocked and deeply concerned to hear of your behaviour. He was of the opinion that a single Formal Headmaster's Caning was hardly sufficient punishment for such quite unacceptable behaviour, especially in view of the serious effect it could have on the good name of the School.<br /><br />I must tell you that the possibility of expulsion was seriously considered but I was able to argue against this in the light of your excellent behaviour in the past and also in view of your coming GCE 'A' Level examinations next year. What was decided therefore was that for the remainder of your school career – i.e. the rest of this term and all of next year – a number of senior masters will be given permission to cane you as and when they see fit. These masters are: Mr Rawlings, Mr Dale, Mr Pritchard, Mr Fulton, Mr Stanley and Mr Peacock.<br /><br />Accordingly, tomorrow (Monday) you will take this note round to each master in this list and ask him to sign it, and then bring the fully signed note to me at the end of school the same day. I may say however that this arrangement (as with the Formal Caning) does not need to be made public. Thus if you co-operate your parents need not be informed and there is also no need for other members of the School to know anything of this.<br /><br />Signed: R.A. Harrison, Headmaster.<br /><br />Susan read the note. Re-read it. Looked blankly, numbly, at the wall. Two tears welled in the corners of those hazel-green eyes... and slowly trickled down the pretty cheeks.<br /><br />It was all so terribly unfair – when she had done nothing at all wrong, not broken any rules. But at the same time it was all part of growing up and the lessons that have to be learned. One lesson of course was that it is usually better to co-operate with those in positions of authority, even when it does seem unpleasant. And the other, wider, lesson? Well, that life can be unfair. That at times in fact it is very unfair indeed and one just has to accept it.<br /><br />Yes it was for Susan all part of a very painful lesson. A lesson which for the next three terms and more her tender rear was going to be learning pretty thoroughly.John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-66055099375396084582010-06-01T08:26:00.000-07:002010-06-01T08:28:14.914-07:00Return to SchoolThe title says it all, really. Quite a well-worn theme but this is a good straight take on it and the deputy-head is particularly clearly drawn.<br /><br /><br /><br />It seemed distinctly errie going through the school gates again - a strange disquieting feeling. Mainly it was the silence of course, no other girls running about and shouting and this was hardly surprising because it was out of term time - the end of July and a week after school had broken up. A hot and sunny afternoon and as she looked across the deserted quadrangle the memories came flooding back: some of them pleasant ones naturally - of her classmates and friends - but mostly the unpleasant ones - the spankings, and more especially the canings. The cane and St. Monica's: the two were inseparable, for St. M's was a school dedicated to the belief that middle-class girls developed into proper young ladies only as a result of strict discipline. And at St. Monica's that meant first and foremost the cane.... energetically applied to youthful rear-quarters.<br /><br />And thinking of the cane she couldn't help feeling a tingle of apprehension. She tried to dismiss it for really it was silly: she was now 21 and it had been nearly three years since she had been a pupil here and at the mercy of Mr. James and his staff. Sally Middleton, she told herself, calm down: and behave like an adult and not a schoolgirl. She unconsciously pulled back her high firm breasts out against the thin material of her blouse. Keith, at the wheel of the car and wondering where it was best to park, happened to look across at that moment and mopped his brow. He was hot enough without her doing that.<br /><br />Fiance Keith had been feeling more than a little frustrated ever since their stop for a picnic lunch on the drive down. He had been hoping Sally would agree to a bit of slap and tickle after lunch - well, they were getting married in six months time and had been doing it for several months now. Doing it when he could persuade her, that is, but on this occasion all his efforts at persuasion got him nowhere: she simply wasn't having any. The truth was, although she would not have admitted it even to herself, Sally was more than a bit nervous about the coming meeting. With Mr. Grant, the Deputy Head.<br /><br />It had been the Head, Mr. James, whom she had been trying to contact when she had phoned. Well, when you needed a reference you naturally went to your Headmaster, but he had been unavailable. It was close to the end of term and she was told, to her surprise, that he in fact was due to leave the school and was very busy. And she had been put through to Mr. Grant. She would definitely much rather not have spoken to Mr. Grant and indeed she could recall telling herself when she left school that he was one master she quite definitely would be happy never to speak to or see again.<br /><br />He had always been the worst - worst with the cane that is, always knickers down and then lashing it into your bare bottom so that even in the Sixth Form you were almost immediately reduced to tears and abject pleadings for him to stop. And that had been exactly what he had done on her very last morning at school, catching Sally and two or three other school-leavers rather prematurely laughing and joking in the corridor and singling her out to be taken to his room. To be bent over that horrid chair and have her skimpy pink knickers taken down for one final dose of the medicine which he so loved to mete out to a pretty teenager. It had been an all-too-fitting finish to her school career: the caning and then having to stand tearfully before him while his hand went up her skirt 'checking' that her knickers were correctly back in place, but actually of course fondling her through the knickers and then delivering a couple of painful spanks with his open palm. As he did it she had the one consoling thought that at least it was for the very last time and she would never have to see him or speak to him again. Not ever.<br /><br />But then a year later suddenly there was his voice on the phone and she was automatically saying 'Oh Please Sir, sorry to bother you Sir.' And when he had asked what it was she wanted she had said 'Pl..please Sir....' and then found herself asking him for the reference she had intended to get from Mr. James. Having said it she immediately hoped he would say no, but he didn't. What he said was that of course he couldn't just write a reference when he knew nothing about what she'd done during the past few years. He would really need to see her again and have a talk first and then he was sure he could oblige. As it happened he was staying on at St. Monica's for a couple of weeks after the end of term and so it would be convenient if she came down there. And with an empty feeling in her stomach Sally found herself automatically agreeing, automatically also falling back into the role of the obedient pupil as she said 'Yes Sir. Thank-you Sir.'<br /><br />The truth was that if it were not for the fact that she really needed a reference she would definitely have ducked out of meeting him again - sent a note: thank-you very much but I find now it's not really necessary. But she was desperately keen to get this really good job with the Company Keith worked for - a job that was so much better than the rather menial one she had had for more than six months now. And of course really there was nothing Mr. Grant could do to her now she was no longer a pupil. Well there wasn't was there?<br /><br />Yes she really needed that reference, for the year since leaving St. Monica's had sadly failed to live up to what it had promised. Because that marvellous-sounding job - Personal Secretary to Mr. Larkin, one of the senior partners in the Law Firm of Merridrew and Larkin - well, if you had said it sounded too good to be true you would have been exactly right. What it was in fact was simply a continuation of the worst aspects of school, with Mr. Larkin finding an excuse virtually every day to take her knickers down, either over his lap or over the arm of that big leather armchair in his office. And at times using that awful riding crop which if anything was worse than a cane. And if that wasn't enough there were also those favoured clients whom you had to take documents round to and who had to be allowed the same privilege - taking your knickers down, that is, and spanking your bottom. Yes it had really been no different from St. Monica's and often quite a lot more painful and humiliating..<br /><br />Eventually, after a particularly touch client had given her twelve strokes of the crop of her bare bottom she felt she could take no more and she had given in her notice. Mr. Larkin had been very angry and said he would speak to St. Monica's about being so badly let down; but she didn't suppose he actually did, and anyway she didn't care, she wouldn't have worked there any more if they paid her £1000 a week.<br /><br />After that she had been unemployed for a bit and then the job she still had now - nothing more than glorified tea-girl really, with a firm of exporters. The pay was miserable and so were the prospects but at least she didn't get her knickers taken down all the time. And of course early in this period she had met Keith and that had more than made up for the limitations of her job. Now, though, the chance of this other post had come up and if she could manage to get it, because she would need to keep working after they were married. And with a good reference there was no reason at all why she shouldn't....<br /><br />'It all seems very deserted,' said Keith, having parked the car over in the corner of the quad in the only available patch of shade. 'Are you sure he's here?'<br /><br />Oh, Sally was sure he would be here alright. 2.30 sharp he had said and it was now just 2.20. Timed just right, she thought, and then felt another surge of fear, remembering of course the very last time she was here - that final day of school when Mr. Grant had managed to seize one more opportunity to get her knickers down. She just wished she were somewhere - anywhere - else; but such thoughts were pointless and anyway it would soon be over. 'Right. I'd better go in then. Mustn't be late!' Mustn't give him any excuse to be awkward. 'Hey! Stop....!'<br /><br />She kissed him briefly and then checked her lipstick in the car mirror. Not too much make-up on. Mr. Grant might not approve.... She realised she was thinking just like a frightened St. Monica's schoolgirl again. Well she couldn't help it, it was this place - being here again. Once again her thoughts went back to that last day at school. Mr. Grant taking her into his room and locking the door.<br /><br />'Right Miss, over the chair please. Then we'll have those panties down and see if we can't find a suitable antidote for unruly behaviour.'<br /><br />She forced a smile at Keith as she tried to obliterate the memory from her mind. It was time to go in....<br /><br />Keith watched her tall shapely figure walk away across the hot and empty quad, smart black heels going clip-clop on the tarmac. The short blonde hair, the crisp blouse, the demure calf-length skirt swaying rhythmically with the movement underneath of those thighs, that bottom, which he now knew so well. He could just trace the outline of her sexy little knickers He watched until she disappeared into the building opposite. Hopefully she wouldn't be long.... then they could drive back to that place in the woods.... where earlier he hadn't been able to get what he wanted. His thoughts ran on.... They would get the blanket out again.... <br /><br />To take his mind off such thoughts (and indeed to ease the tightness in his trousers which a growing erection had produced) he got out of the car for a look around. It seemed a fairly ordinary place - a typical school, nothing remarkable. Funny that Sally had never said hardly anything at all about it - not like some girls who were always going on about what they'd done at school. This Grant: he wondered what he was like.... The typical harmless old duffer, he supposed....<br /><br />-o-O-o-<br /><br />A harmless old duffer? Well yes he was, as long as you weren't a pretty girl who had to stand flinching in front of him - just as you'd had to all those times before: now with your pretty blonde head shining in the shaft of light streaming in through his window and your pretty knees trembling under your skirt. And your pretty tits trembling too and as you see the direction of his eyes, greedy behind the spectacles, you wish frantically that the tits were just a bit smaller and didn't stick out so much or at least you had not worn the rather tight thin blouse with just the light bra underneath which you knew showed the shape of your nipples. <br /><br />Because really you should have remembered that Mr. Grant had always liked girls' tits - in addition to their bottoms of course. But back at home you foolishly hadn't thought: as you foolishly hadn't realized that once in here, in his room, nothing would have changed and you would again be the defenceless rabbit mesmerised by the weasel's cold stare. For the clammy mesmeric fear had reached out and gripped you the moment you stepped inside that room which was hot and stuffy with the sun beating in through the closed window and altogether you felt a little faint.<br /><br />The weasel moved. The spectacles glinted, reflecting, as he got up from behind his desk and walked round it to you. And spoke: 'A reference is it? Hmm... I should have thought that these two were reference enough.' And the bony hand reached out and felt the weight of each breast in turn. 'Mmm. Yes. They seem somewhat bigger than when you were last here. If I remember correctly.'<br /><br />His fingers moved to fondle her nipples and she felt a little sick standing immobile in the stuffy room as his voice, that so-familiar voice from her schooldays, continued: 'Mmm... Perhaps we should have a better look. Don't you think? A proper check....' And the fingers went to the little buttons of her blouse.... and as if they had a perfect right began unbuttoning the top one.... and then the next.... methodically, unhurriedly. 'Yes, a little check.'<br /><br />What he was doing was quite outrageous and she should slap his hand away and tell him thank-you she could do without the reference and walk smartly out. There must be someone else who could give one. But she knew she was powerless to do this. Being here in his room, with his frightening, dominating presence, as she had been all those times at school, it was as if she had never left and there was just no way she could do anything except meekly submit.... to whatever he wanted. She felt beads of perspiration above her lip and had a sudden consciousness of her knickers, tight and brief under her skirt. Really much too brief. And she knew as her blouse was unfastened that they - the brief knickers - would be coming down. Knew it just as much as if he had already told her, for wasn't that what happened last time - and what always happened? There would be some excuse and she would be bent over the seat of his chair: her bare bottom flinching in anticipation....<br /><br />Yes she could see it all, just as it had been all those times before and there was really nothing to do about it except say 'Yes Sir.' and 'No Sir.' and... She felt a little light-headed and steadied herself with her hand on his desk as he finished unbuttoning the blouse and pulled it free from the waistband of her skirt. Perhaps he would just....? But no: his hands round her back to her bra strap, unfastening it, then pulling the bra up to release her breasts. The sudden shock of his hands on her bare tits.... squeezing.... the fingers playing, fondling... causing her nipples to harden and stick out.... like they did when Keith.... But this was Mr. Gram.... loathsome hands actually on her bare boobs. It was quite awful.... but there was nothing she could do to stop him. She could only stand still.... feeling sick....<br /><br />Finally he finished with them and she could do her bra and blouse up again; wondering vaguely as she did so whether he would now cane her right away or make her wait a while for it, as he sometimes used to. It seemed hotter than ever in the room and she thought of Keith outside, where it was hot but not stifling like this. Keith out there in another world....<br /><br />But Mr. Grant, who didn't seem bothered by the heat, was now seated at his desk again and telling her to come and stand at his side. She had had to do that before of course and, yes, right away his hand came up her skirt to grip the back of the nearest nyloned knee. He wanted to knew about what she'd been doing in the last years and as she haltingly started to describe her jobs so the hand moved up.... to the tops of her nylons.... and the full warm thighs above. Where Keith's hand had just recently been but unlike Keith's you couldn't push this hand away and say 'Stop it.' Not Mr. Grant's. The hand explored her thighs.... and then her bottom in the decidedly skimpy nylon briefs....<br /><br />His voice suddenly interrupting her as she tried to make what she did at Binney's sound more than just tea-girl: 'Have you had it very recently Miss?'<br /><br />'Wh..What Sir?'<br /><br />The hand pinched her bottom. 'What do you think I'm referring to? Sexual intercourse? Though I suppose you've had that alright. But what I am talking about is the cane. Have you had the cane recently?'<br /><br />'N... No Sir. Not... not since I've been at Binney's Sir.'<br /><br />'Really. You mean to say that Mr. Binney doesn't keep a cane in his office for girls whose work is not quite up to scratch?'<br /><br />'No Sir.'<br /><br />'And don't you think he should? For Miss Sally Middleton, at least?'<br /><br />Sally swallowed nervously. The direction of his remarks was all too obvious.<br /><br />'Sir I... I do my job properly Sir...'<br /><br />'Do you indeed? Well in my experience a girl is never doing anything completely properly and always benefits from regular correction. And your employers are most misguided if they think otherwise. Yes Miss - faults and shortcomings, including serious ones, are not difficult to find in young women of your age. His hand pinched her bottom again through the brief panties. 'For instance at this moment these knickers you are wearing are most unsuitable. Much too brief. Do you know that Miss?'<br /><br />'Well I... Yes Sir.'<br /><br />'Yes, well do you know what I am going to do then? Before I write out your reference? I am going to take them down and give you a little reminder of what apparently you have been missing. You know what I am talking about of course? I am talking about the cane. On your bare bottom. And then perhaps when next you think of putting on such unsuitably scanty garments you will at least think twice.'<br /><br />This was it. Sally, redfaced, head lowered, bit her lip. She had known that it would inevitably come to this. Mr. Grant's hand was withdrawn from her skirt. He got up and went to his cupboard.... the cupboard which she knew from long and painful experience contained his canes.<br /><br />'Right Miss. Over the chair if you please. The usual position. And then we'll give that bottom a little taste of what it's been missing.'<br /><br />Automatically she did as she was told - well, didn't you always with Mr. Grant do as you were told? - lowering herself over the seat of the chair, her head down and her bottom up. Up and in position for that hateful whippy cane now lying on his desk.<br /><br />She felt her skirt abruptly pulled up, round her waist, to reveal of course the offending knickers - semi-transparent navy-blue nylon and very brief, leaving a good deal of soft pale rump quite bare. Quite definitely they were not St. Monica's approved wear and Mr. Grant made sounds of disapproval ('Really these are quite unacceptable!') as he slipped them down, to her nylon tops at mid-thigh. Sally cringed - terribly conscious of her bottom now completely bare.... unconstrained... defenceless... The defencelessness sharply emphasised as Mr. Grant's hand came down hard in a gratuitous spank across both buttocks.... 'Keep it still Miss.'<br /><br />Yes the moment of truth had arrived and there was nothing to do now except grit your teeth in anticipation of the first stinging cut. Her buttocks automatically clenched as for a moment she forgot that that was against the rules. 'Stop that!' His hand slapping her bottom again. 'Keep the cheeks relaxed.' His hand fondling.... 'And get it up a bit more.' Yes that seemed to be.... just about right....<br /><br />Thwack! 'Oooooh!' The first one as always even worse than you imagined it would be. The sheer pain of it slashing into the bare flesh, abruptly dispelling any trace of that half dream-like feeling that had enveloped you ever since entering his room; for you just could not be anything but wide awake after that.<br /><br />And barely time to grit your teeth again before.... Thwack! 'Ooooohh!' the cane searing down for a second stroke. Grit your teeth and try to keep your legs straight and your bottom still or he would simply add more to the six you'd been promised. Grit your teeth and grip the legs of the chair as tightly as you could....<br /><br />Thwack! 'Oooohhh!' Oh please Jesus! You are dimly aware that you are crying.... Thwack! 'Oh! Please! Please no more...' Thwack!......... Thwack!<br /><br />It was finally over, the six red stripes on her bottom the evidence. Her sobbing now the only sound in that brightly sunlit room.<br /><br />Then Mr. Grant's voice telling her she could get up. Painfully she did so; and pulled her knickers back up again, up over a desperately stinging rear. At least it was over and she had paid Mr. Grant's price. He would now write her reference and she would be able to go. She turned a flushed and tear-stained face towards him as he started to speak again....<br /><br />-o-O-o-<br /><br />Outside Keith stood leaning on his car - with growing impatience. It seemed an age since she'd gone - this chap must be writing reams and reams. Once again he gazed around: at the empty quad, the building opposite with it's windows like blank vacant eyes. The place certainly appeared quite deserted, apart from a couple of pigeons wheeling around, though Sally and presumably this schoolmaster were in there somewhere....<br /><br />Not being familiar with St. Monica's of course he didn't know the lay-out, didn't know that Mr. Grant's room was in fact in one of the wings at the rear. And then also it was on the first floor so that you couldn't anyway look in - unless you were one of those pigeons. Couldn't look in and see.... Sally.... over that chair.... her bare bottom.... and the cane. No there was no way of seeing this, or of observing anything else round that side of the building. The Sick Room was there of course, again on the first floor....<br /><br />Keith heaved another big sigh: looked once more at his watch. Wherever had she got to? Perhaps the old duffer was giving her tea, that was why they were so long ....<br /><br />Finally, at last, Sally appeared at the entrance where she had gone in and looking at his watch Keith saw it was 3.40 - over an hour! She stepped out into the sunlight and commenced to walk, somewhat stumblingly, across the tarmac.<br /><br />Back in the car she seemed tense, distracted, and what with that rather uncertain way she had been walking Keith wondered if she was alright. Perhaps the heat? Or maybe this Grant had refused to write the reference? No, she was O.K. she said and she had the reference. What took so long then? Were they having tea or something?<br /><br />'Yes,' she said, 'Yes we had some tea.' It was a lie of course: a little white lie but what else could she say? The truth? She winced at the thought, at the utter horror of Keith ever knowing....<br /><br />The last thing she wanted to do now was to stop at that place - in the woods, but Keith insisted and of course he'd been planning on it but she really couldn’t face it had suddenly she blurted out what had happened. Keith naturally was furious. ‘You let him cane you? How could you? Let me see’ Quickly Keith grabbed poor Sally and pulled her over his knees. He pulled up her skirt and saw her reddened bottom. ‘I’m going to punish you for this’ He said ‘How dare you bare your bottom for some old teacher. It’s disgraceful’ , and with that he grabbed the waistband of her knickers, pulled them off her bottom for the second time in just an hour and began a painful hand-spanking which brought the poor, reddened globes back to life. Eventually he tired of his enviable task but not before he had told the poor gilr that henceforth she should expect similar – or more painful – treatment if ever she transgressed again.<br /><br />-o-O-o-<br /><br />Back at school the place looked as deserted as ever and indeed now had only the one solitary occupant. He - Mr. Grant, Deputy Head - was looking out from his window at the lawn and noting how parched the grass was getting. He had better tell the gardener to do some watering when he came in the morning. He turned away, and happening to notice that his cane was still on his desk went to return it to the cupboard. He was always a most precise, tidy man.<br /><br />He swished the cane through the air with some satisfaction. It had been a most rewarding afternoon. Well, it was not every day that an extremely attractive ex-pupil returned and you just happened to have something she wanted quite so badly..... mmmm... Rewarding in the extreme. And having once sampled it he had every intention of trying it again.<br /><br />It was true that he didn't have Miss Sally Middleton's address. But that was a minor problem for he could easily get it from her mother. Yes: in fact he might even.... try Mrs. Middleton's number right now. He went to his bookcase for the old list of parents' addresses and phone numbers. Yes, here it was....<br /><br />It was all very pleasant and civilized. A cordial chat with a charming lady - who like most mothers of St. Monica's pupils had no inkling of certain aspects of the school's regime, and certainly no inkling of what Mr. Grant could be like when he had a defenceless girl alone in his office. Yes, a cordial chat at the end of which he was writing down an address on his memo pad. A London address: Finchley.<br /><br />'She shares a flat with her friend Charlotte Greene,' said Mrs. Middleton, 'until she gets married at least.' And Mr. Grant was given some gratuitous details of the wedding plans, to which he listened with polite interest before thanking the lady.<br /><br />'Shall I tell her you called?' she inquired.<br /><br />'Oh I shouldn't do that,' said Mr. Grant. 'I might drop in to see her and I'd like it to be a surprise.'<br /><br />'Oh how nice. Yes, alright: I won't say a word then.’John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-4107738168537448502010-04-16T06:38:00.001-07:002011-04-04T04:01:40.012-07:00A Prefect's Pleasure<em>A wonderful schoolgirl story, this. Sophie's own description of her tawsing on her tightly knickered-bottom is particularly strong.</em><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRhvGBXQdnHQNMvZSquTPGHOsqSn32aYbd7JBcAhDxWPH2vaT_kB5irXRS03g4G6vuihIMGhL7Bf0HbpiBR4LNue7Oh_uVSZrUSjeG991hv395gxs3J3grlGqBScDTY-3EVWmurbnmk7ve/s1600/pp+2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 182px; height: 282px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRhvGBXQdnHQNMvZSquTPGHOsqSn32aYbd7JBcAhDxWPH2vaT_kB5irXRS03g4G6vuihIMGhL7Bf0HbpiBR4LNue7Oh_uVSZrUSjeG991hv395gxs3J3grlGqBScDTY-3EVWmurbnmk7ve/s320/pp+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460729493796946562" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqhu2SZjLXY9dcRzqTXwUffaZCpISPvYs9YURTsUoHtzuRURJTCL5Dw6pYfF9EbX10oXyRcqgYN7A6FyBrMMOEJE6JvQ2GK0xDphtDuhUtWV1aGfVet04iHOjdwAd4KamqzjCzzs9rCGMZ/s1600/pp+1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 179px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqhu2SZjLXY9dcRzqTXwUffaZCpISPvYs9YURTsUoHtzuRURJTCL5Dw6pYfF9EbX10oXyRcqgYN7A6FyBrMMOEJE6JvQ2GK0xDphtDuhUtWV1aGfVet04iHOjdwAd4KamqzjCzzs9rCGMZ/s320/pp+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460729384015104530" /></a><br />You know how it is, no matter how close a group of people seem to be to one another, there’s always one who's really only on the fringes and whose membership of the gang is more tenuous than many of the others. It was like that at my school:<br />there was a group of us in the upper sixth, a sort of natural elite comprising Rowena, who was Head Girl and a half dozen or so of us Senior Prefects. In our case, the one on the periphery was a girl called Sophie Grant.<br />Sophie wasn’t actually a member of the prefecture. she was too eager to please everybody and anxious for a quiet life to be able to cope with the responsibility. If a controversy arose, Sophie Elizabeth Grant was always to be found sitting resolutely on the fence. If a junior was in trouble, she unfailingly wanted them to be given a second chance. All very laudable, perhaps, as a rule, but at a top-ranking private school like ours, the qualities prized most were competitiveness, leadership and decisiveness. Still. she was a good sort and we had no objection to her tagging along with us.<br />To the rest of the school, Sophie was as much of our clique as any of us, but amongst ourselves was the knowledge that she wasn't wholly accepted as a member of the ‘in crowd'. She had a tendency to wander off to follow solitary pursuits; she wasn’t quite as good as the rest of us at games: she put her personal activities ahead of our communal per suits; her work was rated B-plus, when the rest of us got A-minus. However, we'd known her for seven years, she was a fellow Upper Sixth former and she had the right sort of background. She was more 'in' than ‘out’ I suppose you could say.<br />It is quite probable that the minor differences that distanced Sophie from the rest of us would have been of no consequence had it not been for the events of our final term at Bream Academy.<br />As befits an institution which prides itself on producing young women of high academic distinction and impeccable social poise, discipline was strict. During term time there was to be no fraternising with members of the opposite sex, no visits to the nearby town in groups of less than three and strict adherence to the wearing of school uniform. Corporal punishment was employed in the lower school often by the Senior Prefects. But though there was no rule stating that seniors were not to be caned, more dignified punishments were usually meted out to older students such as lines, detentions or - in extreme cases- expulsion.<br />Of course, as one grew older, so one became bolder and more rash it about flouting the rules and so it was that Rowena came to be 'walking out' with Hamish Clarke, her opposite number at the St Patrick's Institute for Boys on the other side of town. They made an attractive couple, sharing a common bond of intellect and affection and they were considering accepting places at the same college to continue their studies the following autumn. If took a lot of effort! on both parties to be able to meet regularly and a secretly and those of us privileged to know the details of their relationship naturally became involved In their clandestine assignations. Thus our already close group was bound together even closer by the sharing of the secret and the excitement. Until Sophie Grant spoiled it, that is.<br /><br />Rowena roamed around the large study she shared with two other Senior Prefects, adjusting furnishings, thumbing through books and becoming increasingly agitated. The rest of us arranged ourselves as casually as was possible on the chairs and desks around the room, all anxious to talk but unwilling to initiate conversation.<br />As the door handle turned, Rowena perched on the edge of her desk, suddenly ominously calm.<br />Sophie entered the room. registering surprise at seeing us arranged around the perimeter watching her arrival.<br />'A fourth-former said you were look for me’ she said to Rowena in her usual friendly tone, a hint of a lisp making her seem younger and more vulnerable than the rest of us.<br />'That's right. Come in and close the door. Sorry, there don't seem to be enough chairs left' Sophie could not fail to notice the coldness in Rowena's voice and looked around apprehensively as she guided the heavy door to its frame. With nowhere to sit, she lent casually against the wall, but Rowena didn't want her to be at ease 'Come closer' she told the flustered wretch. 'We have important matters to discuss' <br />Sophie found herself having to stand in the centre of the study on a faded multi-coloured rug where it was more normal for recalcitrant Juniors to be positioned for a pep talk, a sharp spanking or swift caning on their hands. (Bottom canings though common, were not official and were usually administered after lights out in the gym with a lot of attendant ritual. Although we would never admit it, a bottom caning was often ordered more for the amusement of the Prefects than for the moral reform of a naughty adolescent.<br />The two girls stared at one another and I was struck, not for the first time, by the extreme contrast to one another. There could be no denying that they were both very attractive young women. but the fact was manifested in completely different ways, Sophie had the looks and build of a typical 'Page 3' girl, a fact she wasn't unaware of and which she consciously used to manipulate situations to her advantage. Rumours abounded about her romantic escapades, but she had never deigned to confirm or deny them. If we hadn't been so enlightened and confident in our own academic and social competence we might have felt jealous of her, but as it was, we tended to almost pity her for her 'dumb blonde' cuteness.<br />Her honey-toned hair fell loosely over her shoulders, the fringe accentuating her saucer-like blue eyes. She ,had a typically English flawless peaches-and-cream complexion and a permanently pouting mouth that made her seem to be perpetually blowing kisses.<br />At the other extreme was Rowena very tall, athletically slim, strong featured and extremely serious-minded, in addition to being Head Girl, she was Captain of the netball, lacrosse and swimming teams and active in the full range of sporting activities, Her body was sleek and firm, her limbs obviously powerful, her auburn hair was cropped into a functional wavy cap, giving her a slight resemblance to an eagle with her sharply-defined face. Whatever the situation, she was always perfectly turned out and had no time for slovenliness in others. She had once played Diana, the hunting goddess in an end-of-term play and there had never been any doubt about casting the part.<br />'We've not seen much of you recently,' our Head Girl said conversationally.'What have you been doing with your time?<br />'Oh, you know, various things.'<br />Sophie stalled. 'I’ve been desperately trying to catch up with my Geography assignments and one of the fourth formers asked me to coach her French. Things like that...'<br />I have to admit, I admired her guile. Her eyes never left Rowena’s and there was no give-away fidgeting as she gave her reply.<br />'That's very interesting,' Rowena continued in her chatty way. 'I'm amazed you've been able to do all that and break bounds to meet my boyfriend three times a week'.<br />Now Sophie did look away, but only momentarily. When her eyes once again locked with Rowena's, her mouth twisted contemptuously <br />'Your boyfriend’ she 'spat. 'Your boyfriend? Hamish has been bored with you for months, he Just didn't get around to spelling it out for you. You don't have copyright on ways of leaving school to meet lovers, you know.' <br />The force and venom of her reply astounded us all and we stared blatantly as though seeing her for the first time.<br />'What you say may have some truth in it’ Rowena responded coolly. 'but I believe you have - shall we say - gone further in your liaison with Hamish Clarke than is generally the practice of Bream Academy girls. As Head Girl, I feel I must put aside my personal feelings and involvement in the matter and decide how such conduct should be dealt with. You could be considered a corrupting influence on some of our younger girls’. <br />'You hypocritical...!' Sophie began, but Rowena was not to be interrupted.<br />'It's always difficult, even for the Head Girl, to find an appropriate, condign, punishment when a senior commits a misdemeanour. It’s especially difficult when the fault is so serious. The nearest incident I can think of for comparison was that of Katherine Robson two years ago, you probably remember. she stole a valuable watch from another Prefect and pawned it in the town to finance a weekend tryst. The Head Girl at the tune felt she had to report the incident to out principle as it was beyond her capabilities to deal with. I think I feel similarly about your conduct, Sophie '<br />‘You can't report me to Dr Tern’ Sophie snarled. 'I'd tell her about yourinvolvement. You wouldn't remain Head Girl for long when it became known that you've been getting Senior Prefects to help you break bounds to meet a boy in town'<br />'Don't get hysterical, Sophie. Dr Tern would realise that you were lying out of spite. ' Rowena leaned forward and smiled confidently. 'Shall we think again?'<br />None of us knew what Rowena had in mind and more than one of us could have been described as gawping at the two leading players in this strange scenario. The Head Girl sat more comfortably on her perch and once again assumed the aloof persona we were used to seeing.<br />'I don't want to see you expelled, Sophie, but your conduct cannot be ignored, 1 give you the choice: do you want me to report your behaviour to Dr Tern, knowing that she'll ask your parents to remove you, or would you prefer the problem to be settled between ourselves?'<br />For the first time, Sophie's poise slipped, but she was still on the offensive 'You'd do it, wouldn’t you? You'd really get me thrown out of the Academy just because you couldn’t keep your boyfriend from wandering off to more interesting pastures. And you'd happily broadcast all the smut you could manufacture, right?'<br />Despite the query, it was obvious she didn't expect a response. 'Well, it’s obvious I don't want to be expelled and it’s equally obvious you're serious about this ridiculous kangaroo court you've set up. So go on, tell me my fate - what sentence are you going to pass? Detention? Lines? Loss of privileges?’<br />I don't know whether it was her aggressive defiance that influenced Rowena's reply or whether she had made up her mind before gathering us all together, but her words sent a cold shiver of shock and anticipation down my spine.<br />'You will be caned’ she said.<br /><br />* * * * * *<br />There were several stifled gasps from the rest of us as we all stared at Rowena, unable to believe she was serious. There was no precedent – true or apocryphal - for anyone of our age being caned. Sixth-formers ran no risk of the rod. regardless of what they did wrong. Glancing nervously at one another, it was clear we all felt her statement to be some kind of joke. Sophie was obviously expending a lot of energy in preventing herself from responding. If it hadn't been for the alternating doubt and shock in her eyes and her hands clasped tightly (symbolically?) behind her back, we could have believed she hadn’t heard. No doubt the stunned silence lasted only a moment, but it seemed an age before the senior girl asked, 'Did ovum hear me? Do you understand?'.<br />Sophie swallowed hard, took a deep breath and responded defiantly,’ You wouldn't dare.'<br />As though she hadn't heard, Rowena continued, adopting a tone normally reserved for dealing with junior miscreants:<br />'You have committed four offences as 1 see it. Firstly, you have broken school bounds; secondly you have been associating, to put it mildly, with a boy form St Patrick’s; thirdly you have done me a personal injustice by seducing my boyfriend and finally you have generally behaved in a way that could bring the name of our school into disrepute. You have already agreed that your peers should punish you, rather than referring the matter to the principal: I have therefore decided – as I said - that you shall be "flogged" as they call it at St Pat's. Because of your age and the seventy of your wrong-doings. I do feel that the usual "six of the best" prescribed for the juniors is inadequate. There was an expectant hush as Rowena paused before announcing, ‘For each of your wicked misdemeanours, Sophie, you will receive eight strokes, on your buttocks'<br />Now we were all chattering at once, except for Sophie, who was too dumbfounded to respond. The punishment was unheard of in the history of the school and some of us expressed concern at the idea of a girl - albeit well-rounded - being able to endure 32 strokes of the cane. It must be admitted, though. that Sophie’s super figure and glam looks .gave rise to a certain amount of small-minded resentment amongst some of my fellow prefects, and this could well have accounted for the rather spiteful and unsympathetic atmosphere in the study.<br />'Naturally, Rowena went on, raising her voice above the noise and sounding harsh and strident, 'you cannot be expected to take your total punishment at one go. Instead you will report to the gymnasium in full PE kit, at midnight each Friday for the next four weeks to receive your well-deserved punishment in stages. Have you any comments?'<br />Sophie was staring at the ground 'I know you’re serious about this, Rowena.' she said softly, 'even if some of the others don't believe it. I'll comply with your suggestion because I don’t want to be expelled just before the exams and I know you won't just let the matter drop.'<br />'You can go now, Sophie’ Rowena said, returning to her former friendly attitude, 'If I don't see you over the next couple of days, I look forward to seeing you at midnight on Friday’<br />Sophie turned and left, visibly shaken and pale, but clinging to her composure. Each of us wondered if she would keep the ominous appointment. Rowena's 'sentence' on her was totally outrageous on many counts. But she was genuinely angry and would most certainly have reported Sophie to Dr Tern if she failed to turn up. Sophie's nature, on the other hand, was so malleable that – protest though she had – any other reaction from her to the Head Girl 's orders would have been hard to imagine. I wondered if it were some great hoax and that scaring Sophie into reporting to the gym in her kit, with the attendant humiliation of being laughed at would in the event suffice to satisfy Rowena's need for revenge. Our Head Girl refused to discuss the matter further, except to tell us all to be present on Friday in the gym.<br />During the intervening days, Sophie avoided all contact with our group, which was not surprising and in many ways was a great relief. Amongst ourselves, many conversations on the subject were started but were aborted in embarrassed speculation. Friday evening found us all unusually engrossed in individual prefectorial duties around the school and even after we had done our 'lights out' round at 10.30, we kept to our separate areas of our two shared dormitories, reading or pretending to sleep.<br />Twenty minutes before midnight brought Rowena to our rooms to gather us up. She was immaculately turned out in full school uniform and urged us to dress similarly. A couple of us had changed into our civilian clothes as was usual in the evenings and the others had changed into their nightclothes, expecting the whole performance<br />to be called off, or for their attendance to no longer be required. Hurriedly we all changed back into our weekday wear and put on our piped prefects' blazers, desperately trying to match Rowena for smartness.<br />We tiptoed down me long corridors and stairways leading to the basement gym. There were no hard-and-fast rules about Senior Prefects remaining in their dormitories at night or specific rules about 'lights out' time for us, but given that our mission was not exactly orthodox, the need for secrecy was great. It was the same when a night-time caning was ordered for a junior, a rare occurrence, but not unknown if we were feeling particularly malicious or if the victim had done something unusually heinous.<br />As the stroke of midnight rang out from the school clock above the quad we ranged along the far wall of the gymnasium. We must all have had the simultaneous thought that Sophie would not turn up because we all stiffened in mild surprise as the door creaked open. There was only one light switched on and at first she had difficulty spotting us on the other side of the room. She. too, registered surprise at seeing us all but strove to move confidently as she approached Rowena.<br />She was dressed, as, directed, in the regulation white aertex shirt, with the shadow of her bra clearly visible, navy pleated gym shorts, white ankle socks and white plimsolls. Her hair was caught back in an elastic band and she looked for all the world as though she were about to take part in a normal sports lesson. Rowena circled her, carefully inspecting her outfit for faults, evidently finding none. She stood directly in front of Sophie and they stared into each other's eyes, willing the other to speak or look away.<br />Eventually, Rowena stepped back and addressed Sophie in her ‘reasonable’ voice.<br />'Well done, Grant! You have arrived punctually and dressed according to my instructions. I assume from this that you wish the punishment to proceed as agreed?'<br />Sophie looked away and mumbled an affirmative response<br />'Good, good. I suppose you are dressed exactly as required?' Rowena asked ominously. We looked at each other in confusion: anyone could see that Sophie was wearing our full PE kit. Still regarding the toes of her gym shoes, Sophie muttered something to the effect of 'Of course', but started violently as Rowena snatched up the side of the flared shorts, revealing scanty pink knickers beneath. Again, once we were in the sixth form, school rules about underclothing were not enforced, but evidently Rowena wanted Sophie to fully adopt the role of naughty schoolgirl, panties and all.<br />‘I really don't think these are regulation knickers, Grant. ' she said 'Remove your right plimsoll.' The embarrassment Sophie felt must have been almost matched by that of the rest of us. There was a games mistress in the school who, if she caught a pupil wearing non-regulation briefs for her class, would make the girl remove one of her plimsolls and spank her behind with it. Surely Rowena wouldn’t ... ? But she did. 'Touch your toes. Grant’ she commanded and then proceeded to slap the backs of Sophie's thighs twice, just below her bum-cheeks. A red disc appeared on the back of each leg, obviously quite painful, but Sophie stoically ignored them as she replaced her shoe and tied the lace. She then presented herself to the group once more, now slightly flushed.<br />'We won't waste time, Grant,' said Rowena fetching the long whippy cane from where she had earlier propped it in the corner. 'Tonight's punishment is for breaking school bounds and as you know, you are to receive eight strokes of the Head Girl’s cane on your bottom. Tell me that you agree that the punishment is fair and that you wish me to administer it now.'<br />After a moment's pause. Sophie recited, 'I broke school bounds and deserve to receive eight strokes of your cane on my bottom. Please begin my punishment, Rowena’.'<br />'Bend ever the bars, Grant.'<br />The horizontal parallel bars had been set up with the lower one just a few inches above the floor. The other one was fixed around waist level. The equipment used to facilitate a thrashing varied according to the Prefects' moods: sometimes it was the vaulting horse, on the other occasions the box,yet others might find the victim kneeling over the low wooden forms. By far the favourite piece of apparatus, however, if the girl was well-developed, was the horizontal bars, positioned so that she had to really stretch to grip the lower beam and thus accentuating the target area.<br />Sophie sighed in resignation to her fate, stood on tiptoe and draped herself over the hard smooth wooden upper bar, grasping the edge of the wooden beam with her fingertips and spreading her legs to maintain her balance. We all knew, from personal and vicarious experience, how difficult it was to maintain this position, because it put a great strain or one’s leg muscles and one always felt that the slightest movement of either limb would cause one to roll over the bars completely. The feeling of vulnerability was therefore very intense. We knew from information gathered throughout the grapevine that at St Pats only one bar was used at waist level with the boys arms spread along it. However, we preferred our technique - or at least, we did if we were the caner rather than the canee.<br />Rowena stood behind and slightly to the left of Sophie, her arm raising the supple cane high slowly and deliberately. We were mesmerised by the sight, silently arranging ourselves around her, but out of the range of the cane, for a better view.<br /><br />Suddenly the weapon sliced through the air – far too quickly for our eyes to follow and landed and landed with an echoing CRACK across Sophie Grant's curvy rear. She grunted, but retained her composure. The second stroke fell after a moment’s pause, giving the recipient just enough time to fully appreciate the effect of its predecessor before impact of its own sting slightly lower down the navy-clad rump. Apart from a short gasp and adjusting her fingers on the lower rail, though, Sophie remained quietly dignified.<br /><br />The loose-fitting pleated shorts rode up and flared over her raised bottom outlining it perfectly and revealing the frill of the illicit pink panties clearly visible. On being reminded of this additional disobedience Rowena clearly decided that further humiliation was deserved and grabbed the waistband of the shorts and dragged them down to poor Sophie’s knees. Somehow the sight of the two bum-cheeks tightly clad in a tiny pair of sexy knickers was even more shocking. Her bottom was scarcely protected and our head girl imparted the next strokes with slow deliberation –each one landing with full force on the drum-tight nylon - a heart-stopping WHIP-THWACK - on a different section of Sophie's behind and timed to afford maximum effect.<br />Throughout, Sophie remained almost silent, very obviously striving not to give Rowena the satisfaction of a response, and this was increasing Rowena's anger.<br />After the fourth stroke flashed, Rowena allowed a longer pause than had hitherto been the trend –possibly to rest her arm - and delivered a short lecture.<br />You must realise, Grant, that I am not administering this punishment out of personal anger, but because you have behaved in such an outrageous manner that no other way can be found to make you suitably penitent.You acknowledged as much when you asked me give you the caning. We are now hallway through this stage of your thrashing: the next four strokes will encourage you to reconsider your actions and modify your behaviour in the future. I also hope that the fact that I have exposed your knickers to the rest of the prefects will make you obey school uniform rules in future.<br />Stepping back, she raised the cane high so that it whistled its way on to the target - the flesh just below the line of Sophie's skimpy panties. There was a harsher sound of impact and now it was impossible for Sophie not to react. She groaned deeply as the cane struck home, and then let go of the lower bar for an instant in a reflexive impulse to rub her rear. She knew better than to do so, however, and with her lower lip visibly trembling, she forced herself to remain in position. Rowena paused for several seconds, during which Sophie must have felt all our eyes burning holes in her up-thrust buttocks.<br />Number six landed loudly, parallel to and just below the stroke before. Now Sophie's instincts got the better of her and she brought her arms up to grasp the upper beam, her back arching, gasping, with tears spurting from under clenched eyelids <br />'Get back into position at once, Grant!'<br />'No,' Sophie sobbed 'Please, Rowena, that's enough. You've made your point. I'm sorry about what I did but I just can’t take any more...'<br />She turned to face her chastiser and just the look on Rowena's face compelled her to once more take up her undignified stance. Slowly, she once again upended herself, two lurid red weals now glaringly visible below the flimsy knickers.<br />Once again, Rowena made her wait, all but inviting us lesser prefects to feast our gaze on Sophie Grant’s humiliated bottom.<br />Finally, as it if it would never happen,the cane described its shrill arc, landing with a startling THWACK below its predecessors. There were now three angry parallel lines close together on the soft vanilla-toned flesh. The effect on Sophie was almost comica1 as she sobbed and spluttered and kicked her legs compulsively, Rowena observed silently until Sophie quietened down again and then raised her arm for the<br />final swipe. By now Sophie was beyond responding and merely sobbed hysterically as It arrived predictably even lower just where her bottom cheeks joined her thighs. Rowena's interest was obviously waning now that Sophie had lost control and been reduced to begging in vain. She stared impassively at her victim's heaving backside and the fiery band at the top of Sophie's legs. The marks from the plimsoll slaps barely showed in comparison.<br />It was a long, long time before Sophie's crying subsided into pitiful whimpers and the beaten girl eventually managed to ease herself back over the parallel bars and stand upright.<br />Her face looked as red and puffy as the area Rowena had punished and she made no attempt to wipe away the tears or rub her anguished posterior. She looked a sorry sight with her shorts down by her ankles and her pain as she bent down to pull them up was all-too-obvious.<br />She seemed completely stunned.<br />In a low, calm voice Rowena said 'We'll see you here at the same time next week. When you have become yourself again, return to your dormitory. Goodnight.'<br />We fell in behind her and trooped back to our sleeping quarters leaving Sophie to shower and change and think. That night I found it very hard sleep.<br />The following week was uneventful and Sophie avoided our company. She made some excuse to get out of games and swimming, so we presumed that the evidence of her harsh chastisement was still visible.<br />On Friday night we assembled as before and exactly on time Sophie arrived. Again, she appeared impeccably turned out, though with more apparent signs of nervousness. Rowena once again circled her, tapping the long cane against the palm of her own hand.<br />'What kind of knickers are you wearing, Grant?' she barked <br />'Regulation navy'<br />'Prove it. Remove your shorts’<br />Realising that argument was futile, Sophie resignedly unfastened the hook al the side of her shorts and undid the zip. With as much dignity as the situation allowed, she slipped the navy folds down the full length of her splendid legs and stepped out of them. I assumed that this indicated an intention on Rowena's part to cane Sophie in just her briefs.<br />'So you are. Take them off.'<br />'WHAT?'<br />Sophie's surprise was shared by us all because of its implication. I was shocked to realise that Rowena obviously intended to administer a bare bottom caning - an extreme rarity, even where younger pupils were concerned.<br />I felt my own bum-cheeks clench in sympathetic shame and anticipation, but a certain surging in my belly also told me I was intrigued - if not excited - by the prospect.<br />We watched, fascinated, as the schoolgirl knickers - a souvenir from much earlier days, to judge by the painfully and revealing tight fit slowly descended the shapely columns to join the shorts on the floor.<br />'Very good. Grant’ Rowena gloated<br />'You obviously learnt something from last week's session. Let me know you understand why we are here and how you wish me to punish you'<br />Sophie bit her lower lip so hard I was surprised she didn't break the skin, but at last she said very softly, in a monotone, 'We are here because 1 need to be punished for breaking the school rules. 1 would like you to deliver eight strokes of the cane on my naked bottom'<br />'Very well. Grant. If you insist. Take up your position’<br />Once again. Sophie's well developed form draped itself over the pre-positioned bars. Without her shorts to hold it in place, her shirt rode up high on her back, leaving a bare expanse from above her waist down to her ankle socks. Her bottom and thighs were drawn taut and clearly visible were three grazes and several small bruises where the cane had hit the naked flesh the week before. They were mimicked by a long line around her waist and at the top of each thigh where the tight panties had pinched. Because of the need to part and stretch her legs in order to maintain balance, we had a clear view of Sophie's teak toned pubic hair making her seem even more vulnerable and exposed<br />'COUNT EACH STROKE ALOUD’ ordered Rowena and with no more ado brought the first swipe down hard below the base of Sophie's back where her buttocks began the division.<br />Sophie's head bucked up, but she called out 'One' clearly and strongly 'Two,' she called. as the next landed with a sharp TWANG about an inch below.<br />‘Three’ and 'Four' were each gasped between clenched teeth as they landed close together on the crown of her seat which was now writhing over the beam. <br />'Five' was shrieked as the cane cracked down across the very centre of the punishment area. The force of it caused Sophie to snap upright her hands scrabbling to rub away the smart.<br />'Return to your correct position at once unless you want extra strokes you disobedient girl.'ordered Rowena.<br />'NO!' sobbed Sophie, her skin glowing with perspiration and her face awash with tears. <br />'BEND OVER!' she was commanded<br />Slowly she raised herself up and bent over the top bar. Eventually she found the strength and willpower to remove her hands from her backside and once more take hold of the lower beam.<br />'Six.' she mumbled just after the glowing spheres absorbed another biting whack. If Rowena continued to follow this path, she would inevitably strike the thigh flesh still tender from the previous week's ministrations. She paused and openly considered the situation.<br />The expanse of Sophie’s rear was covered with carefully spaced vivid raised red lines, looking awfully painful. Joining each weal to its neighbour was a paler pinkish band. I had never witnessed so harsh a punishment before and couldn’t really believe that Rowena would inflict yet another two strokes. Six of the best seemed more than enough somehow. However, even as I contemplated on this matter, Sophie’s tormentor was raising in the air and then swishing across the raging tramlines to light a long diagonal fire over both cheeks, top right to bottom left.<br />‘Seven’ she lisped, her bared buttocks continuing to spasm and shake.<br />'Eight!' she cried in a tear cracked croak but made no attempt to rise.<br />We gazed appalled at the evidence of our ‘justice’. Contrary to popular fantasy, girls boarding schools are not populated by elfin nymphets or curvaceous sex goddesses cavorting about naked in each other's beds. We tended to be very modest and scarcely ever saw one another unclothed. Certainly seeing Sophie's private areas on display was something of a revelation and even through the disfiguring welts, the soft fullness was undeniably alluring. I wanted to trace the patterns of the weals with my fingertips, to feel their texture and warmth. I also wondered how my own anatomy would have borne up under those circumstances.<br />'Same time next week’ Rowena murmured - herself somewhat subdued and left the gym. Someone went to assist Sophie, whose teeth were chattering and whose limbs obviously were not responding to her attempts to stand. Unfortunately, Rowena came back at that moment and saw this breach of protocol.<br />‘Julie Clements, how dare you help a disgraced pupil – do you want a trashing too?’ Julie looked terrified and apologised at once – in her current mood, Rowena might decide to beat any of us. ‘Very well, I’ll excuse you but if any of you breach discipline again you will be punished just as Sophie has been. Julie, you're now on my watch list if there's the slightest breach I'll have your knickers down for six stingers with the strap’.<br />We left poor Sophie gathering up her discarded garments, all of us sharing common mixture of shame for our part in her humiliation, excitement at what we had witnessed and contempt her weakness in bringing it upon herself and then putting up with it. But above anything else we were now terrified that if we gave her the slightest excuse, Rowena would have our bottom’s bared and would be bringing her viscious cane down without mercy.<br /><br />* * * * *<br />Once more, Sophie avoided contact with the rest of us during the ensuing days. Some of us tried to persuade Rowena to cal1 off the two remaining appointments but no mercy however was forthcoming and we just risked her punishing us for insubordination.<br /><br />Midnight Friday found us yet again in attendance in the gym. The school clock chimed twelve and we heard the click of the door to the changing room opening, but it must have been a full minute before Sophie silently and sullenly joined us.<br />‘I thought we’d change the procedure tonight, Grant, I borrowed this from our friends at St Patrick's and we thought we'd try it out. Arms outstretched towards Sophie, Rowena displayed a two-tongued tawse. We had heard of this famous implement from our contacts at the boys' school, but until now we had never actually seen it. To my eyes it possessed a magnetic threatening power and looking at it I felt a churning in my guts. I just kept thinking how someone had deliberately cut the leather with the explicit intention of creating a painful weopon to punish the bottoms of naughtly schoolgirls. What went through that person's mind as they did their job? My mind boggled.<br />‘As this will be a new experience for all of us, Grant’ Rowena said matter of factly, '1 would like you to write an account of tonight’s activity so that we can all gain greater understanding. It doesn't have to be a particularly long report, but I would like it to be fully detailed - 'graphic ' 1 think is the appropriate word. Let us know how it feels. Write it over me weekend and put neat copies in our pigeon-holes by Monday lunch-time. Right get ready.<br />Sophie arranged herself in the familiar position and awaited her fate.<br />On Monday, each of us received a copy of her account.<br />Rowena told me to get in position for the third stage of my punishment. As instructed, I was wearing my old gymslip with tight white knickers underneath. I was very nervous as I had no idea how the tawse would feel and my bottom was still very sore from the bare-arse caning I had received the previous week. - The individual cuts were still clearly visible and I still felt bruised and tender. Although not particularly thick, I hoped my knickers would offer some kind of protection. I assumed, correctly, that Rowena would make me raise my skirt.<br />The first blow was almost reassuring, it landed squarely on the centre of my bottom and although very heavy it had none of the excruciating bite of the cane. I absorbed the first two strokes with barely a murmur as they were spaced well apart. The third landed on top of an earlier one. though, and it made me yelp. My bottom began to progress from a feeling of tolerable warmth to uncomfortable heat. <br />Rowena then decided that I wasn’t suffering enough and decided to take my knickers down. Like last time, this was incredibly embarrassing but worse it exposed my tender flesh to the strap much more directly. I found the next three blows almost unbearable as each fell on a part of me that had either already been hit or was exceptionally sore from the earlier caning. The tongues of the tawse splayed out so that the impact was doubled each time spreading the scorching discomfort much more quickly and effectively. My feet started kicking up behind me and I found it really difficult to stop them, although I was terrified of losing my balance and toppling over the bars. <br />Given that the tawse was new to us all. Rowena showed remarkable dexterity in making the final two blows land alternately on each cheek.. Later I was to see that the way the strap was divided made each stroke from it leave two distinct impressions.. The pain was incredible and I shrieked and cried like a child.<br />When the others had left. I hobbled into the changing room as I had the previous weeks and ran a cool shower. I stripped off and examined my reflection in one of the full length mirrors. I was shocked by the appearance of my bottom. The marks that remained from the cane were now highlights on a vista of angry solid red, with my thighs each bearing four broad scarlet bands. I knew from my earlier experience that these would be more irritating than the damage to my actual bullocks as my skirt and knickers would constantly graze them at even the slightest movement.<br />I took my shower and towelled dry - gently – in front of the mirror. As well as being sore and red, I was aware that my bottom was also swollen. The flesh feeling spongy to my touch. This was confirmed when I tried to put my panties on. My skin was too sensitive to be able to wear them. So I just wore my gymslip to return to the dorm. I slept. on my tummy and in the morning my bottom had returned to its normal size, although the high colour remained.<br />I am relieved to think that next week will bring an end to these painful beatings and in some ways wish the appointment could be brought forward. But I know that my bottom could not withstand further chastisement in its present delicate state.<br />None of us acknowledged receipt of the missive and we never alluded to its contents. I must confess, however, that 1 found them fascinating and reread my copy on more than a few occasions resolving to try the tawse out on a naughty junior as soon as I could find the excuse. <br />We met for the final session in the usual way and were surprised to find Sophie suitably attired and already waiting for us.<br />Rowena went to the store cupboard and came back triumphantly brandishing what at first seemed to be a bundle of twigs. Then we realised its true nature - it was a four-branched birch. We had once long ago read an account of soccer hoo1igans being birched on the Isle of Man and had spent many subsequent free periods speculating on this savage tool.<br />'Rowena, said Sarah, a normally fairly reserved member of the prefectoral group. 'You can't possibly give eight strokes with the birch. As it's got four parts, why not give her just three?' .<br />Rowena smiled sweetly. 'Of course I wouldn't dream of administering eight strokes from this. I had already decided to reduce the punishment to four. But one more word from you, Sarah and you’ll be bending over those bars to receive the other four yourself. Now, Grant, are you ready?’<br />Sophie eyes the dreaded weapon. ‘Please deliver four blows of the birch to my behind Rowena’ she said woodenly.<br />For the first time I saw somebody’s knees literally knock together as Sophie lurched towards the bars.<br />'Remove your shorts, they'll get in the way’ Rowena told her. 'You can keep your knickers on, though’ <br />Trembling Visibly, Sophie prepared herself. Her knuckles were white, she gripped the lower bar. The navy knickers were stretched over the firm, round globes so that her burgeoning buttocks looked like ripe fruits trying to burst their skins.<br /><br />The first stroke landed with a vicious swish, bringing forth an animal wail from its subject. She jerked spasmodically, causing the second stroke to catch her naked thighs. A rhythmic panting scream burst forth and Rowena - obviously shocked by the strength Sophie's reaction – delivered the final two blows swiftly and without a clearly-defined aim. Scarlet streaks criss-crossed one another maniacally. Sophie's gyrations made her soft buttock flesh ripple. It was as though her knickers contained a pair of wild animals fighting to escape the confines. Amidst the stark whiteness of her shirt and against dark soberness of her panties and the milky-paleness of her skin the crimson slashes stood out in a crazy trellis her thigh-tops where they could be seen Sophie screamed and sobbed for half an hour and we all except Rowena, sat with her until she felt strong enough to shower. As she undressed we saw the full damage inflicted by the birch to the tender nether regions and each one of us gave an involuntary shudder.<br />* * * *<br /><br />It was a few weeks later that we were all lined up in assembly seated, as normal, behind Dr Tern and the rest of the staff. The headmistress stood at the lectern and said ‘I have today a very unpleasant duty. I leaned yesterday that a few weeks ago a major breach of school discipline took place when Sophie Grant was found to have broken bounds. Unfortunately, rather than refer this to me, our Head Girl, decided to take it upon herself to inflict punishment. Her chosen method has now been revealed to me by Grant’s parents and I have to say I am shocked at the savagery of the thrashings meted out. Grant has been in considerable discomfort for some time afterwards and her parents have threatened action against the school’<br />As the head went on I looked at Rowena – sitting, immaculately dressed as ever, and staring straight ahead without apparent concern.<br />‘Rowena Davies has been a fine pupil of this school and an excellent head girl but this almost sadistic beating of another girl goes way beyond what is acceptable. It is a flagrant breach of protocol and I have no option but to punish you, Rowena.’<br />The head girl, for the first time in her life, looked genuinely frightened.<br />‘Punish me?’ she said ‘but I’m head girl’.<br />‘That’s as may be’ replied Dr Tern ‘You have exceeded your remit and you must be punished. Since you chose to thrash Sophie Grant in front of her peers I have decided it is right to do the same to you. And I’ve decided to do it right now to avoid dragging this distressing incident out. Please step forward, Davies.’<br />One thing I’ll say for Rowena, she’s not a coward. She clearly knew that arguing was pointless and would only humiliate her further. She stepped forward stoically and looked straight at the headmistress.<br />‘I apologise for what I did, Dr Tern, but Sophie deserved a sound beating. I realise I broke school rules by administering it myself and I now deserve to be punished. Please let me know my fate’<br />Dr Tern rarely administered the cane but today was to be an exception. ‘You will receive twelve strokes of the cane, Rowena. Six on the best over your knickers and the final six on the bare. Now please remove your skirt and bend over, grasping your ankles. <br />With the whole school watching in awe, the head girl unzipped her elegant navy skirt and pulled it down over her bottom and stepped neatly out of it. The sight that then greeted us what more like something from a glamour mag than a schoolroom. Rowena was wearing a set of knickers and suspenders in purest white of the sexiest kind. A broderie anglaise pattern across the seat of the pants allowed her honey brown flesh to show thorough. Dark stockings set off her legs.<br />’I’ve no doubt you’d award extra strokes for non-regulation uniform, Rowena’ remarked Dr Tern sarcastically ‘but I think you’ll find the thrashing I’m going to administer quite sufficient. Now bend over’<br />Rowena did so, the fullness of her bottom tightening the fabric of the knickers to bursting point. Dr Tern picked up a thick but flexible cane from behind the lectern and tested it on the drum-tight satin. Then, quite suddenly, she raised it and whacked it down on Rowena’s bottom.<br />I won’t describe the next few strokes but, as I’d expect, Rowena made no sound and merely counted each stroke ‘one, thank you Dr Tern, two, thank you Dr Tern...’ and so on. The head hit hard but you wouldn’t have thought so from Rowena’s demeanour. She was so strong.<br />At the sixth stroke Dr Tern paused.<br />‘Well taken, Davies’ She said ‘But I doubt whether you’ll find the next six so easily. Let’s have these down now, shall we?’<br />With that rhetorical question, the head slipped her fingers into the waistband of those little panties and peeled them very slowly down to the stocking-tops.<br />‘Legs apart, let’s not let them fall too far’ she said. <br />Rowena’s bottom was a beauty but I couldn’t help wondering how she had taken the first six strokes so well since you could already see the stripes from the cane very clearly. I didn’t have time to think about this for long, though, as Dr Tern continued the beating.<br />The cane whacked down really hard on Rowena’s left cheek and now she did cry out. That clearly encouraged the Head for the eighth stroke was a cracker, landing with full force right across the centre of poor Rowena’s buttocks.<br />And the final four were equally brutal – Dr Tern was now caning to hurt and hurt she certainly did. Rowena’s lags kicked up at each strokes and her knickers fell down to her ankles. She was crying openly.<br />At last the twelfth stroke fell and Dr Tern delivered her final words<br />‘Stand up now and pull your knickers back up. You have taken your punishment well, Rowena but let me warn you. If I ever find you exceeding your authority again you will be back here for more and it will be significantly more severe. You gave grant the tawse and the birch as well, I believe and I’m very tempted to do the same to you. If you are ever in breach again, rest assured, your bottom will be the worse for it’.<br />With that she marched off the stage and Rowena pulled her skirt back on and led us off too. She looked in pain but held herself characteristically straight.<br />I wondered if she would ever refer to the incident again. She didn’t but her standards became even higher and at any excuse, it seemed, any of the girls could find themselves summoned for punishment. That was just the way Rowena liked it.John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-69906955018295269852010-04-09T01:24:00.000-07:002011-03-20T06:02:44.443-07:00If Dreams Came True....<em>This is a splendid story about how naughty Jan gets her just deserts. I particularly enjoy the tawsing given to her future sister-in-law. So well-deserved and so painfully delivered.....</em><br /><br /><br /><br />Jan lay in bed watching the hands of the clock tick round to 3 am. She had got to be up early the following day because her fiancée was going to take her out to Richmond to buy her a new dress. She snuggled under the covers smiling to herself and wondering how she had managed to catch such an interesting and wealthy young man. Ralph was certainly an attractive prospect, but she did have a slight reservation about him. A couple of days earlier she had forgotten to get him a book he had asked for and he had threatened to spank her. His manner as he had said these words was such that Jan was almost certain that he wasn't joking.<br />"He wouldn’t dare!" she thought to herself, dropping the subject and drifting into a deep sleep.<br />"Janette, you have been late for school every day this week; I have warned you about this twice already. Go and see the headmaster. He is waiting for you in the vestibule."<br />The teenage girl trod carefree along the corridor. She had always disbelieved the rumours that Mr Pearce actually caned late-comers; he only caned girls who were very bad indeed. No, she hadn't been really bad. She simply expected a strict telling off; that couldn't make any difference as she was used to that from Miss Deacon. She knocked lightly on the door of his study.<br />"Enter."<br />Hanging her head in mock shame her slender form inched round the door.<br />"Janette Barnes, form V, Sir."<br />"Ah, Janette." The tall man peered down at her. "I have been hearing reports of a very serious nature concerning your behaviour. It seems that you are not only regularly late for school but that your homework is of a very dubious standard." He dropped his pen on the desk and advanced towards her. Jan rapidly made a series<br />of excuses but it was to no avail.<br />"Silent. You will go and ask my secretary for the cane."<br />The fat, middle-aged secretary smirked as she handed over the long crook-handled instrument.<br />"Bitch'" screamed Jan at her as she turned to the headmaster's study.<br />"You will receive four strokes of the cane. Lift up your gymslip and bend over the desk." Afraid to argue, Jan did as she was told and poked her knicker-clad bottom in the air. Her bare legs hung down to the floor.<br />"Thwack!" She gritted her teeth. refusing to cry out as the cane landed for the first time. Twice more she felt its narrow length grind sharply into her thinly-protected bottom. but she made no sound.<br />"One to come," she thought grimly. “I’m not sure I can take much more “The phone startled her thoughts. The headmaster answered it, leaving her lying on the desk.<br />"Come in here in two minutes."<br />Jan lay in suspense for the final blow. hoping it would hurry up so that she could go and examine the effect of the cane. A sheet of flame was burning across her bottom and there was a strange insatiable itch which demanded her attention. The last stroke landed sharply, but as before the initial surge of pain wore off fairly rapidly.<br />"Go and stand in the corner, Janette." Jan smirked.<br />"If he thinks he's really hurt me he's got another think coming. It wasn't nearly as bad as everyone says." she thought.<br />Suddenly Jan went pale; the headmaster's secretary had entered. "Janette, 1 think you know why Mrs Jackson is here?"<br />"Er ... Yes Sir," faltered the poor girl.<br />Again Jan was ordered to lift up her gymslip before the secretary's approving eyes. To Jan's intense shame the headmaster walked over and pulled her skimpy navy-blue school knickers off down her legs. Jan went bright red as both man and woman peered at her scorched backside.<br />"Bend over the desk." Jan lay there in humiliation as four crude hands probed over the hot skin of her bottom, feeling its texture and separating her cheeks. A tear slipped from Jan's eye as the humiliation.<br />"Yes, Mrs Jackson. 1 think that four more would do her no harm, I was particularly mild last time."<br />"Christ!" thought Jan. "Four more on my bare skin'" The consternation over her bare bottom continued.<br />"Mrs Jackson. I think that since the girl was rude to you it should be your task to punish her for it."<br />Jan felt the huge form of the woman approach her, cane in hand. A coarse hand was shoved between her legs, pushing them apart. She gripped the desk, feeling the cold cane rest on her burning bottom as the woman measured the distance.<br />"Ow'" Jan cried involuntarily as the cane stung sharply down. An angry red line reared itself on the smooth skin of her bottom. Her legs were flung apart. No longer much concerned with concealing what lay between. Her face wet with tears she pushed a hand round to soothe her aching rear and protect it from the next blow. Mrs<br />Jackson angrily pushed it out of the way, brushing the rough sleeve of her tweed jacket over the sore skin. Jan screamed again. She felt the woman's hand raise high in the air for the next stroke ...<br />"Wake up Jan, wake up." Said Ralph, "I've been waiting for half an hour. You're late, I've had to come and get you” Jan felt the bedclothes pulled off her. She was naked, one hand resting between her legs. Angrily she tried to yank the warm bedclothes back.<br />"Oh no! Get up. You're late" She peered up and made out the shape of Ralph standing sternly above her.<br />"Oh go away. I'm tired." _. . .<br />"Ooooh!" Suddenly her legs were pulled back over her body and his hard hand landed flat on her naked buttocks. A broad pink patch was rapidly forming over the tender skin.<br />"Stop that!" She kicked out wildly but her legs were forced back down, his elbow separating them slightly and forcing them up in the air awaiting the wrath of his hand. She struggled as his hand landed again; it caught her flat on the crest of her left buttock, bringing a rush intense pain. <br />Steadily his hand pumped up and down on her two cheeks until each was a blazing scarlet. Jan, her teeth gritted against the pain, longed for him to stop, but<br />each time he paused for a rest she almost hoped he would continue, hoped that he would prolong the excitement. At last he released her and her burning bottom sank into the soothing cool of the sheets.<br />Ralph left her to get dressed, but before she did she went over to the mirror to examine the effect of his recent labours. Her smooth round bottom had been soundly spanked and was smeared with broad pink patches which contrasted nicely with the milky whiteness of her breasts. She ran a finger tentatively across one cheek to feel the warmth. <br />At last she pulled her knickers on, feeling the flimsy material hug snugly to every curve and crevice of her bottom. As she bent over to put on her sandals she felt the material of her panties stretch accommodatingly over her generous curves and caress her sensitive skin. Each time she moved her briefs acted as a soothing hand which stimulated her bottom and brought fresh bursts of pain.<br />"Hurry up Jan." Startled by Ralph's voice she hurriedly finished dressing and trotted into the kitchen where Ralph was waiting for her. He spoke sternly but kindly.<br />"That, Jan, was a mild spanking. Don't make the mistake of thinking that I shan't hesitate to employ such means again. I really do believe that it is good for you. My sister and I were brought up to the strap and 1 think it worked: my parents are even stricter than I. By the way. I'm buying you a new dress because we're going to dinner there tomorrow. You'd better be well behaved. As my fiancée you are a part of the family and will be treated as such. If you misbehave you will be punished."<br />Jan smiled at this grim warning. The memory of the recent spanking had flooded over her; the mild pain had been forgotten. If she had her way it would not be long before his hand met her bottom again. She thought that as far as his parents were concerned they wouldn't dare to spank her, she hadn't even met them. Ralph must be exaggerating.<br />Several hours later they returned complete with a brand new mini-dress. It was short enough to show off nearly all of Jan's long, sun-tanned legs, but long enough to just cover her bottom. She laughed about it, saying that if she accidentally dropped anything Ralph would have to pick it up in order to preserve her modesty. She changed into an old skirt, kissed Ralph goodbye, and set about tidying up the flat.<br />The following day dawned together with the prospective visit to Ralph's parents. Ralph was due to pick her up at 7 o clock that evening. The pleasant warm glow of the previous day's spanking had worn off and Jan was perversely determined to receive another before they visited Ralph's parents. She set about devising a way of angering her strict fiancé. Finally y she decided on a cartoon and quickly sketched a picture of a tall stern man with a cane industriously applying himself to a bawling schoolgirl 's tightly-knickered bottom. She propped it up on the mantle-piece<br />where he would be sure to see it, and then began to prepare herself for the forthcoming event. She donned a pair of tiny red panties and went out to buy herself a pair of black stockings, she tried them on in front of the mirror , pausing to admire the white expanse of thigh which stood out above the black stockings and noting with satisfaction that the red material of her knickers was sufficiently thin to permit the smooth skin of her fine bottom to be to be just visible. Finally she sat down to await his arrival.<br />At 7 o'clock punctually Ralph knocked on the door and she invited him in for a minute while she collected her coat. Sure enough while she went to get it his eyes rested on the mantle-piece instantly taking in the meaning of the cartoon perched on top of it.<br />"Jan." his voice had a sonorous, authoritative ring to it. Jan, who was waiting in the next room for him to see the cartoon, trembled. She was no longer sure whether she wanted another spanking. The initial pain of the previous session flooded back into her mind.<br />"Jan, come here." His voice was insistent, and she slunk reluctantly forward.<br />"What is the meaning of that?" He pointed sternly at the cartoon.<br />"It's just a little joke, Ralph." She was becoming timid before his gaze.<br />"Well, you shall be punished for it. We should be gone by now. I've a good mind to punish you when we get to my parents' house." Jan went pale with fear.<br />"However," he continued, ''I'll spare you the humiliation this time. Bend over my knee."<br />Relieved at her escape, Jan came forward and leaned over his lap. His hand pushed between her legs and hoisted her on so that her pubic bone rested on his knee. In a business-like manner he flicked up her dress and saw what lay beneath.<br />"What are these?" Stammering, Jan explained that she had put them on for fun. Remarking that she had a lot of little jokes, he told her that she must keep them on all evening.<br />"Then you won't be able to bend over at all , will you?" he added, indicating that this was an additional punishment for her folly, to walk, straight-backed, all evening for fear of showing Ralph's parents the tiny panties which lay beneath her short skirt.<br />He pulled the top of her knickers up sharply so that they virtually disappeared into the crack between her cheeks. Jan clung to his ankle, now sincerely regretting that she had tried to make Ralph spank her. Her back jerked upwards as Ralph's hand landed sharply on the first cheek. She gritted her teeth, realising that this was<br />going to be harder and slower than the last time. She was held firmly in his grasp, his arm hugging her waist and his knee pushing between her legs.<br />Only her bottom, one cheek still a smooth white and the other with a broad pink smear on it, peeped out. She lay submissively across his knees, feeling the burning pain begin to fade only for another spank to come cracking down.<br />"Keep still." She stopped immediately and lay tense and motionless across his lap waiting for the next blow to fall. It caught the smooth white skin of the other cheek, converting it to an even brighter, burning rosy hue. She cried out loud as his hand landed again on the already aching first buttock, convinced, in her, pain, that he had hit exactly the same spot as before.<br />After each stroke he paused until she had stopped wriggling, both so as to get the maximum force behind each blow and so as to increase the anticipation of poor Jan, her bottom bared for punishment, she was no longer aroused, the itch between her legs had been replaced by two broad burning patches, one across each cheek. ' Nor did Ralph rest until Jan's naked bottom was totally covered with a shiny red hue. '<br />"A bottom not properly spanked is a bottom not spanked at all," he repeated his father's maxim, applying himself slowly and methodically to the burning surface before him. At last he ceased and inspected his efforts. Satisfied, he told Jan, who had managed not to burst into tears, to go and get her coat.<br />She got up hurriedly, her contorted face nearly as red as her bottom. She did not dare adjust her knickers from where they lay in the crevice between her cheeks; the prospect of anything touching her poor burning bottom was abhorrent to her. Eventually they got into the car, its cool seats relieving the heat in Jan's burning rear. Just before they reached his parents' house she pulled her ,knickers back over her bottom, enjoying the tingling sensation which they caused.<br />Ralph's parents thought Jan was a cheerful girl. She smiled at each step as she walked into the house, feeling her two glowing cheeks push against each other as she moved. She kept upright, stooping only a little to greet the youngest son of thirteen, in case she revealed her suspenders.<br />"Well," said his mother after the introduction, "that's nearly all our family. There's only Caroline missing now. She's eighteen. She should be in by ten. I don't believe in young girls being out on their own late at night, especially when they've got to get up and go to school the following day. She's doing her 'A' levels at the moment."<br />They settled down into conversation, Jan constantly aware of the sensations in her newly warmed bottom. After dinner the youngest son was sent to bed. The conversation continued in pretty much the same vein while Jan, now that the pleasant sensations in her bottom had worn off was beginning to get a little bored. Her attention was called back to the conversation by the sound of Ralph's mother complaining that Caroline was late.<br />"If she's not back within twenty minutes she will be punished," Mrs Parkinson declared. Jan sat there in excitement, imagining the prospect of the girl being marched upstairs by the rather portly mother and hearing her cries as she was soundly spanked. Jan almost wished that the girl wouldn't make it back within twenty minutes.<br />At half past twelve the faint click of the latch was heard and a few quiet steps as someone tried to sneak, unnoticed, upstairs.<br />"Caroline, come here at once," demanded the mother in a strict tone. A slender young girl walked slowly into the room. She was wearing a low-cut blouse and a long skirt. She looked older than eighteen; most of her well developed bust was visible over the top of her blouse. Mrs Parkinson barked a series of questions at her. <br />"Why are you so late? What are you doing dressed like that?" and so forth. The girl uttered a few barely audible replies. Her father, mother and Ralph looked at her sternly. Jonathan, the only other son left in the room,looked apprehensive. Jan sat next to her future mother-in-law on the settee and had a good view of the girl's embarrassed face.<br />"Any moment now," Jan thought, "she's going to march her off upstairs and spank her bottom." Jan was wrong. She gaped in surprise as the mother, in front of Jan, a total stranger, said: "Come here, Caroline." The poor girl walked hesitantly forward. She stood silently in front of her mother while Mrs Parkinson continued:<br />"You know what you must expect. It is for your own good. Eight strokes of the tawse." The poor girl looked as though she was going to burst into tears, but managed to stop herself and pointed blankly at Jan.<br />"Yes," said the mother, "Janette is a part of the family now; she will be permitted to watch." Caroline shot Jan a glance of intense hatred but, mature as she was, there was nothing she could do.<br />"Lift up your skirt, Caroline." All in the room were silent and expectant. The poor girl dragged up the voluminous garment and stood, little green spotted knickers revealed to all in the room, Jan was aroused as to Caroline's abject humiliation the mother took hold of the waistband of the girl's knickers and peeled them down leaving her exposed to her father, her brothers and to Jan. She clearly knew better than to try to cover herself. However, Jan could scarcely conceal her interest. The girl was ordered, her skirt still up around her waist and deprived of her knickers which were now down by her ankles, to the centre of the room. Her face was red with shame, largely, Jan suspected, because of her presence. But Jan was overjoyed with the chance of watching the proceedings. And Caroline knew it! . They could never be friends after this.<br />The girl's skirt had fallen down, giving her momentary relief from the stares.<br />"Caroline, face your father." She did so, and Jan instantly recognised the reason for this command. The girl was so positioned that, when the time came, Jan would have a perfect view of her naked and bouncing bottom.<br />She was told to bend over, which she did and then her mother got up and lifted her long skirt right up from her ankles and over her shoulders, exposing her neat white bottom. It was set off as a jewel, Caroline's copious skirt acting as its foil.<br />"Legs apart." She spread them, giving Jan a splendid id sight of her upended backside – just bent and poised, waiting for its punishment.<br />"Jonathan," said the mother, "go and fetch the tawse." Jan sat tensely, hearing his feet mount the stairs. Mrs Parkinson looked at Jan.<br />"I do believe in punishing them instantly, my. dear. It is so much better for them." Still the naked bottom peered up at Jan.<br />"Caroline hasn't been punished for a while now. But this time I think it is definitely deserved. Father and I take it in •turns to decide upon the dose and to administer correction. With three children it's too much for one parent to hand out all the necessary discipline."<br />She broke off suddenly. Everyone in the room heard the slow thud thud as Jonathan and the tawse returned.<br />Caroline remained, bent double, her naked bottom poking up into the air. It twitched nervously. Jan was getting quite excited, longing for the punishment to begin.<br />As the mother collected the wicked looking leather instrument and approached the girl , Caroline bent over a couple more inches and gripped her ankles. She<br />clearly didn't want to be accused of being slow! The mother went round to the side of the girl so that Jan's view of her naked and waiting bottom was unobstructed. Suddenly she thwacked the tawse down loudly on the tender flesh. Caroline jumped forward, whistling through her teeth. Jan clung to her coffee cup, trying to contain her excitement. A bright red patch was quickly forming over Caroline's bottom, the marks of the twin tails clearly visible and contrasting sharply with her smooth white skin. Mrs Parkinson remained unmoved at the pain of her daughter, and merely waited for the firm trembling cheeks to become still again. At last they did; the naked bottom with its vivid red stripes pushed up into the air again. The mother raised her hand high into the air, and brought the strap down again with maximum momentum. The cracking sound as it burned into the skin echoed round the room and another pair of red stripes appeared next to the first ones, the tiniest trace of white skin separating them. Still the girl did not cry; her fists were clenched, her legs braced against her lowered knickers and her teeth gritted, but still no sound escaped her lips. Ralph whispered to Jan that his father was by far the more skilled beater. If he had punished her Caroline would have cried at the first blow.<br />"Thwack!" This time the girl howled loudly. The blow had landed diagonally across the previous two. Jan winced; she knew what it felt like when Ralph had done that to her with his hand. What must it feel like with the tawse!<br />The sight of Caroline's heaving scarlet bottom and her quiet whimpering was too much for Jan. She sniggered involuntarily, spilling her coffee on the floor.<br />Silence reigned for a few seconds. She remained stunned as she watched the brown patch inch its way across the floor. All but Caroline, who was too preoccupied with the pain of her bottom, looked at her. Jan stammered some sort of an apology, but it was not good enough. Ralph's father stared at her and ordered her to go over to him. Dumbly she obeyed ; too shocked to consider rebellion. Caroline's punishment<br />was postponed as he told her off.<br />"Ralph, since you are engaged to Janette you are principally responsible for her behaviour. Do you wish me to punish her for this incident?"<br />Jan could hardly believe her ears as Ralph replied in a clear calm voice:<br />"Yes, of course, father. Her behaviour is frequently questionable. I was forced to punish her myself only a few hours ago. She is certainly in need of firm<br />correction,"<br />In accordance with the father's command Jan pulled up her short skirt, overcome with embarrassment as she suddenly remembered her stupid suspenders. She was no longer aroused by Caroline's fate. She was about to be exposed and humiliated in a room full of strangers - most of them men!<br />Ralph's father slid his fingers down into Jan's tight red knickers and pulled them down. She stood while everybody looked at her, deciding what to do with her. At last he told her to clear up the coffee. Relieved that she was not to be beaten, she got a cloth and returned.<br />Caroline was still bending over, waiting for her other five strokes. Her bottom was obviously still hurting her.<br />Even so Jan could see a faint smirk on her face. She could have killed her. Jan bent awkwardly down to clear up the mess, fully aware that if she bent too far her naked bottom and the tops of her stockings would be on view to all.<br />"Do it properly, girl." The loud command made Jan jump and she fell to her knees displaying her white,naked bottom to everybody. At last she was told to stand up and await punishment. She stared in horror; so they were going to beat her after all.<br />Her turn was to follow when Caroline's thrashing had been completed.<br />This time Jan really did pity poor Caroline. The sight of her poor little bottom, naked and exposed to the might of her mother and that evil tawse, made Jan tremble.<br />She watched the striped skin shudder in anguished anticipation. The fourth blow landed loudly, causing the slightly dulled red marks to burst again into life. Caroline was crying copiously by now. Tears poured from her face as the tawse, with its wicked little thongs,landed again. She jerked at the pain.<br />Her once white bottom was a crisscrossed pattern of pink and bright red patches. Twice more the tawse whipped down hard on Caroline's plump spread cheeks, her cries and shrieks competing with the slapping sound of the leather on her tender skin. But at last the punishment was complete. Jan hoped that it would be prolonged, and give her a few more moments respite from her own forthcoming correction.<br />It was not to be so.<br />Caroline did not dare move. She remained bent double in the centre of the room, her throbbing red bottom revealed to all. Her pain was evident.<br />Jan watched, her palms clenched with fear. At last Caroline was permitted to pull up her little knickers and rise. She ruefully touched her burning buttocks and apologised once more for being so late home. Through her tears was the glimmer of a smile: she was about to witness Jan's humiliation.<br />The father motioned Jan into the middle of the room so that her back faced his wife, Ralph and Jonathan, who were lined up on the settee to watch.<br />"Bend over." She did so, her two globes just peeping out beneath the hem of her dress. The father efficiently rolled up her skirt to her waist. Then he returned to his seat, leaving her there.<br />"Your offence was relatively minor. You will receive five strokes of the cane. Jonathan, please go and collect it." As she heard Jonathan's steps return Jan could stand it no longer. She dragged her skirt back down and made for the door.<br />"Come back at once." The words were sternly spoken, and she hesitated momentarily. She stood there staring at the 'stern father and at the smirking Caroline. At last the silence was broken as Jonathan entered, propelled her back to the centre of the room and took up a position in front of the door.<br />Mr Parkinson spoke sternly: "Since you are clearly in the habit of trying to pull your dress back down you had better remove it." Jan saw that there was no escape. Red with shame, she slowly unzipped the offending garment and dropped it to the floor. She stood, wearing only bra, stockings and suspenders and with her tiny knickers half-way down her legs. There was nothing she could do but submit.<br />Stiffly she spread her legs and bent over to grasp her ankles, her bottom facing the trio on the settee. Slowly the father approached her and plucked at the tender flesh of her bottom to test its probable resilience.<br />“Ralph, 1 thought you said you had punished her earlier this evening. What was the offence?" Ralph told him.<br />"I see. Then your punishment was not sufficiently severe. There are no marks now; fewer strokes properly applied would have been better. She shall receive two more for the earlier misdemeanour."<br />He placed a firm hand on the small of her back, forcing her lower down, and just touched her bottom with the tip of the cold cane to measure the distance. Jan leapt forward. He dragged her back and swished the cane down smartly 'on her bare bottom. Jan cried out loud and fell to her knees. A thin red line had raised itself on her fair skin. She lay on the floor sobbing, no longer aware of her half nudity.<br />"Get up." Awkwardly she rose, spread her legs once again, and bent over. Ralph was told to help restrain her. He stood in front of her shoulders, gripping her tightly. The cane slashed noisily onto the trembling skin. Jan screamed and jerked forward. A second narrow red line was clearly marked a fraction of an inch just below the first.<br />Savagely Jan kicked out at him, aware only of her need to stop the agony to which her naked bottom was subjected. This was real, searing pain – nothing like the hand-spanking she had received earlier.<br />They grabbed her, snapping the straps of her bra as they did so.<br />"Three more strokes for disobedience.” Ralph and his father picked the howling girl, now wearing only her stockings held by flimsy suspenders. Her breasts shuddered with rage. They laid her down over the back of the settee, pushing her head down towards the seat. They held her down between them, waiting until her wriggling body was still. At last her bottom poked up in submission.<br />The cane whipped down noisily, planting a third narrow red line below the other two. Jan howled and struggled under the firm grip of the men. The hard ridge of the settee’s back was digging into her tummy, competing with her blazing bottom for her attention. As the next few strokes were placed neatly, one below the other on her once white skin, Jan forgot about those witnessing her punishment. The whole of her lower regions was a mass of burning flame; the pain was quite excruciating – any pleasure long-since gone. She only wanted it to cease.<br />After each stroke Mr Parkinson waited until the shaking red flesh was motionless: then he applied himself with vigour. At last he rested from his labours. Jan lay weeping across the back of the settee. Ten narrow red lines glowed fiercely on her tender skin; nine pale pink lines just peeped out between them to show what her<br />bottom had once been. Finally she was permitted to rise. She clambered down stiffly, not caring what part of her anatomy could be seen by the vigilant men and women in the room. At each movement she winced, conscious only of the leaping flames on her bare bottom.<br />Her face drenched with tears, she apologised for her behaviour. She bent down to pull up her knickers which now matched her burning backside in their bright redness. Caressing it tenderly through the thin nylon, Jan thanked Ralph's father for the trouble he had taken over her.<br />"Don't mention it my dear. I'm sure it won’t be the last time – you’re really one of the family now. Ralph will have to be taught the proper administration ' of corporal punishment before he marries you."<br />A few months later Jan and Ralph were married. Ralph's father gave them that same long thin cane as a present. Jan is cured of her disobedience now. Almost...John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-69905514003182113272010-03-19T10:08:00.001-07:002010-05-19T10:50:08.969-07:00A German Holiday<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBWMabVRfT6LLTwxa3NE97WHhyXnCgjJZevFC_xdPxRKkaDQq-Q1lg8FIlJMgkysJgiLi2RjDaKPTfoOolme5soGwtnO0hG7bMKWvySogb5C9uelBlDeOVNAmxdt7Tc52X1dhA0W-s2ed8/s1600/German+photo+2.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 148px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBWMabVRfT6LLTwxa3NE97WHhyXnCgjJZevFC_xdPxRKkaDQq-Q1lg8FIlJMgkysJgiLi2RjDaKPTfoOolme5soGwtnO0hG7bMKWvySogb5C9uelBlDeOVNAmxdt7Tc52X1dhA0W-s2ed8/s320/German+photo+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473035827060028674" /></a><br /><strong>This is a splendid story by the ever-reliable R T Mason. Julie's submission and the inevitablility of her thrashing are well-described</strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaW09i-U7-I0MU5T4naVTrTNdnXupriLKDDSe9ACj_y8dnc0-_u479Qp9CtCkCRFfaEa5QKi20g8IjXET3voldVQ2j_PEc69bRyxjqpdOxZHax4ztVXByomoB5voEWnQ-2cQ1cRTY9LkVq/s1600-h/German+photo+1.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaW09i-U7-I0MU5T4naVTrTNdnXupriLKDDSe9ACj_y8dnc0-_u479Qp9CtCkCRFfaEa5QKi20g8IjXET3voldVQ2j_PEc69bRyxjqpdOxZHax4ztVXByomoB5voEWnQ-2cQ1cRTY9LkVq/s320/German+photo+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450393272038268578"<br /> /></a><br /><br />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<br />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.<br />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?'<br />Julie blushed. Then Grete, who had slipped round behind her, added,<br />'And look, Margit! Her bottom is especially charming!'<br />The two German girls laughed while Julie's blush deepened. Her bottom was shapely but she would have preferred it to be somewhat<br />smaller - like Margit's or Grete's in fact. for they too had now slipped off their dresses.<br />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!'<br />The German girls laughed again.<br />'Especially Herr Friedrich!' said Grete.<br />'Oh yes: agreed Margit, 'certainly Herr Friedrich!'<br />Something was said in German, which Julie didn't understand, causing more laughter from the other two.<br />Then they all ran into the water, Julie wondering vaguely who this Herr Friedrich was.<br />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<br />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.<br />It was Julie's first visit to Germany and her first meeting with either<br />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.<br />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. <br />'Oh of course it is warmer than your English weather. But don't worry: this afternoon we go to a beautiful German lake.<br />And here they were. They splashed about in the cool refreshing water.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />'Don't worry’ said Margit. ‘You will soon be brown’<br />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.<br />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?'<br />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’<br />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.<br />'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.<br />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.<br />Margit gave a low husky laugh. 'Look, Grete! I think Julie has been thinking sexy thoughts!'<br />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?'<br />The two German girls started giggling.<br />* * *<br />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.<br />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.<br />Perhaps you would like to sit in the garden while he visits. Then you can get more suntan.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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,<br />up and out. Julie realised her heart had started beating rather rapidly and her mouth felt dry.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />It was something Julie had never seen before - and never dreamt could be used on a girl. But now ...<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />Julie at last crept silently away and out into the garden, to sit down again by the spruce tree. Her heart was pounding.<br />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.<br />A little while later Margit appeared in the garden - with Herr Friedrich! Julie scrambled to her feet, feeling a hot flush.<br />'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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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?<br />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.<br />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.<br />Margit and Herr Friedrich were seated on the settee apparently going through an English text and today they were speaking mostly English.<br />After a while Margit said something in German to which the tutor replied, 'English please, Margit’<br />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.<br />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’.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />That evening, after they'd visited Grete's house and were alone again, Julie couldn't help asking about Herr Friedrich.<br />'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’<br />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...<br />* * *<br />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.<br /><br />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.<br />Margit spat out. 'So, you English girls are spies I see!'<br />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.)<br />'Oh, so you spy and see something awful, is that so?'<br />Julie, squirming, again prevaricated. Margit insisted: ‘Tht is so isn’t it?’<br />Julie had to admit that, yes, she did think that bring caned was awful.<br />‘Why does he cane you?’ she asked. <br />Margit pushed back her blonde hair ‘In Germany, men like to cane girls when they think they have misbehaved’<br />‘But why do you have to let him do it?’<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />After lunch the two girls plus Grete went to the beach again; a prearranged trip with Grete's father taking them.<br />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.<br />Julie naturally wondered if Grete was being told about her 'spying'; but she decided the best thing was to try and forget it.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />'Just four good friends,' said Margit. 'But of course we want no one else for such a special . . er . .ceremony.'<br />'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.<br />'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.<br />'What is it?' repeated Julie, baffled.<br />The three German girls exchanged conspiratorial smiles as the wine was poured out. Margit held up a glass.<br />'Julie, to your .. er . . what is Aufnahme, Lisa?' 'Initiation,' translated Lisa.<br />'What?' exclaimed Julie, taking an offered glass.<br />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.'<br />Julie almost dropped her glass. The three German girls were standing round her, smiling, like cats with cream. 'What . . !' she gasped.<br />'You have shown yourself to be so curious about our German habits and so we will show you. Like good hosts.<br />So will you please take down your knickers.'<br />Lisa suddenly had a cane in her hand - exactly like the one Herr Friedrich used. Red-faced, Julie gasped, 'you ... you must be mad!'<br />'Oh please, Julie. There is no need to say that. We will remain friends of course. But you must please cooperate.'<br />'No!' gasped the now alarmed looking English girl.<br />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!'<br />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.'<br />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.<br />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.<br />She kicked her feet but made no contact. Then she felt her knickers down round her knees.<br />'Oh my!' said Lisa.<br />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.<br />And suddenly Julie felt the most awful mind-boggling pain as the cane came down, squarely across those full ripe buttocks.<br />'Aaiigghhf' her head reared-up and she let out an ear-piercing gasping yell.<br />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.<br />Margit, eyes gleaming with excitement, brought the cane whistling down again <br />'Aaeegghhf' Another awful yell, another desperate squirming of the injured bottom.<br />'Oh Julie,' observed Margit, 'You make a noise like a baby. You must learn to be brave, like German girls.'<br />She brought the cane cracking down again. There was the same frenzied cry. <br />'Aaeeooogghhf'<br />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.<br />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.'<br />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.<br />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.'<br /><br />* * *<br />'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.<br />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.'<br />And when Julie insisted that it was out of the question Margit simply put the screws on.<br />'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.'<br />Julie had gasped, 'You couldn't do that!' - but she wouldn't have wanted to bet on it.<br />'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!'<br />And so it looked as if Herr Friedrich was going to get his pleasure. But that didn't mean Julie felt like eating breakfast.<br />He arrived, in his punctilious German manner, exactly on time. Margit's parents were again out.<br />'Good morning, Herr Friedrich!' said Margit. 'It is another lovely day!<br /> And here is your lovely English student to meet you.'<br />The lovely English student came forward, cringing.<br />'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.'<br />'You may use my room of course, Herr Friedrich' said Margit. 'And I shall go and sit in the garden.'<br />'Very good!' said the tutor. 'Shall we then go up without delay?'<br />Julie was wearing her red dress and underneath just bra and knickers.<br />(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.<br />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?'<br />Blushing slightly, Julie said, 'I think we still have discipline.'<br />'We shall see then,' said Herr Friedrich. 'Fraulein Kirchner informs me she has persuaded you that I enjoy some authority here. Is that so?'<br />Julie bit her lip. Then, 'She has told me I . . I should do what you say.'<br />'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’<br />Julie turned crimson. Speechless at first. she then managed to gasp, 'I ...you can't You just can't ask me to do that!'<br />'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'<br />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...<br />She looked pleadingly at Herr Friedrich. 'Please, Please don't ask me that!'<br />The eyes shone behind the rimless spectacles. 'It is only a test. And I do ask it. It is a simple test of discipline’<br />And so there was nothing for it.<br />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.<br />Herr Friedrich's gloating voice 'Most charming, Miss! And now also the scanties, please’<br />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 . . .<br />She put her hand to her face. In spite of the heat it felt cold, and damp.<br />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.<br />The knickers seemed to stick, the tight nylon clinging to her moist skin. But they came down all right. <br />‘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’.<br />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. <br />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 . . .'<br />His hand raised and fell with a stinging spank on her left buttock <br />'And now I think a little of our German discipline. A little taste of the cane on this splendid backside.'<br />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.<br />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.<br />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 ...<br />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.<br />The hand at last was removed and his voice said, 'Right: stand please!<br />Stand upright!'<br />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.<br />'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.<br />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?'<br />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...<br />He moved from facing her to stand close behind, and his hands came round under her arms and cupped her breasts. He squeezed them.<br />'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.’<br />'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’.<br />'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.<br />It is three weeks more you have with us, I think. With that time we can, I assure you, do very good work.'<br />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.<br />'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.'<br />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.'<br />And then once more the sickening, searing pain, the feeling that her buttocks were on fire....John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-91496864028481802482010-03-15T02:47:00.000-07:002010-03-15T02:51:30.327-07:00Six of the Best<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7qFhJLd2TOzy2K-5M3y5BwqsFUSlmv7ZGDcO1ueJqCpIDC1cQ5WTe-wIFe0Q5qmwHVCssTfG5xZDPpbuYgmCjAa-hOhG8VMgOvTtdHK9UsEaHCZ5gdKFMFAAvqaRQ8__cGz40uwgE9-oK/s1600-h/Cne+2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 227px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7qFhJLd2TOzy2K-5M3y5BwqsFUSlmv7ZGDcO1ueJqCpIDC1cQ5WTe-wIFe0Q5qmwHVCssTfG5xZDPpbuYgmCjAa-hOhG8VMgOvTtdHK9UsEaHCZ5gdKFMFAAvqaRQ8__cGz40uwgE9-oK/s320/Cne+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448795945639502898" /></a><br />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....?John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-64884184581244227672010-03-13T11:08:00.000-08:002010-03-13T11:15:38.683-08:00A damned good spankingI love the way the skimpy knickers are so drum-tight. And you just know they'll be peeled down later...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvFlrJtiN23LmW44B16MxsU0cdnJOg6fzB_zAsoqOcVhiyDkp17jXTGIOyU6wYNlCZ1ouNfzlFxUFyLtHwRqPa63Lt9zL1zKpLCT5V0Jxgkc1Lw0yPxbHVsZ-aNifpm8lGPFVnyV1YAET6/s1600-h/Girl+otk.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 227px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvFlrJtiN23LmW44B16MxsU0cdnJOg6fzB_zAsoqOcVhiyDkp17jXTGIOyU6wYNlCZ1ouNfzlFxUFyLtHwRqPa63Lt9zL1zKpLCT5V0Jxgkc1Lw0yPxbHVsZ-aNifpm8lGPFVnyV1YAET6/s320/Girl+otk.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448198856854342354" /></a>John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-717347289289945082010-03-09T08:11:00.000-08:002010-03-09T08:31:13.173-08:00Headmaster's IntroductionAnother of RT Mason's brilliant stories from Janus. <br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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…<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'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.'<br /><br />He paused, then directed his gaze at that very pretty blonde at the left end of the line.<br /><br />'Monica, I think. Monica Taylor, isn't it?'<br /><br />She suddenly focussed deep blue eyes from the evident dream she had been in. 'Uh… Uh, yes Sir?'<br /><br />'Corporal punishment, Monica. Do you know what that means?'<br /><br />'Uh… some form of punishment, Sir, I suppose.'<br /><br />'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.'<br /><br />The pretty blonde blushed.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'So you may take it from me that all of you will be getting personal first -hand experience of our CP regime.'<br /><br />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?'<br /><br />She shuffled her feet, looked at the Head, then down at the carpet. 'I don't suppose so, Sir.'<br /><br />'No, nor do I, Monica. And nor do I think any of you others can either. Now then!'<br /><br />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.'<br /><br />To five rather startled-looking faces he smiled and said, 'You may find this part a bit painful but certain ly not boring!'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />A two-foot long thin whippy rattan cane.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'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.'<br /><br />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.'<br /><br />The pretty blonde turned a bright red. 'But Sir! I… I haven't done anything.'<br /><br />'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.'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'Hand out, please,' the Head re peated. Biting that full lower lip she forced herself to comply.<br /><br />'Hold it steady!' The voice of the mild-looking Headmaster now had a steely edge to it. 'Good!'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'Now the left hand,' said the Head calmly.<br /><br />'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.<br /><br />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.'<br /><br />Still crying, Monica forced herself to reach out her left hand.<br /><br />'Properly out. And keep it still!'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'Right: back in line then, Monica. Now who have we got next? Jill, isn't it. Jill Palmer?'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'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.'<br /><br />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.'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'Bottom well up!' instructed the Head, taking firm hold of one cheek of the tightly-knickered bottom and pushing it further onto the desk.<br /><br />'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.<br /><br />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!'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'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.<br /><br />'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.<br /><br />'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.'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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?'<br /><br />Still wiping her eyes she stuttered, 'Y… yes… S… Sir.'<br /><br />'Good. Now who have we next?' He looked inquiringly at the third girl in line.<br /><br />'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.<br /><br />'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.'<br /><br />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.'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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…<br /><br />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.'<br /><br />He turned again to the still bent-over Susan and reached both hands onto her bottom. 'They pull the knickers up: thus.'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.'<br /><br />He took up the cane again. 'I will give Susan her third in this manner. Keep still please, Susan!'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'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.'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'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.'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'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?'<br /><br />Squirming – and blushing – she muttered in the affirmative.<br /><br />'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.'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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?'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'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.'<br /><br />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.'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'What is this!' exclaimed Mr Kingston. 'Why are you not wearing regulation knickers, Alison?'<br /><br />The voice from the lowered head said, 'I… I thought it was all right… Sir.'<br /><br />'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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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…'<br /><br />They all turned, with relief, to door.<br /><br />'Except, ah, Alison and Monica.'<br /><br />Three quickly exited. The door closed. Two girls unhappily remaining.<br /><br />'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.'<br /><br />The door closed. Leaving now just the very pretty blonde with the Head. He looked at her with sharply appraising eyes.<br /><br />'Yes, Monica. Such a pretty girl! And with a lovely young figure too!'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />She gasped. The hands lightly squeezed. Mr Kingston's mild voice. 'Yes, quite a lovely girl.'<br /><br />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.'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.'<br /><br />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.'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.'<br /><br />She looked even sicker and the pretty blue eyes were now rather watery-looking. The Head shook his head again.<br /><br />'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…'<br /><br />She said numbly, 'Please, Sir…'<br /><br />'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…'<br /><br />He shook his head sadly as if words failed him.<br /><br />'Well, what do you think, Monica?'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'Yes Sir. I… I…'<br /><br />'You'd like to do that?'<br /><br />'Yes Sir.'<br /><br />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.'<br /><br />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.'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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?'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'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.'<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-43526727188036071562010-03-06T08:08:00.000-08:002010-03-06T08:13:53.469-08:00A Classic Caning<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdNnzZZbLKC9xQDxMVENHyRtkbCC2dKSw5PjozUi2YJiwjMT7KyGeA2YGmLv8141txAGIoQZBaeLrBElhsPWMDYXr7j8g5TfaZYmCQVIgMmsIlp0NM-M0F4YNTGHR0zRylAsxJhz6L-Kfu/s1600-h/Cne+photo.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 227px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdNnzZZbLKC9xQDxMVENHyRtkbCC2dKSw5PjozUi2YJiwjMT7KyGeA2YGmLv8141txAGIoQZBaeLrBElhsPWMDYXr7j8g5TfaZYmCQVIgMmsIlp0NM-M0F4YNTGHR0zRylAsxJhz6L-Kfu/s320/Cne+photo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445554738703774946" /></a><br />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.John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-38857108901079938202010-03-05T07:16:00.000-08:002010-03-19T10:17:22.255-07:00The Cold Cruel World<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG1ZCJ3qz-4HmgonDailUWfc4IkCylDjgMdG1IrHBEbnuBjGBn2flm0ua-wkDRF8ycmhal8lNhRnz8jmP0l_EMlEVSQm11zSPMGhzJziP8iWnZVbQPZu5sF9hjAN-Owh-Rrsz1GApKe_2u/s1600-h/CCW+2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 230px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG1ZCJ3qz-4HmgonDailUWfc4IkCylDjgMdG1IrHBEbnuBjGBn2flm0ua-wkDRF8ycmhal8lNhRnz8jmP0l_EMlEVSQm11zSPMGhzJziP8iWnZVbQPZu5sF9hjAN-Owh-Rrsz1GApKe_2u/s320/CCW+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450395163523792034" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMPGSptEKQsfNNjDpCLifz41Wb16vL3T5IQuRiYeG3yImxqxLbBDT83kk0CYbciHqnBlOUjqqNedOlJ60ll6X5NWeBgUSweAxF3hJEbQlfbTf0kpQZmlWIDBHKo_pJYA-v2WTfnbbYdYql/s1600-h/CCW+2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 230px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMPGSptEKQsfNNjDpCLifz41Wb16vL3T5IQuRiYeG3yImxqxLbBDT83kk0CYbciHqnBlOUjqqNedOlJ60ll6X5NWeBgUSweAxF3hJEbQlfbTf0kpQZmlWIDBHKo_pJYA-v2WTfnbbYdYql/s320/CCW+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445552839890520642" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQjm1_YORBBTJU6vQ7uHXkspuoc_Jw1M5SteqU09TEdtErwQj5BCqp8sAKkpehBbdoMWWtvRmjQ1ZZrL8yZA73n6aOWMdiReyccRGsg7LvxqoHdNHUTBMKK4rIbTNad76g3JNKrYUE66uf/s1600-h/CCW+1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 143px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQjm1_YORBBTJU6vQ7uHXkspuoc_Jw1M5SteqU09TEdtErwQj5BCqp8sAKkpehBbdoMWWtvRmjQ1ZZrL8yZA73n6aOWMdiReyccRGsg7LvxqoHdNHUTBMKK4rIbTNad76g3JNKrYUE66uf/s320/CCW+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445552024780474546" /></a><br /><em>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!).</em><br /><br /><strong>The Cold Cruel World</strong><br /><br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />There were tears in Alison’s eyes as she looked in the bathroom mirror.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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?<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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...<br />* * * *<br />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?<br />‘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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />‘Come in’ he barked.<br />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.<br />‘Uh...Mr Kirkham? She stammered ‘I’m Alison Clements’<br />‘Have you got a watch? He growled.<br />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’.<br />She flushed scarlet. ‘I’m sorry...The train..’<br />‘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’.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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?<br />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...<br />Why had they separated, he asked, eyes glinting.<br />‘We...we kept arguing’, Alison whispered. Although clearly it was none of his business.<br />‘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’.<br />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.’<br />Alison found herself studying her handbag with great interest. It was unbelievable.<br />‘Look at me, Mrs Clements. I hope you’re not planning any arguments with me?’<br />Briefly Alison met his eyes and then looked away. The incredible thought of what he was suggesting flared hotly in her mind.<br />‘Answer me, please’<br />Frantically Alison shook her head. Mr Kirkham persisted, evidently spurred on by her cowed, submissive reaction.<br />‘Didn’t your husband ever take the belt to you?’<br />‘Please...’ she whispered, blinking rapidly. Much more of this and Alison would be openly in tears. That was probably just what he would love.<br />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.<br />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.<br />Alison felt too weak, too terrified to speak.<br />‘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.<br />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.’<br />Mr Kirkham’s cane whistled again through the air and he was almost licking his lips. ‘A cane exactly like this one, Mrs Clements’.<br />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...<br />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’.<br />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.<br />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.<br />‘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’.<br />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. <br />* * * * *<br />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.<br />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.<br />‘Quite interesting...’ she told Mark.<br />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...<br />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?<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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... <br />As Alison opened the door to her office Mr Kirkham’s voice grated out behind her.<br />‘Glad to see you’re on time, young lady. I daresay the thought of that cane made you hustle yourself?’<br />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.<br />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....<br />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...<br />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.<br />‘So, you’ve never had the cane?’ he inquired.<br />It simply took the wind out of her sails – what little wind there was. She looked at him like a dummy.<br />‘Not at school? No sensible headmistress putting the cane across the palm of your hand? Or across that bottom?’<br />No answer came.<br />‘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’. <br />Colouring like a beetroot, Alison shook her head. Any thought of what she had been planning to say just disappeared.<br />Mr Kirkham pursed his lips. ‘It’s never too late’.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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?<br />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.’<br />Alison could feel herself shaking with terror.<br />‘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.’<br />Alison heard herself whisper ‘You can’t’ It seemed like someone else’s voice. And anyway she knew that he could. And would.<br />‘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.’<br />The cold force of Mr Kirkham’s voice made Alison shiver. No, she wasn’t going to argue. Plead perhaps...<br />‘Please....’ More like a squeak form a mouse than the remonstration of a mature woman.<br />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.<br />Alison stood there wondering if she could refuse. He couldn’t really....<br />‘Get in there!’<br />And Alison found herself walking, stumbling...<br />‘And if you’re not how I want you when I come in....’<br />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.<br />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!<br />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.<br /><br />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. <br />‘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.<br />His mind went back to the Egyptian bint and the times he hadn’t mentioned to Alison Clements.<br />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...<br />Frank Kirkham looked at his watch. He would give her ten minutes then he would give her what she deserved.<br />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.<br />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.<br />At last....<br />‘Right, let’s deal with you then. You’re getting a spanking for being slow and then six strokes. It’s six for unpunctuality’<br />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.<br />‘Over my knee, young woman’<br />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.<br />‘Right, that’s warmed you up. Now clear one side of the desk and lay yourself over it.’<br />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.<br />‘Cut that out and do as I say. At once’<br />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.<br />‘And keep still...stick your bottom up and out higher. Higher, you disobedient girl’.<br />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....<br />CRACK!<br />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.<br />Alison heard herself shriek. Six he had said. No. She couldn’t....Four more like that was not...<br />CRACK!....<br />She stood up and put her hands to her wretched backside. She needed to rub.<br />‘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’.<br />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.<br />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.<br />‘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. <br />* * * *<br />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.<br />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....<br />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.<br />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. <br />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.<br />.John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-15878410514023705702010-03-02T02:24:00.000-08:002010-03-02T02:26:21.532-08:00Nicola again.....<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghg4SopvUz04EMfV6ByTayXvQunhMbDIFUQX_UNhW58_0dRph5NlUcK4OYcsXEppLc-icUCDccHhQ-QG6-0gHCQ4KjoqHKD7pb2fymMdTzO1Dd8k4WsAQucqkLTHBZ04tQFMZ9MusCo1Y9/s1600-h/Pic+2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443980533651247570" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 233px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghg4SopvUz04EMfV6ByTayXvQunhMbDIFUQX_UNhW58_0dRph5NlUcK4OYcsXEppLc-icUCDccHhQ-QG6-0gHCQ4KjoqHKD7pb2fymMdTzO1Dd8k4WsAQucqkLTHBZ04tQFMZ9MusCo1Y9/s320/Pic+2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br />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.John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-53423285650082489302010-03-02T02:21:00.000-08:002010-03-02T02:24:18.803-08:00Naughty Nicola<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3aR4sWI_hl2QGxErv1y00usOfLnFZMMb_37-hMdLF3ji1uMUOhlh8SI7OMtKSpRJJJtWYSU8cORECAiA-i14p62hDFuWACYsym-eGjv-uAQ1NF3jR7PXdJTMS9bpv6yAr6YcnogTTBeL1/s1600-h/Pic+1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443979996032957202" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 287px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3aR4sWI_hl2QGxErv1y00usOfLnFZMMb_37-hMdLF3ji1uMUOhlh8SI7OMtKSpRJJJtWYSU8cORECAiA-i14p62hDFuWACYsym-eGjv-uAQ1NF3jR7PXdJTMS9bpv6yAr6YcnogTTBeL1/s320/Pic+1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br />Here's a lovely image of Ms Redway from Janus in the mid-eighties.John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-84435877612828515142010-03-02T02:19:00.000-08:002010-03-02T02:21:40.956-08:00Shoplifter Caned<strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">This is another of Mike From London's excellent stories. Lovely flashback, well-deserved, condign, punishment and some nicely observed detail.</span></strong><br /><br /><br />I own a small bookshop in Ilford and, as I am generally serving alone in the shop, there is quite a problem with shoplifting. To prevent this I have a system of mirrors so that I can see what is going on in the shop while I am in the backroom.<br />About a fortnight ago a young lady about twenty years old came into the shop and started looking at the books. I asked her if she was looking for anything in particular but she said she was just browsing. As she was the only customer and I had to go through some orders I left her looking at the books and went through into the back. After a minute or two I glanced up and was surprised to see her slipping a hardback book into her bag. I came out and asked her if she had found anything she wanted, but she brazenly said she hadn't and started to walk out.<br />I stepped into her way and grabbed hold of her bag. I said 'Oh no you don't! You haven't paid for that book in there!'<br />I opened the bag and took out the book. At first she said that she had brought it with her, but when it was opened it still had my shop's marker inside it. I told her that I was going to telephone the police as I always prosecuted shoplifters.<br />I was surprised at the response. I had expected the 'couldn't care less' attitude I had come across on most similar occasions but instead she was very distressed and obviously near tears (though I suppose she may have put this on to gain my sympathy).<br />I told her that what she had done was against the law and that she was a criminal and that the law must take its course. She begged me not to phone the police; she was training to be a solicitor and her parents had spent hundreds of pounds on her to get a degree and pass the Law Society Examinations. If I reported her it would all be wasted as she would not be allowed to qualify as a solicitor if she had just been convicted of shoplifting.<br />I said that was her fault and she should have thought of that first, but she kept on imploring me. She said that she knew that she had done wrong but that her whole life and future career would be ruined if she had to go to court, and that she would not be able to face her parents.<br />It was only then that I thought of the obvious. Several years ago when my daughter, Pru, had been a mischievous schoolgirl I had occasionally used a few quick whacks from a regulation school cane on her when he was exceptionally naughty. I was almost sure it was still upstairs. Looking at this girl admitting she had done wrong and begging me not to go to the police reminded me irresistibly of Pru aged fifteen begging me not to give her her first ever caning. Prior to that it had always just been a hand-spanking over her tight knickers.<br />I said to this girl, 'Well, you admit that you attempted to steal the book which was a crime, so you must be punished. I will only agree not to go to the police if you agree to take your punishment from me.'<br />She asked hesitantly what I meant, but I think she guessed by then. I told her that I thought I still had a school punishment cane upstairs and that the choice was hers; so far as I was concerned I would phone the police that minute. She asked what her punishment would be if she agreed.<br />I said that there were two elements to a caning - pain and humiliation. If anyone deserved a sound caning she did and I would give her six strokes on her covered bottom and a final four strokes on her bared backside. I knew that this would add greatly to the punishment. Pru had always hated lifting her skirt up but it was always the moment when I peeled her knickers down and forced her to present her already wealed bottom to receive yet more strokes that broke her resolve. It would obviously be very much more humiliating for a twenty year old young woman to have to show her naked caned bottom to a strange man.<br />When I explained my proposals to the girl she didn't speak for a while and then she started to cry. She said she couldn't make up her mind. She didn't want me to go to the police, but she couldn't stand the idea of taking her clothes off in front of a stranger. I said that my only interest was that she got the punishment that she deserved one way or another. I suggested that she go off and walk around a bit to make her mind up and come back at six o'clock in the evening. I would keep her handbag as a safeguard and I told her that if she wasn't back by then I would telephone the police.<br />I took a good look at her. She was a very attractive young lady, about twenty as I said, around 5'4" tall and slimly built. She had long, light blonde hair and was wearing a blue cotton top with the words from a Coca-Cola advert written across it. It was quite tight and showed off her breasts very well - she didn't seem to be wearing a bra. She also had on a figure-hugging pair of navy trousers and a pair of chunky sandals. I could see the clear outline of the hem of tight briefs showing through the seat of the trousers.<br /> I told her not to change her clothes in any way or even to think of putting on another pair of panties if she decided to be punished by me. If she did she would get the entire punishment on the bare.<br />After she left I checked in the handbag to get some information in the intervals between serving customers. I soon saw that she had been telling the truth about training to be a solicitor and she had an orange card saying Law Society Student's Card. I saw that her name was Jane Peterson and also noted her address. The shop closed at 5.30 and I went upstairs to find the cane. It didn't take me long and I practised a few experimental whacks and left the cane lying on my bed.<br />I had suggested 6.00 as both shops next to me would be closed by then and no-one lived above them. Should Jane elect for a caning there would be nobody to hear if she yelled out during the punishment.<br />Just before 6.00 the bell rang and I opened the door. Jane was there with a determined look on her face. She said that she had decided that it would have to be the caning and that she wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. I asked her if she wanted to go to the toilet but she said no. So I led her to my bedroom and then left her for a few minutes, telling her to wait. I did this as I knew that waiting would make the punishment worse. When I came back Jane was holding the cane, obviously trying to imagine what its effect on her bottom would be. At last it was time for me to show her.<br />I told her to stand by the bed, about two feet away, and bend down, placing her hands on the bed. The tight blue trousers stretched themselves over Jane's lower curves, displaying her bottom cheeks to perfection. I could see the shape of her knickers through the thin material. I told her to stand up again and take town her trousers. Slowly she undid the fastening and fly zip and peeled them off her bottom, pulling them down to her knees. Following instructions she bent down again, her tiny white-and-blue checked knickers stretched taut over her fine round cheeks. I swung the cane lightly on to her bottom and away again to check that I had enough room for a free swing. Then I said 'Right. This is your last chance - shall I phone the police?'<br />She said in a choked voice, obviously between gritted teeth: 'No!' So I said that as the idea was that no-one should know what she had done, or that she'd been caned it was up to her not to shout out as otherwise people might come in to ask what was going on. I told her I would give her an extra stroke for each time she cried out loudly. Actually, of course, there was no chance of anyone hearing but Jane couldn't know that and it would not be a very satisfactory punishment if she yelled and shrieked and struggled at every stroke - after all she had, literally, asked for it.<br />I kept her waiting for the first stroke and swished the cane in the air a few times so as to take her by surprise, watching that pert bottom flinch expectantly each time. Then I lifted the cane as high as possible and brought it down with all the strength of my right arm, putting all my weight - 12 stone 4 pounds - behind it. It landed exactly half way up the target area and there was a very satisfactory Whack!<br />Jane gave a convulsive leap upwards and her hands went to her bottom. She could not restrain a high-pitched note of pain, but cut it off short. I admired her courage as she immediately bent down again ready for the next stroke. I counted 'One!'.<br />Once again I took my time over the next stroke, relishing the sight of Jane's delectable rear. Then I whipped the cane down again, landing it slightly lower, just where the knickers revealed the bare flesh of her thigh-tops. It was as hard as the first one but she took it well, apart from some involuntary squirmings. I said 'Two!' and slashed down the next stroke almost simultaneously. It had the desired effect and took her by surprise; she yelled out blue murder. So I didn't count that one and gave her another in as near as possible the same place.<br />She jumped and I heard the gasp of her sharp intake of breath, but she restrained her yell. So the punishment was half over so far as the over-knickers caning was concerned. I took stock of the situation. Jane had begun to cry and she was breathing heavily, her breasts wobbling through her tee-shirt, she was still in position but couldn't help moving all the time. Her long fair hair was all over the place and right over her eyes.<br />I released stroke four which landed just on the lower curves of her buttocks - again her hands went to her panties and away. The next stroke landed in the same place and Jane yelled loudly again. So I didn't count that one and whacked another one in, just as hard, in the same place.<br />Stroke six was an experiment. I aimed it just to the left buttock so that the tip of the cane dug in hard halfway across her briefs. She was by now sobbing continuously, but it did not evoke a yell.<br />I told her to get up and she did - slowly and unsteadily. She put her hands to her bottom, stretching out her long, delicate fingers to cover the whole devastated area and tenderly caress it. The knickers were almost transparent and the marks showed clearly through them When she seemed in command of herself I told her to pull them down.<br />At first she started to protest and refused, but when I insisted and told her it had been her choice she started to insert her fingers in the waistband. All resistance was gone. With her back to me she very carefully and slowly began to draw her briefs down. I didn't blame her for being slow about it. It clearly hurt like hell sliding the tiny garment over her swollen and wealed buttocks This was a careful operation and she was constantly squealing to herself. When they reached her ankles I told her to bend down again and she did so hesitantly, trying to keep her shaky legs as close together as she could.<br />Seeing the well-punished naked flesh I had an irresistible need to spank it and my left hand fell firmly on her right cheek. It was hot to the touch. Her outraged yell simply made me give equal treatment to the other side. ‘No more than you deserve you bad, bad girl’ I admonished.<br />The remaining cane strokes I aimed low. I hit as hard as I could, and she certainly felt them, as she showed by jerking violently each time the cane collided with her naked, now unprotected, flesh.<br />I stood for almost a minute looking at the pattern of weals on her fine backside and then suddenly let loose with the hardest stroke I could muster, aiming it diagonally so as to cross the biggest, most raised weals. This time her yell was frighteningly loud even though I knew no-one could hear. So I said 'That's another one then!' and waited for her to position herself again. When she did so I just tapped her bottom lightly with the cane and said 'ten!’ She didn't deserve any more; she'd been really quite brave given the pain and humiliation I had dealt out.<br />I told her she could stand up now and as she did so I saw the vivid weal from that last punishing stroke - no wonder she'd screamed. I told Jane to get dressed and said that it might be an idea for her to put her trousers back on without the knickers, and this is what she did. I also suggested that she washed her face and tidied her hair and then come downstairs, where I would be waiting.<br />When she finally reappeared I said that she had taken her punishment well and that so far as I was concerned it was all forgotten. I offered her a cup of tea and suggested she stayed indoors for a while till the worst of the pain went and only then went back to her flat. Otherwise her flat-mates would probably guess more or less what had happened. Surprisingly enough she accepted and I quite enjoyed sitting down to my tea watching her drinking hers, standing up and still crying quietly.<br />Afterwards we went into the sitting room and I switched on the telly. We watched until after News at Ten and by then she had stopped crying and dried her tears. During the news she made an attempt to sit down. Very carefully she lowered herself onto a chair. But as soon as her trousers made contact with the seat she jumped up again with a stifled 'Owww!’ She hopped from one foot to the other and then turned to me and said with a tight smile 'I don't really feel like sitting down at the moment. I'd rather stand!'<br />After the news Jane made up her face and managed to control her expression so that no-one would guess what she had been through. She still walked stiffly, though, and could not help an occasional grimace of pain. She told me that if her flat-mates noticed anything she would tell them that she had banged her leg and bruised it badly. I handed her back her handbag and she put her knickers in it. Finally, just before 11.00, she left, and I wished her luck in her profession.<br />This was the last I saw of Jane until yesterday when she walked back into my shop again. This time she was wearing a printed summer frock. There were other customers, but when they had been served and had gone she walked over to the counter. I was rather surprised but pleased to see her. I asked her how she was.<br />She knew what I meant and said that she was still sore and bruised. She told me that it still hurt to sit down and that she had had to take two days off work.Shyly she lifted up her skirt to reveal a pair of tiny plain white panties – the flesh was clearly red underneath. It had been a severe thrashing. She said, though, that she knew that she'd deserved it and that she'd come back to say that she was very sorry and would not ever do anything like it again.<br />I told her that she was a brave girl but that she had probably needed a good spanking. She replied, 'Well, if so, I certainly got one!' and ruefully rubbed her bottom. She told me that she had not worn trousers or jeans all that fortnight as they rubbed so painfully but had worn loose skirts and dresses all the while.<br />In the end she got out her purse and gave me £4.95. She finally bought the book it had all been about! And then Jane went out again and I watched her bottom wiggle through her frock and thought about the marks that I alone knew were on it.<br />So far no-one else has tried to shoplift but I think now that I'll offer anyone I catch the same choice. The cane has probably been a more effective punishment for Jane than a fine would have been, and somehow I’ve a feeling it won’t be the last time I give that delightful bottom its just desserts.John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-14547476692302602832010-02-19T03:41:00.000-08:002010-03-14T07:58:12.221-07:00The New Riding Whip<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc364fSG-aihTRItDKhXxDHJARSBvrSTLhwcPqsMmNEdrVrMw4O6spNw2Ta5t0vHlyTRDB4MGwYrzSFMsFvYD_onnAQA70iJ6Dw5hyphenhyphenGigaxyuPwOxLopnhlERepVUFMvIvi70wOjnWukrJ/s1600-h/Alicia+-+illus.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc364fSG-aihTRItDKhXxDHJARSBvrSTLhwcPqsMmNEdrVrMw4O6spNw2Ta5t0vHlyTRDB4MGwYrzSFMsFvYD_onnAQA70iJ6Dw5hyphenhyphenGigaxyuPwOxLopnhlERepVUFMvIvi70wOjnWukrJ/s320/Alicia+-+illus.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448502944962016642" /></a><br />This is a Janus story from 1986. It has all the elements of a great spanking story but most importantly it's heroine Alicia Thornfield is just beaufully described and so haughty and arrogant that we just can't wait to see her properly humbled.<br />Alicia is Sir Robert's step-daughter and she's living with him only under condition that she accepts his discipline. Wonderful. At 21 and having dropped out of university she is clearly a heap of trouble. The story starts with her crashing her car into her step-father's Jag. Worse still, she then tried to get the gardner to take the blame. A nicely-described and very credible cause for serious punishment.<br />The story then cuts, almost filmicly, to Sir Robert deciding to thrash the girl and then asking the housekeeper to order her to his study and asking that she brings the new crop he had recently given her. Tension building nicely here and then we get a feature of some of very best cp stories - a flashback.<br />We learn how just last week he had had to beat the girl - this time for carelessly breaking a vase. In an elegant phrase we read that 'so enrapt had Sir Robert been by her bottom clad in tight floral knickers that he had not hit hard'. Not hard, perhaps but still he'd delivered six of the best with cane on the be-knickered backside. Lovely.<br />Then it's back to Alicia who's now in her room, quickly changing into riding kit to try to escape. Nicely erotic moment as she pulls up her jodphurs and feels the 'ghostly tingle of the caning her step-father had dared to give her last week'.<br />We're half way through, anticipation is at fever-pitch and yet the real drama has yet to start.<br />Alicia tries to slip out but is apprehended by the housekeeper and ordered to the study, crop in hand. On the other side of the door Sir Robert has a feeling 'akin to Champagne' as he contemplates what he's about to do. Who can blame him - he's a lucky guy.<br />Nicely judged scene where the pouting lovely 'wheedles and weeps' but - thank God - to no avail. Soon enough she's hearing her sentence - its eighteen strokes, on the bare, bent over the sofa because the desk had hurt her last time.<br />It's always good to know what's coming - it makes it seem like a just punishment not some wilful thrashing and the detail here is superb.<br />Very slowly 'resigned to her fate' Ms Thornfield undoes the buttons either her side of her riding britches and slowly lowers them - and it feels like slow motion - to reveal green-and-white chequered knickers. A lovely, convincingly random choice. I'm sure if I'd seen this girl I'd have speculated about her underwear; would probably have seen the outline but would never have guessed at green and white panties underneath.<br />Desperately Alicia tries to keep them up but, with real, growing anger, Sir Robert booms 'and the knickers' and down they come.<br />Her apple-shaped bum is set off 'as a jewel' and the beating baronet begins to raise his weopen.<br />Its a really good thrashing. Every one of the eighteen strokes is described. The weeping girl tries hard to control herself but is duly brought down to a totally humiliated, abject little girl. The stripes build, the heat mounts and her buttocks are soon a lovely crimson.<br />I don't recall if the knickers are restored or if she limps out with them at half-mast. I do know that this story endures re-reading time and time again and that beating a bit of posh-totty with a crop with her panties at her knees is one of the very best fantasies I know.<br /><br />So here it is:<br /><br /><em><strong>The New Riding Whip</strong></em><br /><br />HER upper body was pressed against the steering-wheel, and her dazzlingly pretty face gaped aghast through the<br />windscreen. She had hit something! After several stunned seconds she straightened up in the driver's seat,<br />Suddenly pale beneath the suntan which still lingered from those fragrant weeks in the Greek islands. Strands of golden hair obscured her wide, vividly blue eyes, for her head<br />had jerked forward at the collision.<br />Shakily, feeling faint, she pushed the hair back from her flawless forehead and opened the door of the brand-new<br />Jaguar. Stepping out on long, lissom legs she stretched her lithe young body and smoothed the rucked-up skirt over her slender hips. Then, with tingling nerves and a sick feeling of<br />dread, Alicia Thornfield walked to the front of the gleaming vehicle to inspect the damage.<br />The wheelbarrow she had driven into lay crushed and splintered on the broad gravel driveway, but this was not what the girl was staring at. The offside wing of the Jaguar was<br />shockingly defaced by dents and scratches, and the headlamp and the blinker were smashed! The awful<br />sight made her inhale deeply, pushing her tip-tilted breasts against the sheer silk fabric of her blouse.<br />Desperately she turned and looked around for someone to blame for this disaster, for the fool who had put the wheelbarrow there, right where it shouldn't be, in the middle of the drive into which she had just turned the car. In the distance she observed Rogerson, the gardener, hurrying<br />towards her shaking his grey-haired head; and even then the mettlesome young woman's full red lips curled with distaste to see how his startled gaze roamed over her bare legs beneath the tight skirt. 'You damn well ought to know better than to leave your stupid barrow here!' Alicia shouted, stamping her foot in fury and fright. Even to the unimaginative gardener she looked petite and doll-like, almost unreal in her perfection<br />of feminine shapeliness. It could have been that French actress, Bardot -re-formed and scarcely 21 again raging<br />at him beside his employer's distressingly damaged vehicle. The agile figure was daintily trim, little waisted with breasts like apples quivering under translucent silk, the trim thighs succulent-her legs smooth, sun-browned stems more lovely than the loveliest bloom in the orchid house from where he had hurried on hearing the distant crump. To the gardener, she looked rather like a flower herself.<br />But the aloofly alluring nymphet face, achingly pretty, was red and twisted now as she screeched at him, scattering the soft, honey-gold hair about that perfect head. 'You silly old bastard, I've a sodding good mind to ... to .. .'<br />'Ooh, dear,' said Rogerson, dragging to a stop. 'Ooh, my, Miss Alicia. Your stepdad won't be too happy when he sees what you've done to his new car!' 'What I've done, I’ve done?' the girl wailed. 'How was I supposed to know that bloody wheelbarrow was here? It was your fault. I was looking at the<br />rose-bushes when I drove in.’<br />'With respect, Miss,' ventured Rogerson, 'Sir Robert told me to leave it here when he called me to the orchid-house. And anyway, there's plenty of room on either side. If you'd been lookin' where you should've been .. .'<br />'Shut up!' she shrilled. 'Fix it, do something useful! Before he sees it, too!'<br />The gardener shook his head, well used-as were the other servants – to the stormy temper of this spoiled, succulent slip of a girl; a temper remarkably similar to that of Sir Robert, her stepfather, with whom he had just been discussing orchids<br />Uncomfortably similar, the man thought, and almost smiled.<br />'Ain't nothing I can fix, Miss,' said Rogerson. 'That'll need a crash repair job down the garage.'<br />'Oh, you're absolutely hopeless!'<br />Abruptly the girl swung round on her heels, and the man caught his breath at the sudden sight of her tightly compacted<br />little rump wiggling roundly beneath the clinging skirt as she<br />hurried up the broad stone stairs to the entrance-door of the stately, ivy smothered house.<br />As Alicia hastened to the temporary sanctuary of her room, cold spurts of dread pulsed through her, which quickly heated to panic that made her heart bump. She had borrowed her<br />stepfather's car on one of those reckless impulses of hers, believing him to be away. Certainly he would never have allowed her. After all, she had a car of her own-but it was a lot<br />more fun to drive a brand-new Jaguar than a three-year-old VW Golf. And, damn it, he'd obviously come back while she was out on the road and, assuming his car to be in the garage,<br />was pottering about with his wretched orchids! Now Rogerson<br />would blurt it all out. It was only a question of time. She decided to escape on her horse, Athos, for a few hours until her stepfather's anticipated wrath had cooled. Just in case, dreadfully, he took it into his head (and hand!) to do to her again what he'd done last week or so when she'd broken one of his ugly antique vases in an outburst of pique! The very<br />thought of that made the girl squirm. <br />In her bedroom Alicia hastily stripped off her day-clothes and<br />scrabbled in the cupboard for her riding-gear. As she leaned forward to work her ankles into the narrow jodhpurs she paused, catching sight of her bent-over bottom in the cheval-glass mirror. The plumply curved mounds, scarcely covered by the flimsy lace panties, were still marked with two pale pink stripes on the silky skin where the buttocks swelled out from the tops of her pretty thighs. Marks from that excruciating caning he had dared to give her last week! Faintly swollen, slightly raised, they tingled as her fingers touched them. This ghostly tingling returned the girl to her<br />urgent need for haste, and she quickly straightened, hauling up the skin-tight breeches ...<br />'How could that wretched girl run straight into a barrow when there's room for at least ten cars?' Sir Robert was exclaiming, dangerously red in the face as he surveyed the crushed wing of his coveted Jaguar. At six-feet-three and shaking with rage,<br />he made a daunting sight. Some thirty years ago he had boxed for the University and rowed stroke in their best eight'. Now in his fifties, a handsome-featured man who had not only retained the hair on his head but most of its sable colouring, he stood straight and powerful, protesting his ill-fortune in an operatic baritone.<br />Ordering the gardener to arrange for the car to be mended at the garage in the village, he stalked off towards the house, determined to have a serious chat with his seemingly incorrigible stepdaughter.<br />He strode into the spacious hallway and paused, breathing harshly in an effort to control his fury as his hot glare settled on the umbrella-stand, which bristled with brollies and sticks. From it he selected a smart new lady's riding-whip, which he<br />angrily swished through the air. Then he walked through to his private study at the back of the house, thwacking the thin crop against the palm of his hand with a thoughtful but determined expression. Picking up the internal telephone he rang the housekeeper, Mrs White, and asked her to tell his stepdaughter to come down immediately.<br />Mrs White smiled grimly as she walked up the stairs and along the corridor to the room at the comer of the building. At her approach the door flew open and Miss Alicia dashed<br />out, dressed for riding in those skin-tight breeches which hugged across her eye-catching buttocks and so tantalised the male staff. The young mistress was also wearing a white<br />blouse, and calf-length boots on which she wobbled away towards the back stairs, clearly anxious not to be seen. <br />'Miss Alicia!' the housekeeper called. The girl froze in her tracks, and when she turned her face was flushed and her lovely blue eyes looked feverish. <br />'Sir Robert would like you down in his study, please.'<br />'1-1 have to take Athos out for his daily exercise,' the girl replied as nonchalantly as she could. 'Tell him<br />you haven't seen me, okay?'<br />'Your stepfather knows you're in, and was most insistent that you come down at once,' intoned the housekeeper with a somewhat malicious smile: like most of the domestic staff,<br />she had more than once been on the receiving end of this beautiful, willowy girl's temper. <br />'By the way,' the woman added, 'I noticed that Sir Robert took<br />your new riding-whip from the hall stand. It's in his study with him. I expect you'll need it later, when you go riding.' With that Mrs White swung round and clomped away, scarcely concealing her excitement and pleasure at what might well soon be happening to that spoiled, slender young beauty within a very short space of time.<br />As Alicia retraced her steps miserably towards the main stairs,<br />unconsciously she let her hands smooth over her narrow hips and backwards across her pert, pouting seat. Through the drum-taut fabric of her breeches she felt again the still-swollen stripes across her compact bottom. This wasn't her lucky week at all. She had got the cane only a few days before, despite her age of almost 21. Now it looked horribly as if she might be in for a taste of her own riding-whip! In a helpless gesture of defiance she tilted her dainty chin and<br />pulled back her shoulders, strangely satisfied at how the buttoned-up blouse tightened across her proudly high-nippled breasts.<br />Alicia was all too aware of her stepfather's rages. Since her mother had passed away almost three years ago, she had lived alone with him and three servants in this old mansion from which he controlled his companies. All through her teens, Alicia had been high-spirited, but it wasn't until after her mother died that her stepfather began to treat her more like<br />an irresponsible girl than a young lady.<br />She did concede, however, that the physical punishments he had begun to mete out were usually her own fault Alicia appreciated the continuing luxury of living in this large house<br />with servants, and hadn't made any serious efforts to get a job. After a year at university she had become tired of studies, and defiantly stayed at home. Her stepfather wanted her to accept<br />work in one of his companies, but she had declined; and, after several vain attempts at persuasion, he had become angry and informed her that as long as she was living under his roof without contributing to her own upkeep, she was to obey him and accept his discipline. Meekly, yet sullenly, Alicia had agreed to his terms.<br />As the girl moved with increasing trepidation towards the combined library and study where Sir Robert worked when at home, the breeches seemed to cling extra tightly to her<br />hips and thighs. Alicia liked them like that, enjoying clothes which presented her figure to advantage. At the door she paused, breathed deeply, yet again, and raised her knuckles to knock.<br />Then she lowered them, and realised she was trembling.<br />On the other side of the stout mahogany door the incensed stepparent paced impatiently about as he waited for his errant young charge to appear. His gaze wandered around the room with its well-stocked bookcases and fine old oak panelling, finally coming to rest on the supple riding whip he had placed prominently on the large, leather-topped desk. For a moment he mentally pictured Alicia's girlishly sleek-skinned flanks,<br />and experienced a somewhat guilty, steadily-rising excitement. The whip had been a gift to the girl when he had<br />bought Athos for her, and he had always thought how exhilarating it would be to use it on Alicia's truly attractive bottom. Her bare bottom as naked as that of her horse! Sir Robert squared his heavy shoulder and couldn't suppress a sigh, very much aware of the particular quality of pleasure such thoughts gave him. It was a heady feeling akin to the intoxication afforded by champagne, only more so!<br />Last time, some ten days ago, he had made her bend over this same writing-desk. Alicia had been wearing a ridiculously brief skirt, which he considered frankly indecent. Furious<br />as Sir Robert had already been on account of the girl's clumsiness, the riveting sight of those round, packed-to-bursting rumps and silky thigh-backs had flooded the man's<br />senses with a great glow of well-being; of supreme anticipation! He had turned up her skirt and uncovered a<br />pair of deliciously-shaped buttocks encased in skimpy pink nylon knickers with a pattern of small flowers and a lace edging. He had been in something of a daze as he picked up the cane and delivered ten crisp whacks across that gorgeous rear, remembering only that the girl had complained with sharp aaaooouuuches and OOWWU1S, though probably more loudly than she had reason to, for in his rapt condition he had not hit hard.<br />After the caning Alicia hadn't wept much, but had snifflingly promised him to behave better in future. In the intervening days, however, Sir Robert had found himself secretly hoping that his beautiful 20-year-old stepdaughter would revert to her true nature. And now, sure enough, with this inexcusable 'borrowing' and damaging of his Jaguar, the wilful girl had played straight into his more than-willing hands.<br />Now he began to positively savour the imminent encounter. As Alicia had protested at how, during her caning, the desk-edge had bit into her hips at the front, he now decided to<br />have the girl lying across the arm support of the leather-clad sofa. Thus she would have her hips raised higher, which would prevent her from attempting to stand up between the strokes to rub her bottom as she had tried to do before.<br />At the uncharacteristically timid rap on the door the big man stiffened more tensely in his brown gardening tweeds, and ran a finger round the inside of his collar.<br />'Come!' he barked.<br />The door crept open and Alicia stepped into the study. In her riding habit, with well-polished riding-boots, her slender figure was indeed a fetching sight to behold. He always enjoyed seeing her in that costume, with white blouse buttoned demurely to the neck, and tight khaki breeches snugly contouring her buttocks, thighs and hips. On horseback, with helmet and jacket on too, she always caught the eyes of the spectators. On this occasion, though, he was to be the sole spectator; and he intended it to be a spectacle very much worth the watching. Sir Robert's heavily handsome features hardened, and his eyes were like flints. The only gestures which betrayed the excitement he felt were the way his fingers pushed through his white-flecked hair and his firm, grave mouth twitched at the corners. <br />Shut the door, Alicia,' he said quietly. <br />Blushing, and in increasing dread, the girl obeyed. She took a few steps forward and then her eyes grew round on seeing her own flexible plaited riding-whip on the desk over which she had sprawled that last dreadful time.<br />'I-I'm sorry about the car, honestly I am,' she said. Her voice trembled.<br />Demurely she held her eyes downcast, then dared a glance at him from beneath long eyelashes.<br />'Being "sorry" simply isn't enough, Alicia,' her stepfather rapped. 'You blithely take my new car without permission - that, in itself, would have been offence enough to justify how I now intend to deal with you.' His voice grew in force and pitch, so that each word made the girl flinch as if from a slap. 'But you then, through sheer wanton recklessness, drive it into a barrow and have the gall to try and put the blame on the gardener!'<br />Feeling increasingly apprehensive, panting with growing agitation, Alicia was shifting her weight and fidgeting as she tried to find a way out of this appalling scrape. She had a genuinely guilty look on her face now, and did her best to avoid his angry glare. But her flinching gaze only settled again on the riding-whip.<br />'Look at me, young lady,' he rasped. ’Raise your head and look me in my eyes when I'm talking to you!'<br />Alicia's neat white teeth showed as she bit at her lower lip and glanced up at him from under wet, trembling lashes. Tears had appeared in her large blue eyes. '<br />‘Please, father, I've said I'm sorry,' the girl implored. 'It will- hurt so much!' <br />Desperately, Alicia tried another tack. 'Look, I'm almost<br />21 now! I-I'll pay for the damage somehow, but please don't use that on me. I'm a grown woman now, I'm .. .'<br />Sir Robert towered above her as she wheedled and wept. The very sight of that graceful young woman with the honey-gold hair, enchanting face and wringing hands might have melted the heart of a less imaginative man. But Alicia's stepfather's imagination was too strong to deny his heated mental images the fulfilment of reality. He swelled his great chest, lifted his strong-jawed head higher, and picked up the girl's own riding-whip. <br />'Alicia,' he intoned gravely, tapping his broad palm with the springy shaft, 'I have already told you that you have no one to blame but yourself for the predicament you are in-and you will pay in the manner I have chosen.' She gasped as he moved around the desk towards her. 'Get over there to the<br />sofa,' he instructed, almost softly now. 'I want you across the arm support with your feet to the floor.'<br />Instinctively, Alicia turned to obey. With hands clasped to the seat of her smartly-tailored breeches she moved most unwillingly to the sofa, daring to hope that he would at least let her keep her breeches on. She had used that new leather switch quite often enough lately when riding Athos. It<br />stung even him, so she was well aware of its whipping quality. The trim young woman stopped close to the arm support and cast a pleading glance back at her stepfather, searching for words that might stop this happening. None came.<br />'Take your breeches down,' came the command.<br />'No, please!' Alicia's voice grew shrill as her hands flew to the waistband of her pants-not to release it but to hold them in position.<br />'Take them down, or I shall do it for you!' His voice was implacable, and she could hear him breathing harshly.<br />'Oh. No. No-o. Please, stepfather, let me keep them on!'<br />'Do as I tell you, Alicia,' he ordered, and the young lady knew there was nothing else for her but to obey.<br />Wretchedly she fumbled with the buttons, five on each side of the drum-tight breeches. She undid them slowly, clumsily, fingers trembling, till the side-splits fell open. Yet still she held her breeches up. When Alicia glanced imploringly at him, she saw him taking the leather whip from the table, and quickly averted her eyes. Glowering, yet inwardly elated, Sir<br />Robert stepped up • behind his quavering stepdaughter, thwacking his palm with unmistakable intention.<br />'Let them down to your knees,' he ordered, noting with further quiet pleasure the hem of her blouse and a small nylon garment in green and white through the slit-opening. Defiantly, desperately, Alicia continued to hold her breeches up. <br />'Please, father,' she begged, 'i-it will hurt too much. You know I'm still sore.. .' The girl increased her sobbing, frantic to be spared this punishment which she had dreaded from the moment the car had hit the wheelbarrow.<br />Her face was red and swollen from the tears, and she felt utterly ashamed. Yet, in an act of obstinacy which marked her character, she continued to tug up the breeches as highas she could. And, because she was at the same time bending slightly forward, the fabric stretched very tightly around her protruding, deliciously apple-shaped behind. It was an enticement impossible to resist. Sir Robert raised the crop and let it swish through the air to land with a dull swat right<br />across where the cloth was the most taut.<br />Alicia let out a shrill yelp. The smart was perfectly atrocious. She felt it penetrate in stinging waves even through her breeches, and at once she jumped to the side, half-turning her back away from him.<br />'Are you ready to obey me now? asked Sir Robert harshly, raising the whip again. The lovely girl whimpered, hesitating only a moment more before she pushed the breeches down, unveiling a pair of the flimsiest green-and white chequered knickers with a narrow lace edging around the thighs.<br />Then she turned with a deep sigh, face glittering with tears as she looked beseechingly at her stepfather, the khaki riding-breeches wrinkled around her knees in a most humiliating manner. 'And the knickers, please.'<br />This time the proud girl gaped. 'No! she exclaimed. 'You can't mean ... ?'<br />'But I do mean, Alicia,' the big man retorted, feeling the glowing within him enhance to a quiet radiance. 'You will pull your knickers down so that your buttocks are entirely bare.' As if to underline his instruction, he lightly tapped the bare skin of her thighs below the knicker-legs. 'Now?<br />Slowly, as if resigned at last to her fate, Alicia put her thumbs inside the elastic round her waist and sobbingly stooped to pull the scant protection down. With the globes of her buttocks thus starkly bared, and desperately shy in case he might see her exposed front, she quickly bent over the leather chair-arm and stretched herself out on her tummy, legs slightly apart and dangling down, hiding her face in her open hands. <br />Seeing his stepdaughter bent submissively across the sofa with her bare bottom uppermost and panties at her knees, Sir Robert yielded to an irresistible temptation to examine more closely Alicia's enticingly attractive buttocks. So gorgeously curved they were, with flinching muscles in the springy flesh.<br />It was a perfect bottom, like some succulent peach, pushed high by the arching of its owner's supple spine to receive<br />its well-deserved chastisement.<br />'It's your flagrant disobedience which has merited this thrashing,' Sir Robert now summarised in low, even tones. 'You must learn responsibility for your actions, Alicia.' He stood, to one side of her prostrate body, noting with great satisfaction how her buttock-muscles tensed and jumped under the silken flesh. Flexing the riding-whip, he raised his arm. 'As you soon will be 21,' he told her, 'I have decided to be more strict with you than before. On the last occasion you received-ten. Today it will have to be fifteen.'<br />'Please,' she gasped. 'Please, you can't. 1-1 still have marks from the cane; you know my skin is so sensitive . . . Aaaaawwwch! Alicia had hardly finished her protest when a hissing in the air was followed by a crisp smack and her complaining shriek of pain from the ferocious sting the riding whip caused as it smote smartly across her naked, flinching bottom. The thin, flexible leather at once recoiled and landed again below its first mark, though not quite so hard as the initial blow. Involuntarily the girl stretched her body rigidly and her arms shot forward as her feet lifted from the floor.<br />For several seconds she lay stiffly horizontal, whimpering as she fought to absorb the pain.<br /><br />'Put your feet down, Alicia,' he told her sharply. 'I want your bottom bent tightly over.'<br />In a mist of anguish and embarrassment Alicia did as bidden, thrusting her knuckles into her mouth as if biting them would prevent her from yelling out for the next stroke, and the next.<br />As Sir Robert swung back the riding-crop, warming to his enviable task, the oppressive weight of day-to-day business problems seemed to lift from him, to be replaced by a heady sensation of glorious release.<br />The sound the crop made as it whipped through the air, the feel of its meaty impact on those so-sweet pillows of flesh, were like elixir to his soul.<br />lVhiissh- SPLlCK!<br />'Uuuhuuu, the girl sobbed, wriggling her so very vulnerable<br />bottom in a rage of pain and humiliation. Through the raspings her body made as it bucked and threshed against the leather chair-arm she remembered something her stepfather<br />had said when he had beaten her before, that she ought to be<br />grateful as long as she could atone for her transgressions in this way, because the alternative might one day be prison and public disgrace .. .<br />Sswiish-whackl Even as she cried out, she shuddered at the thought of being locked away in a shabby cell. Instead, it seemed, her own elegant, expensive riding-whip was scoring<br />another burning mark diagonally across her left buttock, and the last inches of the switch etched a far more painful stripe across the back of her right thigh.<br />'Aaaghh, please-please NO!'<br />Ssswiiish! That smack came too soon after its predecessor. Alicia had scarcely time to release the shrill yelp which accompanied it, before the doubled smart in her bottom forced<br />her to emit a shrieking, gasping, unintelligible croak.<br />For a few moments Sir Robert paused to allow his quailing stepdaughter to catch her breath. The man's eyes glowed with the pleasure of a connoisseur being richly satisfied as he surveyed those round, ripe rumps now striped and crimsoning.<br />He was in heaven! Sucking in air he again poised his hand high above the seductive target and brought the riding-whip whistling down. <br />Ssssplaatt! A new stripe burned across the resilient girl-flesh just below the crown of her rippling cheeks, and again Alicia emitted a cry of anguish. And then, like before, while she was squeezing her thighs hard and clenching her buttocks, she<br />received another screeching stroke immediately after, lower down in the tender bottom-skin near the tops of her shuddering legs. Alicia gave a gurgling cry and squirmed violently, wrenching her semi-nude body and removing her scorching buttocks from the target area.<br />Sir Robert paused as the following stroke was about to descend, then bent and grasped Alicia's left arm and forced her back into position over the padded leather support while the miserable girl pleaded and wept.<br />'Pup-please, stepfather-please, no more. I c-can't take it . . .' Alicia blubbered.<br />'There are eight more to come, Alicia,' he told her harshly. 'You're old enough to be brave and take the punishment you've earned, without making so much fuss! If you turn your<br />bottom again I will add more strokes!'<br />For a few moments Sir Robert let his stepdaughter rest. She had never in her life been thrashed so severely, but the lesson would be salutary. In the brief break, as her sniffles subsided<br />and her sweet young body settled, he savoured anew the uniquely intoxicating sights and sounds of the thrashing, the girl's mews and groans, and the feel of the pliant riding-switch<br />so light and lively in his grip.<br />Stretched across the arm of the sofa, Alicia welcomed the pause. She tried to relax and make her body go limp,<br />pressing her knuckles to her lips as she waited for the beating to resume, very much aware of her stepfather standing close behind and breathing hard as he regarded her red-striped, twitching, wincing bottom. Then he again, slowly, raised the<br />vicious crop-aiming at the pinkened tenderness where Alicia's thighs swelled lusciously into the half-globes of her pertly provocative, temptingly patterned backside.<br />Hwissh-thwackl The riding-whip sped down and struck accurately across the creases which marked the undercurves, forcing fresh shrillness from the girl's lips; and while her<br />buttocks were still trembling from the impact the switch fell once more, a little higher up, flattening the flesh and making her whole bottom wobble. Alicia gasped and cried, raising her<br />hips as if to meet the next stroke on its journey down, but her stepfather deliberately waited until she was again lying prone with her belly pressed to the chair-arm before he swept the whip down. The stroke made its authoritative crisp report<br />and a new red mark showed how the crop had hit across both her thighs immediately below the clenched buttocks.<br />Wailing and blubbering as she was, Alicia was by now doing her best to prepare herself for the pain each time the springy whip bit into her smarting flesh, and the sheer physical tension caused the muscles of her crimsoned bottom to move in flinching and twitching movements by themselves.<br />She began to feel a sense of pride in not crying out when the riding-whip struck into her flesh.<br />The next followed almost at once and hit right across the tops of her bare half-moons; and this time only a stifled moan left her mouth, though she could not prevent her hips from<br />jerking up and down. Alicia further began to find that the pang of the smacks was not unendurable-or so she was able to convince herself. There was of course no question<br />about the fact that he was punishing her most severely, and she had to weep because the tears helped to alleviate the stinging pain and made it possible for her to submit. The<br />repeated twinges which shot through her bottom when the riding-whip landed to decorate her skin with still another red-glowing stripe, caused her to blubber-though much more<br />quietly now, and this blubbering helped her to keep the position in which her stepfather wanted her.<br />Sir Robert had been counting the strokes in his head, but now he started to grunt them out loud. When Alicia heard 'Twelve, she began to feel relieved. And then, at last, she heard<br />him counting 'Fourteen' and 'Fifteen'.<br />For at least a minute afterwards, as she continued to lie across the leather chair-arm feeling her bottom throbbing hot and sore, tears coursed down Alicia's pretty cheeks, and all that could be heard was the gradual slowing of his grunting breaths and her own soft snifflings.<br />At length Sir Robert put the riding-whip back on his desk, almost with reverence, and for a while he stood back and examined, with silent admiration and a profound satisfaction,<br />Alicia's red-patterned, comely young bottom. The fawn jodhpurs had slipped down round her ankles and the green-and-white knickers were wrinkled below her knees. There<br />were stripes all over her shapely posterior and also a few long red marks across the backs of her thighs. Sir Robert raised his left hand and gave the girl a firm spank on the right cheek, watching as it burst in to fire again.<br />'All right, Alicia,' he said, his voice a little tired now after the elation he had experienced. 'You can get up now. I hope that you will always remember this lesson. It wasn't really to use it<br />like this that I bought this riding-whip for you.'<br />Alicia struggled to regain her feet and composure, pushing herself exhaustedly up from the sofa-arm. For a moment she held both hands to her face to wipe off her tears, before<br />realising that she was displaying herself to him in front. She quickly stooped and pulled up her knickers, yet scarcely seemed to care that the breeches were still round her feet.<br />'Yes, stepfather,' the girl sniffled. 'I will try to behave, honestly I will.' She looked down meekly then added, almost saucily: 'I-I'm so sore now, I don't know if I'll be able to take Athos out for his exercise today.'<br />Sir Robert smiled, then frowned with some effort at the tearful girl who looked so vulnerable and charming in her white blouse and skimpy panties with the rest of her clothing<br />down around her legs. A far cry from the normal, proud and bossy Alicia.<br />'But you had better,' he admonished her. 'That horse needs his run, and a sore bottom doesn't hurt a great deal more because you are sitting on it. Pull up your breeches now, then go and<br />wash your face and get along to the stables. You know you like riding Athos.'<br />Alicia couldn't resist a furtive rub at her bottom-cheeks before bending and tugging the jodhpurs back up her legs, fingers fumbling as she re-fastened the five buttons at each side. The breeches felt even tighter now, perhaps because she was more<br />sensitive where they fitted closest! At least, she sighed, her punishment was over.<br />Half an hour later the girl hurried away to the stables feeling very much better. Her stepfather had appeared to be in an excellent mood and had smacked her-still somewhat painfully<br />-on her behind when she had come back to fetch her riding-whip from his study. Indeed, so relaxed did he seem, Sir Robert hadn't even forbidden her to use her own car or to visit her friend after dinner.<br />In the cobbled yard that smelled of horses and hay the groom, Hubert, helped her to saddle Athos-who still was too young to stand still when the leather encumbrance was put on his back. After Alicia had checked the length of the stirrups, she led the<br />fretful stallion out into the field and climbed somewhat stiffly into the saddle while Hubert held him.<br />'Be careful now, Miss Alicia,' cautioned Hubert, patting the horse's flank. 'Athos . isn't too safe yet. Remember what your stepfather often says, that if you have to use the riding whip,<br />then do it gently and with very light taps.'<br />The old groom simply could not understand, and nor would Alicia have been able to explain to him, why she allowed her horse to race away in such an uncontrollable manner. Nor<br />why as Athos surged into a gallop with almost slack reins and <br />his shapely rider bumped up and down in the saddle, shrill little squeals could be heard from Alicia all the way into<br />the distance.John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694707429516622374.post-9078013578545026342010-02-13T08:37:00.000-08:002010-02-14T11:43:54.145-08:00Debbie's Luck Runs OutRather than review a story - for my second post I've adapted someone else's. It's one of Mike from London's wonderful schoolgirl stories that Laura Werner collected in her 'Spanking Corner' in the mid-nineties. Its a stunningly simple tale. I've made a few 'improvements' to suit my taste - I felt Debbie couldn't get away with having her bottom protected throughout and thought she needed a taste of the tawse as well as the cane. Enjoy it!<br /><strong><br /><em>Debbie's Luck Runs Out</em>!</strong><br />________________________________________<br /><br />It was the beginning of afternoon break and Debbie Storey was running along the school corridor pursued by her friend Lucy Cook. There was a strict rule at Mayhew Road School about running in the corridors, but neither of the girls was thinking of that. Debbie ran happily around a corner at full speed - and collided with Miss Copsey, the Geography teacher, knocking her to the ground. <br />Debbie herself was rather shaken by the impact, she had been running very fast, but her mouth fell open in absolute shock when she saw whom it was she had ran into and realised that she had actually knocked a teacher over. She stood rooted to the spot in horror. Behind her Lucy, alerted by the noise, approached the corner at a more sedate pace. <br />It took Miss Copsey some time to recover her breath and stand up, straightening her clothes. When she did so she was, understandably, very angry. <br />'How dare you run about the school like a madwoman, girl?' she asked when she had regained her feet. 'Don't you know there's a rule against running in the corridor?' <br />Debbie remained silent. She was still shocked at what had happened, and anyway there was no answer to the teacher's questions. The only thing she could think of was to say that Lucy had been chasing her. But that would only get her friend into trouble as well, and she would still be the one who had knocked a teacher over. So she remained silent. <br />'Right!' said Miss Copsey. 'You need a sharp lesson, young lady! Will you accept punishment from me, or do you want me to send you to Mrs Livesey?' <br />Even in her dismayed state Debbie did not take long to reach a decision. If the headmistress, Mrs Livesey, thought that a girl sent to her deserved corporal punishment then her minimum infliction was six strokes of the cane, whereas other teachers could not give more than four strokes. Furthermore Debbie had heard that Mrs Livesey often made girls take their knickers down for a caning, which the remainder of staff were only permitted to do for exceptional transgressions.<br />So Debbie had to balance the small chance that the headmistress would not judge her offence worthy of the cane against the certainty of more severe punishment if she did think so. And Debbie could not dare to hope that a severe disciplinarian like Mrs Livesey would allow a girl who had knocked down a member of her staff to leave her office with her bottom un-caned. In fact it was much more likely that Miss Copsey would, after getting over her initial shock, let her off with a lighter punishment. <br />The Geography teacher had, in fact, a reputation as one of the teachers most reluctant to resort to corporal punishment. Debbie knew that she hardly ever used the cane and only rarely made use of the tawse or strap. Of course the circumstance that she had just been bowled over by a fifth year running along the corridor in flagrant disregard of the school rules might alter the case! But Debbie realised that anything must be preferable than a visit to Mrs Livesey's study and answered Miss Copsey accordingly. <br />'I'll take your punishment, miss,' she mumbled. <br />'Very well, Debbie. Go to the staff room and wait outside for me, facing the wall. I'll be along in a few minutes.' <br />The other girls had disappeared by now and the corridors were deserted as Debbie made her disconsolate way to the staff room. She walked slowly now, not thinking of running. The next few minutes were not likely to prove very pleasant, she thought. <br />Finally she reached the staff room and stood outside the door gazing into a large landscape painting which adorned the corridor wall there. She hoped that anyone seeing her would think that she was just interested in the picture and not that she had been sent to stand outside the staff room like a naughty little girl. But this ploy was unsuccessful as she soon realised. <br />'Debbie Storey. Who sent you here?' It was the voice of Mrs Bennett, her form mistress. <br />Debbie turned around and blushed slightly. She hadn't been getting on very well with Mrs Bennett recently and just the previous week had received from her only the second strapping of her school career. It had only been three whacks of the two-tailed tawse and hadn't actually hurt all that much, but Debbie had felt humiliated at having, at sixteen years of age, to offer up her pantie-clad bottom for the form mistress to hit and at the thought that all the other girls in her class knew what had happened. Unhappily she told the teacher that Miss Copsey had sent her there. <br />'I warned you what would happen if you didn't pull your socks up, didn't I?' grunted the form mistress as she opened the door and entered the staff room. Debbie felt her dislike of Mrs Bennett rise to a new peak. Surely her form mistress should be on her side and take her part against other teachers such as Miss Copsey! But it seemed she had little to hope for there. <br />It was some minutes more before the Geography teacher approached the staff room. Some part of the delay was in order to give Debbie time for reflection and repentance, but mostly it was because Miss Copsey, having had all the breath knocked out of her, was not yet feeling ready to meet her colleagues in the staff room. The twenty five year old teacher was quite fit, but it still took her rather longer to recover from such a tumble than a teenager like Debbie. And she had collected quite a few bruises and aches in that unexpected fall. Nevertheless Miss Copsey was not a martinet and didn't want to be unfair to Debbie on account of the fact that she had been hurt herself. She resolved to punish the girl no differently than she would have done had it been another pupil she had knocked over. <br />When she reached the staff room door she opened it and, tapping Debbie on the shoulder, told her to go in. When they had both entered the room Miss Copsey saw Mrs Bennett sitting in an armchair and, knowing her to be Debbie's form mistress, thought that it would be proper to consult with her. So she told Debbie to go to the end of the room and go into the storeroom which opened off to the left. <br />Debbie did as she was told, trying to ignore the interested looks which she was attracting from the various members of staff. She walked into the storeroom and closed the door behind her. Debbie knew from the accounts of her friends and classmates that the storeroom doubled as a punishment room, although she had never been there before - both of her strappings having been administered by her form mistresses in the form room. <br />Looking about her Debbie saw piles of old textbooks, exercise books and boxes of stationery. Dozens of music-stands were leaning against one wall. But Debbie's attention was drawn to a shelf on the far wall. Two long, and evidently well-used, tawses were lying on the shelf; and dangling from the shelf by their crook handles were no fewer than three yellowish-brown canes, varying in length from a little over two feet to almost three feet long. Debbie bit her lip and her hands went behind her back to the seat of her pleated skirt. It was the first time Debbie had ever seen a cane but she could imagine only too well the effect one of those pliant rods would have on her tender behind. <br />Debbie had kept out of serious trouble at school, until now, partly by being careful and mostly by being lucky. But many of her friends had not been so lucky. Lucy, for example, had been caned twice and Debbie well remembered her tear-stained face and reluctance to sit down after her first encounter with the cane. The memory was the more poignant as Debbie was well aware that she had deserved the cane fully as much as Lucy on that occasion and had just escaped through her usual good luck. <br />Even more frightening was the fate of the really naughty - or really unlucky - girls in her class who had been sent to Mrs Livesey. Earlier that term Elaine Moore and Teresa Renshaw had been reported to the headmistress for bullying a first year girl. Elaine was rather a 'hard case', a real bully, always in and out of trouble. But Teresa was a quiet girl who had never been in serious trouble before and had acted as she had partly out of fear of Elaine. <br />Mrs Livesey had made no distinction, however, and both girls had their tight knickers taken down and had received eight strokes of the cane on the bare bottom. Terri had cried like a baby for the whole of the rest of the morning and had then gone home without permission at lunchtime, staying away from school for the rest of the week. Even now, about a month after the punishments, Debbie thought that Terri was still being rather careful about sitting down. Many girls had asked Terri for details of what had happened but she just shook her head silently in reply. Elaine was more forthcoming but even she had been very subdued after that caning and had not yet completely reverted to her old ways. So, despite never having felt the sting of a cane on her own pert backside, young Debbie was in no doubt that it would hurt! <br />Next to the straps was a large black book with the words Punishment Book embossed upon it. Debbie felt tempted to open it. It would be interesting to find out which girls had been caned or tawsed and had succeeded in keeping it quiet. But she did not think it would be safe to open the book when Miss Copsey might come in at any moment. Her eyes moved back to the twin-tailed tawses, consideringly. <br />She hoped desperately that Miss Copsey would feel that a belting would meet the case. She was well aware of the irony of this. She could not have imagined, only last week as she bent over a desk for two solid whacks from Mrs Bennett's tawse, that she would so soon actually be hoping for a strapping! <br />Outside, in the staff room, Miss Copsey was discussing the same subject. <br />'What's Debbie Storey done now, Susan?' Mrs Bennett had asked the Geography teacher. <br />Miss Copsey had explained what had happened and asked the form mistress what punishment she thought was appropriate in the circumstances. 'I was really angry at first,' the teacher continued, 'because she had actually knocked me over like that. But I suppose it was really an accident. So I thought that if she apologises to me properly then a few whacks with the tawse will meet the case. What do you think?' <br />'I disagree! That young lady needs a good lesson in my opinion! I gave her a "few whacks with the strap" last week. It doesn't seem to have done much good, does it!? And whether or not it was an accident, why was she running like that in the first place? No, I think you should give her a full four with the number one cane. If it had been me I'd have marched her straight to Mrs Livesey, no arguing!' <br />'But I thought Debbie was a well-behaved girl. I've never seen her sent here for punishment before!' <br />'No, Susan. Debbie Storey is rather a con artist. She's very good at going to the absolute limit and then just wriggling out of trouble at the last moment. She's at the root of a lot of disruption in my form but she's clever enough to fix things so that other girls get punished and not her. This time she's finally made a mistake and gone too far. You would be doing me a favour if you give that little madam a sore bottom that she will remember for some time.' <br />Then, lowering her voice so that the other teachers in the room couldn't hear her, the form mistress continued: 'I should have thought that you, Susan, of all people would be aware of the beneficial effects of a caning in bringing a silly girl of Debbie's age back to her senses!' <br />Susan Copsey blushed. She herself had been a pupil at Mayhew Road some years before. Of the present occupants of the staff room only Mrs Bennett had been a teacher at the time, and now she was recalling an incident which Susan would rather have had forgotten. About ten years before she herself had stood in that same room - but as a culprit, not a teacher! Like Debbie she had been in the fifth year when she herself had gone too far, in her case by cheeking her English mistress and using a swear word. The rules had been different then and Susan's one and only caning had been a full six strokes. On the bare, knickers down. She remembered Mrs Bennett sitting in that same armchair as she had stumbled out of the storeroom in tears, clutching her exquisitely sore bottom. She was wearing rather sexier underwear today but her bottom squirmed inside her skimpy panties as she remembered how it had burned that day.<br />But she knew that Mrs Bennett was right in as much as that caning had certainly had a good effect on her. After that painful and shaming experience Susan had knuckled down to hard work and had passed all her exams. If she had not been brought back down to work in that unpleasant way she would probably not have gained any qualifications at all and would certainly not be a school teacher now. So, still blushing a little, she nodded slowly and left the form mistress, passing into the storeroom. <br />The door closed behind her and Debbie turned from her contemplation of the punishment instruments towards the young teacher. <br />'Well. Have you anything to say for yourself, Debbie?' asked Miss Copsey. <br />'Yes, miss. I'm really sorry. It was a complete accident. I know I shouldn't have been running in the corridor, but I honestly wouldn't have hurt you for the world! I was horrified. I know you've got to punish me for running, but please don't add anything on because I knocked you down. That was an accident and I never meant it!' <br />Debbie was very good at conveying an impression of injured innocence. Just then she looked as though butter would not melt in her mouth. At any other time the Geography teacher would probably have let herself be persuaded and have let the girl off with a merely symbolic strapping or even a hand-spanking. But after her conversation with Mrs Bennett and the revived memory of her own schooldays, she felt differently. <br />She looked at the teenager grimly. 'Debbie, I don't like using the cane, as you probably know.' Debbie shuddered involuntarily at the word "cane". The teacher continued: 'But the "accident" would not have happened if you had not been rushing along the corridor in complete disregard of the rules of the school and completely reckless of any other people going about their normal business. <br />'If a car driver has an "accident" as a result of being drunk than he is punished more severely than the drunk driver who is not involved in an accident. And in the same way your punishment will be more severe as a result of the consequences of your breach of the rules. <br />'Also I have discussed your general behaviour with your form mistress and she is not very pleased with you at all! We talked about what would be an appropriate punishment in all the circumstances and we are in complete agreement. I am afraid I feel, reluctantly, that anything other than the cane would be a mistaken kindness. I think that you have ridden your luck at this school for a long time. Well, now your luck has run out!' <br />And Miss Copsey walked forward to the end wall and removed the longest of the three canes from its place on the shelf. She turned and faced the now obviously very scared teenager. Taking the cane in both hands she slowly flexed it, almost into a semi-circle, demonstrating to Debbie that despite its length and thickness it was still wickedly supple and pliant. Then the teacher released her left hand and the cane immediately sprung back straight again with a sudden hiss. <br />'Right, Debbie, take your blazer off and hang it on the hook on the door.' <br />Instead of obeying the frightened girl made one final attempt to escape with a lesser punishment. 'Please, miss,' she said, 'I've never had the cane before. Can't you give me the strap instead? It was an accident and I promise I won't ever run in the corridor again. Mrs Bennett has got it in for me and I bet she's made me out to be a troublemaker, and I'm not - honestly!' <br />But this time all Debbie's wiles were no use. Miss Copsey knew that the truth of the matter was that the girl was getting off lightly. If Mrs Livesey had been brought in she would undoubtedly have awarded a much more severe punishment. <br />'No, Debbie. Arguing with me will do you no good at all. I have made up my mind, and if you do not obey me this minute you will receive additional strokes for refusing to accept punishment. Now remove your blazer and hang it up!' <br />Sullenly Debbie obeyed, in silence. <br />'Right. Now pull that stool out and bend right down over it, holding onto the bar. I'm going to give you four strokes, and I advise you to stay in position throughout or it will be the worse for you.' <br />Once again the fifth former did as she was told, cursing Mrs Bennett under her breath as she slowly bent over the stool. She knew that it had to have been she who had put Miss Copsey up to it. The Geography teacher used the cane very rarely indeed and never gave the maximum. Strands of Debbie's long, light brown hair fell forward over her eyes as she bent. Suddenly she felt Miss Copsey's hand on the hem of her blue school skirt. <br />Her whole body trembled as she felt the skirt being slowly lifted to reveal more and more of her bare thighs and then her skimpy polka dot panties straining across her curvy teenage rear. Debbie could hear her heart suddenly beating very loudly as she felt the teacher pin the hem of her skirt high up in the middle of the back of her cream-coloured blouse. <br />Suddenly Miss Copsey paused. ‘These aren’t regulation school knickers, are they young lady?’<br />‘I..I don’t know miss’<br />‘Well I do know. And so do you. It’s navy school knickers until the sixth form. This scanty wear is certainly against the rules, you little tart. Polka-dot knickers indeed. I shall give you two extra, on the bare, for this exceptional breach of discipline’<br />Poor Debbie didn’t know what to say and decided it was best to say nothing. She’d been so proud of her new lingerie when she’d bought it just a few days before, little had she imagined her nice new knickers would ever be seen by a teacher.<br />The tiny dark blue panties with their little white spots had ridden up slightly and the lower portions of the girl's delightfully shaped rear were on view to the Geography teacher. Susan realised that this would mean that the cane would largely fall across bare flesh but she did not feel inclined to be any more lenient as a result. Mrs Bennett had convinced her that if any girl at Mayhew Road deserved a very sore and stripy bottom it was Debbie Storey. <br />Miss Copsey placed the cane carefully across Debbie's trembling bottom, eliciting a deep intake of breath from the bending girl, then she took a step back and lifted the cane high. Debbie closed her eyes tight and tried to tense herself for the now inevitable caning. She heard the hiss as the cane swiped down and then, a second later, felt the impact as it lashed at full force onto the lower part of her bottom, its tip digging deeply into bare flesh unprotected by her knickers. It was another second more before she felt the unimaginable stinging pain explode through her behind - the force of the impact having momentarily numbed her nerves. <br />But when she did feel it her reaction was dramatic. <br />'Aieeyee!! Owwww! Owww!' she yelled at the top of her voice. Debbie had wanted to take her caning in silence, knowing that the teachers in the staff room were bound to be listening, but she simply couldn't help herself as she felt that awful sting. It was simply not of the same order of magnitude as a strapping - she had never dreamt that even the whole four strokes would hurt that much, let alone just the first stroke! Debbie lost her grip on the stool and jumped upright, her hands going to her outraged posterior. Still gasping with pain she danced around the room, holding her bottom. She could feel a weal already swelling up under the thin cotton material of her knickers. <br />Susan Copsey watched her impassively. She knew that many girls reacted in this way to their first ever stroke of the cane, although she remembered that she herself had bravely taken her own punishment by remaining quiet and in position throughout. She waited a few seconds so as to give Debbie a chance to pull herself together. <br />The fifth former continued to hop from one foot to the other, hands pressed to her smarting rear, and looking at the Geography teacher with a mixture of shock, accusation and appeal showing on her pretty face. She cut an odd figure with her blue pleated skirt still pinned up at the back, revealing her tiny knickers. Very cautiously she tenderly allowed one of the fingers of her right hand to touch the mark made where the tip of the cane had landed on bare flesh. Then she withdrew her hand and looked at the finger. She could not believe that there was no blood! It felt as though she had been cut open! Her hands went back again to her stinging bottom, trying to hold in the incredible pain and also, if possible, to delay, or even escape, the rest of her punishment. <br />Miss Copsey allowed her about half a minute and then addressed the squirming and moaning schoolgirl. 'All right, Debbie, that's quite enough. I know it hurts. I meant it to hurt! But you still have three strokes to come. Now get back over that stool right away. And if you stand up again I will take that as a refusal to accept punishment and call in Mrs Bennett in to hold you down! In that case you will receive further extra strokes and I'm sure you don't want that. Now be a sensible girl and get yourself back down over the stool right now!' <br />With a terrific mental effort Debbie forced herself to walk back in front of the stool and bend down. Now that she knew just how much that cane hurt she could hardly believe that she was presenting her bottom for further strokes. But there was no alternative! As she stretched herself downwards she felt large tears welling in her blue eyes and dropping onto the wooden flooring. <br />'Good! Now stay there, young lady, unless you want extra strokes!' Susan Copsey reminded her as she drew back the cane. Debbie certainly intended to stay in position, but when the second stroke smashed down almost exactly on top of the first, it was too much for her. <br />Once again she yelled wildly and straightened, clasping both hands to her injured behind and squirming away out of Miss Copsey's reach. She was now sobbing unashamedly. The Geography teacher was not prepared to accept this. She had told Debbie what would happen if she didn't remain in position for her caning and she had every intention of carrying out her threat. <br />Ignoring the weeping sixteen year old she went to the door and opened it. 'Mrs Bennett,' she said, 'I must ask you to assist me. Debbie is refusing to accept her punishment.' <br />The form mistress did not hesitate. Straight away she rose and joined Miss Copsey and the tearful fifth former in the storeroom. She sat down on the stool and ordered Debbie to go across her lap so that she could hold her in position. But the weeping girl made no movement towards her. <br />'All right,' said Mrs Bennett, 'If you will have it!' And she stood up and darted across the room to catch hold of Debbie's arms. Then she dragged her back by main force and manoeuvred her over her knees as she sat down on the stool once more. <br />'How many strokes has she had so far?' she enquired when she had the squirming girl held securely in her strong grip with her wealed bottom once again in position for punishment. <br />'Two!' answered the Geography teacher, rather impressed at the ease with which Mrs Bennett had restrained the teenager. <br />'All right! If I were you, Miss Copsey, I should not count those. This little minx deserves at least two extra strokes for refusing to take punishment and for putting me to all this trouble. The easiest thing is to start from scratch and give her another four! Rely on me to make sure she keeps still!' <br />Miss Copsey found it much easier to administer the rest of the caning now that Debbie was being held. The girl struggled desperately in the form mistress's strong grip and screamed loudly at each stroke, but there was no escape. <br />As the sixth stroke bit viciously in Mrs Bennett released her hold and, squirming wildly, Debbie fell off her knees on to the floor and stayed there, howling. <br />‘Get up, girl. You have two more strokes on the bare for failing to wear proper uniform. I will however, be a little lenient and give you those with the tawse instead. The cane can be a little harsh on naked flesh’<br />Debbie slowly draped herself back over the form mistress’s knees and her teacher slowly inserted her fingers in the waistband of her knickers. Gently she peeled them off the burning flesh of the teenager’s bottom to reveal a burning backside showing six clear stripes.<br />She let the panties rest just below the thighs and went over to get the pliant tawse. Its two thongs were about six inches long and fearfully supple. They might not have the bite of the cane but they would certainly make Debbie jump. Raising the strap above her shoulder she brought it down juddering into the naked flesh.<br />‘Noooo, please, no more’ Begged Debbie but Miss Cropley was utterly determined and brought the strap down for a second, and final time. The noise of the impact echoed into the common-room next door and Debbie fell to the floor weeping.<br />The form mistress stood up and, ignoring the well-thrashed schoolgirl, and spoke to Miss Copsey. <br />'Well, I'll leave it for you to write this up, then. Glad to have been of assistance!' <br />The door closed behind the form mistress and Miss Copsey put the cane and tawse back in their place and moved towards the still howling teenager, wriggling on the floor. She tapped her on the shoulder, 'Come on, Debbie,' she said, not unkindly, 'stop making that awful noise and stand up. It's all over now!' <br />But it took the sixteen year old more than a minute before she stood on unsteady legs before her chastiser. Slowly she bent down to pull up her illicit panties. Miss Copsey made the entries in the Punishment Book. Debbie Storey; Form 5B; Four strokes for running in the corridor, colliding with a member of staff; Two strokes for refusal to accept punishment; two strokes of the tawse on the bare with knickers removed. <br />Finally Miss Copsey told Debbie to turn round so that she could unpin the skirt. It fell down, covering the beaten area. Debbie thrust her hands back under her skirt to try to comfort her wealed bottom, but the Geography teacher angrily told her to take her hands away. Sullenly Debbie obeyed and instead pressed her hands to the seat of her blue school skirt. 'All right, Debbie, you may go,' said Miss Copsey, opening the door to the storeroom, 'And remember - no running in the corridor! <br />Poor Debbie could hardly walk, let alone run. Bent slightly forward and with her hands still clasping the back of her skirt she hobbled slowly through the staff room oblivious to the interested stares of the teachers. Miss Williams, who was nearest the door, opened it for her with a slight smile on her face and the well-caned girl stumbled out into the corridor. Miss Williams closed the door behind her and the assembled staff broke into a round of applause. <br />Mrs Bennett expressed the feelings of them all. 'Well done, Susan,' she said, 'I don't think our Miss Storey will be sitting down comfortably for the rest of term. That's exactly what that little madam has been asking for a long time.' <br />Outside Debbie was making her slow, painful way back down the teachers' corridor. When she reached the vestibule she was met by Lucy Cook. 'Oh my gosh! What happened Debbie, did you get the stick?' she asked, shocked to see her friend still in tears, with her hands clamped behind her skirt. <br />'Christ, Lucy! Do you think I'm doing this for the fun of it?' Debbie exploded. 'Of course I got the cane! And the strap. And it bloody well hurts! My bum is on fire!' <br />'Sorry, Debbie. I know what it's like. I've been there, you know! How many did you get?' <br />'Oh . . . four.' Debbie did not want to admit that she'd had to be held down or that she’d had a bare-bottomed tawsing as well. <br />'Yes, that's the maximum. The Copper must have been in a godawful mood after you knocked her down. It was terrible luck. You didn't say anything about me, did you?' <br />At last Debbie was able to provide a sop for her wounded self-esteem. She hadn't given her friend away. <br />'Lucy . . . ' she asked, wriggling at a sudden spasm of violent pain, 'You've had the cane. How long does this awful pain last? Is there anything I can do to stop it hurting so much?' <br />Lucy shook her head sadly. 'No. There's nothing you can do. The worst of the stinging will wear off in an hour or so, but if she's laid it on you're going to have some nasty bruises for a long time. You're lucky the next lesson's Home Economics - at least you won't have to try to sit down! Now let's go to the washroom and get your face tidied up. And, Debbie, I'd stop holding onto your bum if I were you. It won't stop it hurting and it'll just make the other girls make fun of you.' <br />Most of the other girls were not unhappy that Debbie had finally received her overdue comeuppance, but they were sympathetic as it was obvious how much she'd been hurt. Debbie's parents had been warning her for a long time that if she didn't mend her ways she was going the right way for a caning at school, and their reaction when they found out was that their daughter had got what she had been asking for. <br />The shock of that beating gave Debbie a long-needed jolt, and her behaviour and schoolwork both improved. In time she came to realise that she had got no more than she had deserved and even came to like and admire Susan Copsey. But she and Mrs Bennett preserved a mutual dislike for the rest of her time at Mayhew Road.John Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12214283877780146081noreply@blogger.com0