SPANKING MANDY

Here’s a pleasant little tale about a rather gullible young office girl who can’t seem to keep her hands out of the petty cash till. Summoned to her bosses office one evening she is given a choice of two alternative punishments.The accompanying picture is snapshot of the action towards the end of the story. I have also included a link to a picture gallery featuring a rather naughty Secretary going otk for a spanking. Please enjoy!    

“Mandy, could you pop into the office before you leave…” The intercom buzzed annoyingly as Mandy struggled on with her coat. It was already 5.20 and she was keen to get off home. She pressed the intercom button on the phone and answered. “I am just off Mr. Ruadh, can’t it wait till tomorrow?” The quick response rang alarm bells in Mandy’s head. “I don’t think this will wait Mandy, and if you want to be working here tomorrow I suggest you get yourself in here!” She felt a sudden surge of anxiety, his tone made her feel like a naughty schoolgirl, summonsed to the Heads Study. “Alright, I’ll be there in a minute.” She took her coat of and sat back in her chair, surveying the desk in front of her.

She had been summonsed to Mr. Ruadh’s office before. She had been there often enough through the call of her secretarial duties. It was these last minute requests, just before she was going to leave for the evening. It meant that there would be no one around to hear her get a bollicking from the boss. However the last time she had made this visit there had been no doubt in her mind about the boss’s real intentions. He was always following her around, the dirty old bastard. He had given her a written warning last time, for stealing from the petty cash tin. Mandy had taken the money, she had been pretty stupid to think she wouldn’t get caught. At the time Mandy didn’t know that Mr. Ruadh checked the receipts. She had taken about £80 over a period of six weeks, which wasn’t a great deal by any standards.

Mr. Ruadh had lectured her at great length on that occasion, going on about how he would give her a second chance, better not let it happen again, pull your socks up, and so on. All the while she had sensed that there was some underlying desire on the part of her Boss. Assuming that this was just a typical male lust for her body she had played up to him, flirting, yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir. Afterwards she had a good laugh about it over a drink with some friends. Mandy though she could do a passing imitation of the old man.

Now some six months later she was being summonsed again. As she sat surveying the office in which she worked she started to feel nervous at the prospect of dealing with this situation. If he suspected then she could try and bluff her way out, act coy and flirty. It had got her off the hook last time. On the other hand it could be an entirely unrelated matter, nothing to do with her continued siphoning off of the petty cash. He couldn’t know this time. She had been too clever, deliberately and carefully adding receipts. Admittedly these receipts had been forged from a book, stolen from her boyfriend’s business. How could he know?

She got up and strode down the corridor composing herself, practising in her mind her ‘butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth’ routine. Knocking once on the boss’s office door she entered. He was sat behind his desk over which were scattered accounts records, receipts and calculations scrawled onto rough paper. He looked up at her and motioned her to take a seat, her usual seat when taking dictation, a hard backed chair to one side of Mr. Ruadh’s desk. He allowed her to sit and then addressed her in an acusationary tone. “You’ve been stealing from petty cash again Mandy!” She froze, she couldn’t help feeling that he knew, that she couldn’t bluff her way out. “I don’t know what you mean.” These words sounded as false and hollow as they felt for her as she realised that she had been caught fair and square. “Don’t lie to me!” He bellowed, shocking her into sitting up straight with fear at this sudden outburst. “Do you think I am stupid?” “No sir.” He tossed a handful of receipts onto her lap. “Take a look at those.” She picked at them, they were the receipts from her boyfriends business. She tried to think how he had worked it out. The receipts were foolproof. “Over £600 of receipts for stationary Mandy, all brought from a shop that sells ironmongery and hardware.”

Here heart sank, she hadn’t thought he might check on the shop. He was such a pedant though, a stickler for detail, she should have known. “Last time we discussed your stealing you assured me that it would never happen again.” His eyes bore into her and she felt increasingly small. “You told me that it was an oversight, a mistake. And I chose to give you the benefit of the doubt Mandy.” He continued. Struck dumb by the complete obviousness of her complicity to steal from the company she just sat, shivering slightly with… guilt, fear, regret, and anger at herself for getting caught.

“He stood and walked around to her side of the desk, perching himself there. He tried to catch her eye with his gaze. “Have you got anything to say girl?”

“I don’t know what to say.” Came the timid reply. “This isn’t a case of oversight Mandy, this is fraud, the Police will have to be involved. You will most definitely get the sack and I think it is unlikely you will get another job with a Police record. Especially in a small town like this.” She looked up at him, pleading. “I am so sorry Mr. Ruadh, I don’t know why I did it...” Then she turned on the tears, actually she did feel like crying, but it was the predicted effect on her boss that really motivated this salty flood.

It seemed to work. He leant over and held her arm softly. She felt slightly sick at the thought of what was to come next. Mandy assumed he was going to try and blackmail her into sleeping with him. Glancing at the door Mandy thought about just running out, leaving now!Mr. Ruadh tightened his grip on her arm, firmly but not hard. As if anticipating her thoughts. He whispered into her ear. “Don’t worry Mandy, I am not going to call the Police, I am not even going to report you to the company.” She tried to free her arm and he let go, moving back to his perch on the desk. He seemed relaxed about the situation, where as Mandy felt a sense of panic. “I’ll scream if you touch me!” He raised his hands in a gesture to calm her. “Just hear me out.”

He looked at her for an answer. When none came he continued. ““Look you are in a difficult situation, but I can offer a solution to this problem. One that means whatever happens this evening, it will never leave this office. Complete confidentiality.”

“So if I fuck you, I get to keep my job!” Sarcastic, bitter words. He seemed surprised and laughed a little. “No I think you misunderstand, I am not trying to sleep with you, though I have to say, I wouldn’t say no if I got the offer.” An almost laddish lear to his voice. “I am not trying to seduce you. I have something else in mind.” “What do you mean?” Mandy was relieved on one hand, but on the other feeling slightly put down. “You see I don’t think you can help it. The stealing I mean. It’s a compulsive thing.” This did strike a note with Mandy. “You will have to be punished of course.” Of course thought Mandy. “You’ve been a very naughty girl Mandy, you will have to be punished.” Repeating it Ruadh walked to the centre of the room and beckoned her to him. “Come over here Mandy.” She felt rather mesmerised by his voice, firm and commanding, but not angry.

Mandy stood and moved over to stand in front of the man. “What are you going to do then.” She offered. “I am going to spank you Mandy, a knickers down, over my knee hard spanking. She felt a little shocked at the thought of being spanked by him. “Have you been spanked before Mandy?”

“Well only once when I was little girl.” He was standing right in front of her now, face to face, slightly invading her personal space. Unconsciously she tried to pull back “Do you remember it?”

“Yes, it stung like hell.”

“And do you remember why you were spanked?” Mandy though for a moment then answered. “I got spanked for stealing from my mothers purse.”

“A lesson that still hasn’t been learned it seems.” He was very close now, she held her hands up between them, to keep them apart. He lay his hand on her hip and gently felt around to the cheek of her skirted bottom. Squeezing slightly, just pulling her towards him a fraction. Mandy gasped at the assault and stepped back. He didn’t follow.

“Yes Mandy, I think a good spanking is what you need and that is what you are going to get.” He pulled up the chair on which she had been sitting and sat straight-backed in the centre of the room. She looked at him as though he was mad. Holding out his hand to her he beckoned. “Come on Mandy across my knee. You know that it has to be done.” Zombie like she held out her hand to his, drawn to him, feeling weak at the knees. Mandy found it hard to believe this was happening. She wanted to scream and run away. But wasn’t this an easy solution, she would keep her job, and she had been naughty, she should be punished.

He drew her to his side, and holding her hand began his lecture. “I am going to punish you Mandy, I am going to take down your knickers and spank you until you fully understand what happens when you steal from people who trust you. Is that understood?”

“Yes Mr. Ruadh.” Eyes down, embarrassed, but perhaps feeling slightly excited at the prospect of being spanked by her boss. She had never given him a second glance before, but now he seemed confident, attractive to her despite his age. “Now bend over my knee.”

In a dream she knelt down and pulled her self across his thighs, as she did so he pushed down at the small of her back, forcing her stomach into contact with his lap. He pulled at first one arm and then the second, forcing them into position behind her back held firm with his left hand. She could feel the other hand gratuitously squeezing and groping her behind through the cotton of her skirt.

The skirt was zipped at the side and this slide down with ease. As he pulled the skirt down she was forced to thrust her hips at him so the material could be removed, revealing tan tights with white knickers showing through. Clutching the tender flesh of Mandy’s soon to be spanked bottom.

Now he worked at her tights, rolling them down one bit at a time working from one side to the other. Until they lay half way down her thighs. That left her cotton panties, Ruadh gazed at the sight before him, drinking it all in. He let his hand run over Mandy’s delectable behind squeezing and pinching her flesh. When he took down her knickers he did so with care, as though peeling a ripe fruit. Carefully caressing her skin, the white band of cotton was adjusted so that it felt tight around the top of her thighs. The gusset, still high up between her legs.

Mandy was breathing sharply now, partly because of the position she found herself in, partly in anticipation of the rain of sharp smacks to come. His grip on her arms tightened and she felt his right arm draw back. Mandy drew a breath and tensed. Her bottom presented for punishment.

As she lay across his knee, waiting for that first smack she felt a strange excitement. Almost as though she really wanted this. To be punished. As he prepared to chastise her bottom, gently stroking the naked flesh she felt an unusual longing surge deep into the pit of her stomach. The humiliation of being in this position was too much for her, she wanted to cry, but at the same time she know knew with a certainty that this is what she needed. A good hard spanking.

Mr Ruadh started to smack her, lightly at first, stinging the flesh and making her wriggle with discomfort. With each spank Mandy “oohhd” and “owwwed” like a naughty girl who had never been spanked before. “Don’t make so much fuss young lady” insisted Mr Ruadh as he firmly pushed her into position. Now the spanking started in earnest, each stroke leaving a red mark on alternate cheeks. As he hotted up the pace so Mandy’s protestations increased. She wriggled and danced about across his knee almost falling off at one point. Mr Ruadh just held onto to her tighter and spanked her harder until she yelled out at every smack.

”You are a little baby Mandy, even my daughters can take a harder spanking than this”! He stopped spanking her and began to caress her sore bottom. “You know that you deserve to be spanked, don’t you”?

Mandy did not reply but could not help thinking that he was right. Mandy lay across his knee wishing he would stop stroking her bottom in such a lascivious manner. Every time he did this it just made that tingling sensation in her stomach grow and grow. “Well young lady, have you given some thought as to why you are being spanked”. She didn’t answer and Mr Ruadh applied a half dozen hard slaps to her posterior as encouragement.

“Well, I am waiting for an answer”!

Mandy mumbled something about how she was really sorry, and that it would never happen again.

“Get up” ordered Mr Ruadh. Mandy picked herself up from his knee and stood before him rubbing her bottom. Her ankles tangled up in her skirt, knickers and tights wrapped around her legs. “Are you ready to confess all your misdemeanours Mandy”? She looked at him through tear stained eyes and nodded. “Are you ready to apologise for your behaviour Mandy”? She nodded again and acknowledged his demands with a meek “yes sir”. Mr Ruadh stood up and turned the chair he had been sitting so the high back faced her. “Are you ready to thank me for your chastisement Mandy”?

She looked at him again and saw the determination in his eyes. This sent a shiver through her, this man dominated her, made her feel small and weak. Mandy had never felt like this before. Nor could she ever have imagined being in a situation like this. But now it had happened, now she had been forced to submit to his will, she couldn’t resist. She wanted more, to let go and have Mr Ruadh take control.

“Mandy, I asked you if you are ready to thank me for your punishment”! She awoke from her revere and before she could help herself replied “If you think I am going to thank you then you can fuck off”! She shocked herself, but it had the effect she desired. Mr Ruadh took on a look of sternness, though she could see that behind this apparent act of disciplinary strength he was excited at the prospect of punishing her further. He grabbed at her hair holding it in a bunch behind her neck and pushed her towards the back of the chair. “Bend over the chair and hold the legs if you know what’s good for you”. She stumbled forward and tipped over the chair so her stomach took the wait of her body. He continued to hold her in place, by pulling at her hair. Then he started to spank her again. Hard now, very hard. Each stinging slap across alternate cheeks. Though she still wriggled her shrieks had turned to gasps and groans. Tears streamed down her face as the spanking continued. Mandy hated the pain, and the discomfort, almost as much as she wanted more. She held on as long as she could while Mr Ruadh applied his right arm to her backside.

“Stop, STOP”! With determination she screamed and wriggled free from his grasp standing up. “That’s enough, that’s it you can stop now”. Mr Ruadh stood back with a satisfied look on his face. As tough he was the cat that had got the cream. Mandy clutched at her hot, stinging buttocks almost naked before him. Her face streaming with tears. “That’s enough”!

“Yes I think that will do Mandy”. Mr Ruadh replied to her protests. As she stood in his office rubbing her bottom he turned the chair around and sat before her. “Are you ready to apologise for you behaviour and thank me for you punishment Mandy”. She faced him and confessed “I am very sorry that I stole from you and I promise that it will never happen again….. I deserved to be punished for my behaviour….. thank you for spanking me”.

Satisfied with her response Mr Ruadh beckoned her to come closer and stand before him. “Now Mandy. I am going to ask you to stand in the corner for a few minutes while you think about the consequences of your behaviour. Is that alright”? As he spoke he adjusted her blouse so that it no longer hung loose now exposing her bushy quim to his probing stare. She instinctively held her hands over this sensitive area. Sat before her his eyes were at belly button height and he could see all he wanted to see.

“Hands on your head Mandy”. He was still firm and commanding in his instructions and she obeyed now exposing her self fully to his gaze. She could see him drinking in the gorgeous sight of her pussy and this increased the feeling of humbleness and humiliation. “Turn around” he intoned. Again she complied. Mr Ruadh took full advantage of the situation groping at her raw buttocks, stroking the backs of her legs.

This went on for about five minutes before Mandy was ordered to stand in the corner of the room. She complied and stood facing the wall, feeling a rising sense of excitement between her legs. “I am going to leave the room for a few minutes Mandy, I will expect you to be in this position when I get back”. He left Mandy to contemplate her feelings of arousal. She had never in her life expected to enjoy such an experience, but had none the less deeply enjoyed it. This made her feel confused. She felt almost cleansed, reborn, but without the burden of guilt. Calm in the knowledge that whatever she had done she had been properly punished for her misdemeanours.

Mandy wondered where he had gone. She could feel the heat of her bottom but did not dare take her hands of her head to soothe her burning bottom. She missed his caressing hand and wished he would come back and hold her. Mr Ruadh soon returned but not to hold or caress her. “You can go now Mandy”. He brusquely informed her. Mandy took her hands from her head and pulled up her knickers and tights. She retrieved her skirt and pulled it over her swollen bottom wincing slightly as she did so. “Well Mandy, I hope you have learnt a lesson and that I shan’t have to punish you like this again”. He watched her dress with a wicked grin. “No Sir”.

“Good, a girl your age should know better, perhaps someone should have given you a spanking earlier and you would not have never have got into this situation in the first place”.

“No sir, thank you sir”. She finished adjusting her clothing and wiped away the tears from her face. “Off you go then”. He cheerfully gestured at the door and Mandy scampered off leaving an extremely satisfied Mr Ruadh in the office.

Prologue

The next morning Mr Ruadh was surprised by an early knock at his door. It was Mandy. He beckoned her in. He looked slightly embarrassed. “Yes Mandy what can I do for you”?

“Its about last night sir”. He seemed even more nervous now, stumbling over his reply. “Well I think we can forget about …last …um…night… I would appreciate it if this was kept between ourselves….if you don’t mind……..”

“Its just that I know I deserved to be punished sir…” He interrupted “It won’t happen again Mandy…” “Well that’s just it Sir, I have been thinking, and perhaps I deserve to be spanked more often”!

The look of surprise on Mr Ruadh’s face almost exceeded the surprise Mandy felt now that she had said it. Laying awake overnight she had struggled with the confusion she felt about what had occurred the previous evening. But now she was firm in her resolve. She wanted to be punished, she needed to be punished. She wanted to be punished by him. Mr Ruadh considered this prospect for a moment and she could see him visibly relax. Yes perhaps he had over stepped the mark. But it was clear to her that they had both gained something from the experience. It was definitely something she wanted them to share again.

Mr Ruadh came around from behind his desk to where Mandy was standing. He reached for her hand and held it gently while he gave her a kiss on the cheek, running his free hand softly through her hair. “I am sure that something can be arranged Mandy. And by the way, thank you, for last night, I enjoyed it very much”.

Mandy smiled back “Just don’t leave it too long Sir, I can be a very naughty girl, and I might need to be spanked quite often”! She teased him, knowing that even though it had been her that had submitted to his discipline, she was the one now in control. It was after all her decision!

Of course Mr Ruadh did not leave it too long and a few days later Mandy was once again waiting nervously in his office.

When Mr Ruadh entered Mandy was already standing in the corner, facing the wall, trembling slightly in apprehension. After the first punishment Mandy had received from Mr Ruadh they had come to a mutually beneficial arrangement. This was to be her first voluntary visit to his office and though they had both talked about it first she was still nervous. It had become clear after her first visit across his knee that they both had an interest in corporal punishment. She had discussed the use of safe words with him and he seemed pleasant and trustworthy. The memory of that first spanking from him was still vivid in her memory. Secretly she hoped that he would spank her really hard though this thought caused the feeling of nervousness to grow and her stomach tightened. She wanted to submit, longed to let go of her all her achievement’s and frustrations. More than anything she wanted to be told what to do and made to suffer for her failures.

Mandy dare not look round, but she could hear Mr Ruadh in the room behind her. His eyes gazing at her. At last he spoke. “Mandy, you may come and stand in the middle of the room”. He pointed at the floor, she hesitated then complied politely. Mr Ruadh addressed her, a firmness in his voice which she hadn’t detected in their previous meetings. “You know why you are here don’t you Mandy”. She nodded assent. “Well I am going to lay down some ground rules for your behaviour while you are in the study is that understood Mandy?” She nodded again. “Mandy, lets get this straight right away, when I ask you a question I expect an answer, not a nod of the head, a proper answer”. She nodded her head again, not that she meant to, just that she had not quite caught up with the game yet. Mr Ruadh quickly reached round behind her and laid a sharp slap across her buttocks. “Awwow!” her hands where not quite quick enough to have stopped him. Her first smack.

“While you are being punished Mandy, you will address me as Sir, is that understood”? She replied “Yes”. As he raised his hand to slap her again she added “...Sir”.

“That’s better Mandy. I also expect obedience from you. Anything less than complete obedience will result in additional punishments. Is that understood”? This time she addressed him formally “Yes Sir”. “When I tell you to do something you will do it straight away with no fuss. While I am punishing you I expect you accept your punishment and you will also thank me for your punishment after I have finished”. He looked at her closely, she felt that he was working himself up into the strictest person he could possibly be and she started to tremble again, anxiety or anticipation. She could not tell which.

He stood away from her and pulled a chair over, placed it before her and sat down. His eyes at bellybutton height. She could see him drinking in the sight of her stood before dressed this time in her old school uniform. He had requested this especially. He eyed every contour of her body as it tried to burst through the ill fitting school blouse and plaid skirt. He was enjoying the felling of power over this woman. “You may take off your skirt and hang it up”. She unwrapped the school skirt and walked over to a table on one side of the room where she neatly placed it. “Now come back here”. He pointed at the spot on the floor where she had been standing before. When she had returned to the centre of the room he addressed her again. “In a few minutes Mandy I will take you across my knew, take your knickers down and spank you. Is there any reason why I shouldn’t”?

Mandy considered this question for a moment, well she couldn’t really complain, after all they had planned it this way. “Well”! He snapped, shocking her with the severity of his tone. “Ahh No...No Sir”.

“Mandy, when I ask you a question you will answer me. If you don’t want to do as your told I will have those knickers down quicker than you think”. He had risen from his chair and was now standing very close to her, invading her space. She felt as though she wanted to move away from him but as she did he advanced. Grabbing her arm “Stand still”. A hand slapped at her legs through the material of her white cotton schoolgirl knickers. The other hand holding her away from him so he could get a good reach. “Are you sorry for your insolence”. He stopped smacking her, but her reply was too slow and he resumed “Awwow ...yes I am sorry Sir”. Came the quick response.

He let her go and went back to the chair and sat down. “We have a lot of work to do Mandy and I will not stand for your insolence. You are here to be disciplined and I am going to discipline you. Now pull up your blouse so I can get a good look at you”. She just looked at him, this wasn’t supposed to be part of the game she thought, she wasn’t going to just pull up her blouse for him to see all at his leisure. This hesitation just made Mr Ruadh angrier though and he stood up again. “If you can’t obey me in a simple task like this Mandy I am going to have to use more severe methods”. His tone was forceful and commanding as he reached for her blouse and pulled it up high around her waist now clearly exposing her panties. “Put your hands on your head Mandy before I fetch my cane”! Cane she thought! “Yes Mandy my cane. If you can’t accept a simple spanking without turning it into a drama what do think it would be like to get the cane”? “You can’t cane me”.

“I can do exactly what I like with you and you will learn to accept it young lady. Now put those hands on your head”. Chastened she placed her palms on the top of her head and stood there feeling humiliated and embarrassed that he could now see her in all her glory. Mr Ruadh sat back on the chair and savoured the sight of her standing, breasts thrust out buttocks and thighs exposed.

“Now Mandy when I say, you will go to the corner of the room and stand like that facing the wall. While you are there you can think about what has brought you here, and why you are going to be punished. When I think you are ready I will expect a confession from you. I want to hear you tell me why you should be punished”. Mandy wanted him to get on with it and spank her but dare not say anything. “You may go to the corner now Mandy”. She sidled over to the corner of the room she had been standing in earlier. She stood hands on head a growing tingle deep in the pit of her belly. He didn’t need to touch her, as he sat in the chair behind her she could feel him mentally stroking the backs of her legs, her inner thighs, feeling her soft bottom through the cotton of her knickers. Soon she would be across his knee, soon she would feel the sting of his hand across her ripe flesh.....................

“Are you ready to be punished Mandy” she heard him say, “Well answer me girl”! She had no choice now, despite second thoughts the tingling deep into the pit of her stomach drove her towards the inevitability of her next words. “Yes sir”.

“Well come over here and stand before me Mandy”. She turned and dropping her hands to her side glided across the room towards him. She felt as though her legs hadn’t moved and now in his hand she could see a rather wide and thick leather strap. Mandy could barely stand before him, her knees weak at the sight of the strap and the though of what was about to happen. Mr Ruadh directed her to place her hands on her head again. His hands started to stoke her legs and slid around behind her to feel those soft buttock’s, playing with the elastic of her knickers.

She felt his hands grip her firmly and pull her closer to him so now she was standing between his legs. Paul Ruadh pressed his face against her smooth and beautifully youthful stomach, his tongue exploring her belly button. His breath, slow and deep as though he was drawing in every smell of her, immersing himself in her aroma. Those hands now pulled impatiently at the elastic of her knickers, rolling them around her thighs. His tongue followed into her pubic hairs and around the top of her pussy, hands now pulling her into his face.

Just as she started to feel her legs part for that probing tongue Mr Ruadh pulled away and turned her side on to him. Now she stood, still with her hands on her head, feeling the ecstasy of the moment. One hand groping her bottom, stoking and squeezing it. While the other slipped between her legs and explored her pussy. While Mr Ruadh played with her he explained what was to happen next. “I am going to give you such a spanking my girl…….. You will beg for mercy before I have finished with you….. I will have that bottom reddened and stinging….” Skilfully he manoeuvred her around to one side and Mandy tumbled across his lap, bottom up legs askew. He started straight away, slapping her with that leather strap. Each stoke harder, stinging, making her yell and dance. At each stroke her pussy got wetter. She could feel the weals growing across the red moon of her buttocks as she wriggled and tried to break free. He held her in place, applying more caresses with the strap. “Whap…slappp….whack….whap……”! The more she wriggled the tighter he held her and the more he spanked her until Mandy lay forlorn across his lap, the struggle finally beaten out of her.

Mr Ruadh stopped the punishment now and while she lay there sobbing he soothed her burning bottom with cool caresses.

“Would you like me to put on some cream” he asked? “Mmmhh please” Mandy replied. And that’s how she remained for the next few minutes, lying across his lap with tear stained face while Mr Ruadh gently and with care applied a cool lotion to her bruises. Once he had finished apply ointment to her buttocks his inquisitive fingers began to slip and slide between her legs and deep into her pussy, bringing her towards a climax . Mandy could feel his rigid member beneath her stomach and this made her want him more and more………………

I think you can imagine what happens next..........

THE END

Author Unknown

For those of you who like Secretary spanking themes click the link below to see a nice office spanking picture gallery. You can also reach it by clicking the picture at the head of this story.

How to deal with a naughty Secretary

The Head Lends a Hand

Lucy Millar's arrival at St.Bede's Boy's Grammar School as the young biology teacher was as dramatic as suddenly opening the doors of a monastery to women. Among the twenty or so teachers already there, only one was female. She was Miss Arnott, tall, grey-haired with nicotine stains on her gappy teeth, who always spoke in a masculine rumble. She wore mannish suits and brown brogues.

Lucy, fresh from college, was the antithesis of Miss Arnott. She was small, feminine, channelling her enthusiasm for the job into super-efficiency. She wore large glasses with delicate silver frames and had the disconcerting habit of sliding them down her nose to add emphasis to her words. Naked contact with her large intense cobalt-blue eyes had a distinctly unsettling effect on any male who thought he'd like to lose himself for a moment in those mesmeric blue pools.

On the first day of the autumn term, Lucy arrived early to be personally welcomed by the school's Headmaster, George Adams, a tall thoughtful man in his late forties with fair hair liberally streaked with platinum. He had a warm, possessive handshake.

Thus was Lucy Millar greeted as she briskly stepped into Mr Adams study and took her seat in front of his old mahogany desk which was dusty and rather neglected in appearance.

"She's very efficient," thought Mr Adams as Lucy nimbly flicked her hands underneath her slim contour-hugging skirt, smoothing her seat before sitting down with a briskness which amused him.

For a moment both Headmaster and new teacher stared at each other with the cautiously veiled interest that is always present at the meeting of a pretty young woman and a not unattractive man some twenty-five years her senior.

Lucy stared at him, wide-eyed and alert, positively bristling with enthusiasm while he explained the niceties of school policy and administration to her intense, innocent little face.

Mischievously, he tried to distract attention from his words, to make those piercing eyes blink at him - just once. He leaned back heavily in his heavy oak chair which creaked lugubriously, but she did not twitch an eyelid, nor was there any sign of a smile. He picked up a ball-point pen and began clicking it loudly and rhythmically on the dull wooden desk top, proceeding with his headmaster's monologue all the while. There was a little crater in the polished wood which suggested that this was a favourite trick to confuse an embarrass his staff. It held implications that he was growing a little impatient, and although he was a gracious man, he had something better to do than pep-talk his teaching staff, who after all, were not that important.

The effect was lost on Lucy. She had entered the musty chalk-smelling study with the kind of no-nonsense confidence that often frightens men.

George relaxed, feeling wistfully that it was 'all down to youth' and studied her closely. Her hair was piled on the top of her head and severely anchored with a good many pins, but George noticed that stray blonde wisps had escaped the tortuous bun, and frothed about her forehead and cheeks quite engagingly. She was, he thought, trying to create just the right image, and very successfully too.

Absentmindedly, he catalogued her other features. Small firm breasts, nicely outlined under a slim-fitting pale blue cashmere jumper, delightfully tiny waist and...mmm..he would have to fill in the missing detail when she rose to go. All he could see at the moment below the waist were her dainty hands crossed tidily in her lap, and the wrinkles of her skirt as it broached into tightness. He would have to wait until she turned for he had always had a particular fondness for the female bottom.

"If you have any trouble with the boys during lessons, be sure to let me know," he said.

"I don't foresee any, Sir," she answered him politely but with evident surprise.

George sighed. No, he wouldn't mention the fact of her being an extremely pretty young woman in a school full of sexually deprived adolescent boys. No, he decided against that. A few weeks at St. Bede's would soon take the edge off that rather disconcerting confidence.

He found himself thinking that Miss Lucy Miller could be even more formidable than Miss Arnott if she chose. But damned attractive with it.

The assembly bell shrilled in the corridor outside and brought an end to the interview. Lucy rose to go and the Headmaster was able to complete his appraisal of the young woman. He was quite pleasantly taken with what he saw.

She was wearing a thin grey flannel skirt which was so tight that every curvaceous inch of her hips was revealed. As she turned her back on him to leave the room, the most erotic profile was revealed; a round girlish bottom, pertly prominent - even saucy in the obstinate retrousee angle it assumed when she stood up. George's eyebrows rose slowly in delighted surprise.

Lucy had the misfortune at that moment to trip, and George the good fortune of being there to help her. As one of her stiletto heels caught the leg of the chair, she overbalanced all of a sudden and put her hands awkwardly on the chair arm to steady herself. For a brief moment, her body made a perfect arc with her bottom raised vulgarly at its zenith. George, having leapt to her side, felt a barely controllable urge to smack it.

Instead he placed his hands lightly on her hips, while Lucy got to her feet. He noticed she was blushing. He also noticed that her seams were crooked. He looked again at the slender curves. Sure enough there were tell-tale wrinkles around her ankles and knees. My God, she was wearing real stockings!

George found the discovery quite intriguing. Somehow this revelation of secret femininity seemed to be rather at variance with her precise business-like manner and dress. He was puzzled - and excited.

A month passed. Lucy settled in extremely well, proving to be an excellent teacher both in her teaching techniques and the uncompromising method of discipline she employed. The boys adored her, worshipped and fantasized about her - but from a safe distance.

George Adams watched her closely. Somewhere, he decided, beneath that cool unflappable suit of armour she wore so convincingly, was a chink.

One lunchtime, while buying his usual cigar, he bumped into Miss Millar in the newsagent's near the school. She was standing, head bent, earnestly poring over a magazine. George approached and tapped her gently on the arm. She reacted as though she'd been struck. With a strangled shriek she let the magazine fly out of her hands. It fell to the floor and lay there, open at the centre page.

In full colour, staring up at them both was an expression of agony on the face of a girl lying upside down across a man's knee. Although dressed in a skimpy school skirt and blouse, she was obviously a grown woman. George blinked and felt beads of tense perspiration breaking out around his collar. The girl in the picture was wearing blue gym-knickers in a tangle around her knees, and she was receiving the spanking of her life.

The Headmaster did not know how to react for a full half-minute. The open magazine seemed to claim all his attention, yet he was aware of Lucy standing next to him, of the flustered distress of her hands, and the fact that she was shaking uncontrollably. He felt the sharp sickness of awakened desire. The poor girl's face was scarlet - she looked as though she had been caught in some criminal act. All her self-composure had vanished.

Mr Adams decided to save the situation. After all, it seemed to him that it was suddenly, gloriously, in his power to do so. Breathing heavily, he picked up the magazine which flew open embarrassingly in several places before he had command of it.

He cleared his throat. "Dear me, did this fall off the top shelf? They don't always stack them too carefully here." He bent to catch her expression.

Lucy couldn't look at him but muttered a strained "Yes" as he put it back.

"They're tempting to look at now and again," he continued airily, " No need to look so embarrassed, Miss Millar."

Lucy shook her head, wanly smiled and, after mumbling an incoherent excuse, fled the shop. George stood and watched her go, amazed at the transformation. Far from looking like the assertive young woman he had come to know, she now looked every inch the guilty schoolgirl.

For days after the event Lucy felt her cheeks burn at the mere sound of the Headmaster's approaching footsteps. She felt curiously under his power, knowing he had realised only too well that the spanking magazine she had been poring over had not landed in her hands by accident. And strangely enough, she found the thought of their shared secret very exciting.

Adams noticed a difference in Lucy after the incident. Her once confident walk had shrunk to a guilty scurrying about the school. He even caught her walking on tip toe to avoid the loud assertive click of her high heels on the marble floor. Her hair now tumbled down in a loose swirl from that severe little bun, making her look quite beautiful. George found he only had to raise one questioning eyebrow for Lucy to begin to stammer in her replies to him; she blushed and felt helpless under his scrutiny.

One Sunday evening, Adams was walking in the local park, the sad decay of autumn at his feet, when he saw her. Silhouetted on the hill in the dying light, she stood with a dog on a lead, her hair flying madly about her in the determined wind. She wore a short jacket and a figure-hugging pencil skirt.

"Miss Millar?" he shouted into the wind.

She looked up while, simultaneously, the mongrel dog wrapped itself around her legs and effectively hobbled her. She couldn't quite seem to disentangle herself , so George went to help her, crouching down to try and unravel the muddle. She was very embarrassed.

The lead had snaked around her thighs, clipping the skirt to her legs and pulling it furiously tight - drawing compulsive attention to her bottom. Somewhere among the tangle of girl and lead, George found his hands roundly cupping her bottom cheeks over her tight, tight skirt. Lucy squirmed with pleasure.

Her curves were soft and pliant like a young girl's. He could feel the ripeness of each cheek and the intimate crack between them in his exploring fingers. Then his hands wandered uncontrollably down to her thighs where he encountered the hardness of her suspender buttons. Feeling her stockinged legs, so slim and so girlish, he suddenly imagined them clad in long white schoolgirls socks, with little open-meshed sandals on her feet. He grew hot at the thought.

They stood up. Lucy struggled to gain composure as Mr Adams's hands swept lingeringly around her legs, pulling the lead free.

They parted and she was unable to look him in the eye.

Lucy's work began to suffer. To everyone she appeared in a state of constant agitation. The Headmaster felt she was wrestling with some deep inner demon, but he was reluctant to quiz her about her private life. Pupils were beginning to take liberties with her. Standards had dropped.

Although Adams knew he should confine thoughts about his young teacher to the job alone, fantasies filled his mind as to what she did after school. And what he would like to do to her. In his mind, Lucy Millar was the schoolgirl in that magazine centrefold and he, George Adams, Headmaster of St. Bede's, was the strict disciplinarian.

Rothwell's department store, one Saturday, found him wandering languidly through the school wear department. He hadn't the faintest idea what he was doing there, except that a strange wistful longing stirred dully in his mind at the sight of row upon row of schoolgirl gym-slips and blazers.

It was then he saw her. Leaning over the small, glass-fronted counter with her now all-too-familiar smackable bottom delicately elevated, she stood on one high heel, curling her other stockinged foot nervously up and down her calf.

On the counter lay a grey pleated gym-slip with a red games girdle, blouse and tie, school cardigan. And topping the lot,a a pair of soft navy blue cotton knickers.

Adams knew instinctively that the the uniform was for her, and not some young niece or for a fancy dress party, although they were probably the reasons she had given the assistant. The time had come to take Miss Millar firmly in hand.

That evening he went to the park as usual. He had hoped to see Lucy again, but there was no sign of her. He left in disappointment.

As he neared the park exit, a young woman rushed past him out into the road, a familiar dog snapping at her heels. It was Lucy Millar and she was crying.

Forgetting his position, forgetting everything but her, George pursued the hurrying girl along the tree-lined suburban road until she disappeared into a tiny upstairs maisonette. With a thumping heart and his mind in a turmoil, he waited for five minutes before knocking on the door.

Agonising seconds dragged by. It appeared that she wasn't going to answer. Then slowly the door inched open.

Lucy stood, dressed in a pretty white blouse and long tight skirt with fluffy mules on her feet. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, her face streaked and etched with tears.

"Miss Millar, what on earth is wrong?"

She stood aside and let him walk into her flat.

"My boyfriend has finished with me," she said in between sobs.

George was silent. Suddenly he felt a pang of irrational jealousy. They sat down together on the settee. The room had a chaotic disorder that pleased him. She had a large collection of teddy bears and foreign dolls - little girl's things. Quite at odds with the assertive, brisk young woman he knew at school.

Lucy stood up and went into her bedroom.

"He left me because I bought this." And to Adams's astonishment, she returned holding out the grey pleated gym-slip. She was obviously so upset that she no longer cared what she said, or to whom. Except that she was telling her Headmaster. And he wanted to hear every word.

Standing there in her bedroom doorway with her wet face, was Lucy Millar the teacher, looking every inch Lucy the vulnerable schoolgirl. Holding out the gym-slip with a pathetic gesture, asking for sympathy...asking for approval...just begging to be spanked.

A delicious state of arousal flowed through his body, and something of his excited state reached Lucy. She stopped crying and stood, wide-eyed, looking at him. Then a blush crimsoned her cheeks.

Adams sat at the edge of the sofa, all the while trying to communicate with his eyes his desire to punish his naughty junior mistress severely. But he couldn't just grab the girl and tell her in no uncertain terms, "Lucy Millar, I'm going to give you the spanking you deserve." No he couldn't just do that. He wasn't sure either whether it wasn't just a fantasy on her part. How would she react with his large, mature palm descending on her gym-knickered rump time and time again?

"I don't see what's wrong with you buying a school uniform," he said as evenly as he was able. "There's no harm in it." He looked down at the space between them, and then directly into her wide-open eyes. "Didn't your boyfriend like you in it?" he asked softly.

"No, he said it was perverted. He said I -" she faltered and turned red again.

"Silly boy. I would have."

Lucy shook. Adams had never seen a girl so visibly moved.

As Lucy seemed to have lost the power of speech, George Adams knew this was the moment to take supreme control over the young woman. And it was so easy.

He looked at her and said, as if talking to a small child, "Now, Lucy, go and put your uniform on for me. Go on."

Lucy turned obediently and went into her bedroom. It was as though she had become totally possessed by Mr Adams's words.

There was silence, as if for a brief moment she was thinking about the enormity of what she was doing. Then a rustle as she took the uniform from the carrier bag.

Adams removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He looked around the room for a suitable chair.

"How are you doing, Lucy? Are you ready yet?" he asked gently, so as not to alarm her.

A muffled voice was his answer. She was pulling on the jumper.

"Have you any long white socks?"

"Yes, Mr Adams." There was barely concealed excitement in her voice.

"Then put them on!" he commanded , and added "make sure you're wearing regulation sandals too."

He sat on the chair in the middle of the room, having pushed the sofa back against the wall. He discovered a spotlight which he adjusted so it would shine on the chair - on his lap - on Lucy Millar's deliciously spankable bottom.

He found in his intense excitement that his eyes kept keenly returning to trivial details about the room. The pattern-repeats on the wallpaper, the shiny gold hands of the clock. He found himself following each jerky second-hand movement round and round and...

She was there. Shy, blushing, treading her way tentatively towards him as if she was temporarily blind and didn't know the room.

Adam's mouth felt sloe-dry. His lips compressed and tightened in excitement.

My God! What a sight she was!

"Stand in front of me, Lucy. I want to inspect your uniform."

As though in a trance, Lucy obeyed him.

Adams's eyes greedily devoured her womanly body, clad so provocatively in schoolgirl clothes. Hair loose in two bunches. Earrings.

"Take those earrings off!" he snapped. "No jewellery in school!"

Her trembling hands flew to her ears and she removed them, dropping them into his outstretched palm.

"No make-up, I see. Good. One point in your favour - not that it will help you much, Lucy Millar!"

She wore a white school blouse and cardigan, which were too small, drawing delicious attention to her breasts. He'd check later whether she was wearing a bra or not. He hoped she wasn't.

The gym-slip ended half-way down her thighs. Nice.

He ordered her to turn around slowly.

"Bend over and touch your toes!" he snapped. "I intend to check whether you are wearing regulation school knickers!" He drew out the syllables of the word 'knickers' with undisguised relish.

Lucy, trembling, did as she was told. Down went her slender little hands, sliding over her long white socks on her calves, until she was touching her ankles. What an excruciating position to be in! And how dreadful to have to do it in front of her Headmaster!

The gym-slip had risen with slow magic. Up, up over the pinchable, squeezable softness of her thighs, bare and talcum-smooth. Up over the crown of her buttocks, thrusting up and over their fullness, until the pleats jutted out like a stage curtain.

George Adams's eyes were greedily focused on the vulgar exhibition of her navy-knickered bottom. There was a dark stain seeping through the gusset already. He leaned forward and tested with a finger. She was wet all right!

"Disgusting!" he said throatily, smelling the heat and the juice from her, and enjoying her mortified squirming.

He turned her round again until she was facing him. Her knees touched his knees. Dumbly, her face flushed with shame, Lucy listened to the Headmaster's lecture.

"...and to crown everything, I catch my young Biology mistress gloating over a pornographic magazine," he paused to add emphasis to his next words. "A magazine where naughty, wicked girls get what they deserve. A damned good spanking!"

Adams pulled Lucy down onto his wide lap. She, weak from the excitement of being shouted at and lectured, floated down onto his knees like the descent of a feather. She was light and small and schoolgirlish, and she was his very naughty, about-to-be-punished school mistress.

SMACK!!

Lucy's legs and arms flopped onto the floor as she made a perfect arc across his lap. The crisp impact of his decisive palm on her delectable rear sizzled through her body. Her nerves became like telephone wires, buzzing with messages.

SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!!

She was hardly aware of what was happening. Adams lifted up her gym-slip skirt and neatly laid it back above her waist.

His warm male hands cupped her bottom cheeks, squeezing and kneading each one in turn. His fingers poked indecently into her cleft, forcing the navy cotton into a kind of valley in between. He continued poking and pushing his humiliating finger down, down into the deep cleft and beyond - massaging the sticky wet cotton stain until she writhed uncontrollably. The hems of her knickers were soaked in perspiration.

SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! Heavier and hard, punishing and determined.

She made no sound. Her face was flushed, her forehead beaded, her ears ringing from the pumping, pumping in them, and from the fly-swatting spanks of her bottom.

"Now I shall really punish you!" he said, his voice rising to an angry crescendo.

Silence.

"Get up, Lucy!" he bellowed.

Lucy awkwardly clambered off his knees, feeling her knickered, spanked bottom gingerly.

"Lucy," Adams's voice rose and fell with subtle sarcasm, "you aren't showing any signs of repentance, are you!"

Lucy's toes curled involuntarily. She hadn't the courage to look him in the eye.

"I'm afraid I must insist you take your knickers down!"

Lucy stared at him with enormous eyes. Dare she? Should she? He was her Headmaster!

"Mr Adams - "

"Don't interrupt, girl - do it!" he snapped , taking her hands and placing them on the waistband of her knickers. But the gym-slip was in the way , and it had to come off. Silently, he rotated her like a frozen ballerina and, unzipping the back of the gym-slip, eased it from her shoulders and let it slip into a grey puddle at her feet.

Then he turned her round to face him and took her hands, pulling them into his hot crotch where her fingers closed obediently around his erection.

With her body bent towards him, her hands moving all the while, he lifted his own hands and out them in the waistband of her school knickers, peeling the navy cotton down and away from her beautiful buttocks.

Down they came. He savoured it with a slow deliberate motion, rolling the soft cotton between finger and thumb and then easing it, controlling it down over her nubile pink and white bottom.

Angrily, because at that moment she took her hands away from his trousers, he jerked her down over his knee. Her naked bottom was well stuck-up. The knickers rolled down to her calves of their own accord and stopped there.

Like a hungry man savouring a feast, he studied every part of her nakedness. The gentle girlish curve of her bottom cheeks, the saucy brown curls of pubic hair peeping from between her tightly closed legs.

Then he began to spank his young Biology mistress on her bare arse.

Lucy had no idea that the punishment would be as painful as her Headmaster seemed determined to make it. He had taken such command of the situation that she felt she could do nothing except obey. "He's doing what he likes with my bare bottom!" she kept repeating to herself. "He's really spanking me bare!"

In between the hardest bottom-smacks he could muster, Adams tilted her slightly so he could rub her pink erect clitoris - already swollen and streaming with moisture. As the heat in Lucy's bottom grew, she clenched her cheeks together in an attempt to ease the pain. She began to wish that she wasn't being spanked after all. And with that came a sudden reality check - that Adams was doing what he liked to her bottom and her sexual parts without her consent. The awareness became dreadfully humiliating. But there was no getting away from it - or from the fire he was stoking in her bottom.

She began to squeal through clenched teeth, but then as the slaps came one after another in the same sore places, she cried out, "Oh stop it!Pleeeeeeeeeeeasse!" and screeched in distress.

George Adams was going to do no such thing until he was satisfied she had been punished entirely to his liking.

"And next time, it will be my cane, young lady - and I'll thrash you with all the strength I have in my body!" he hissed.

"Ohhhh! My poor bottom. Oh Ohhhhhhhhhhh! Please, I'm sorry!" Lucy yelled, but Adams seemed only to smack her all the harder.

Suddenly there was an explosion of tears. She threw back her head and sobbed like a baby.

He pushed her off his lap and onto the floor. The schoolmistress lay submissively at her Headmaster's feet.

Still sobbing, Lucy felt his hands lift her up and smooth her well-spanked buttocks. With a voice of acid hardness he told her to take off her jumper and blouse.

Now she was naked apart from the long, white socks. The sweat from her wrigglings mingled with her perfume and trickled down between her bare breasts.

George pushed her over to a corner of the room and positioned the spotlight onto the young woman standing there, rubbing the reddest bottom he'd ever seen.

"Put your hands on your head!" he thundered.

Delicious! The spotlight played up and down the creamy whiteness of her back, the raw rude crimson of her arse. The posture was so like that of a truant schoolgirl made to stand in the corner with hands on head.

He stood behind her, smoothing her body and marvelling at the heat coming from her punished bottom.

Then, like a doll- ballerina, Lucy walked stiffly to her bedroom - propelled by Adams. The Headmaster of St. Bede's Boy's Grammar School had one hand on her burning flanks, the other now massaging his swollen cock, thrusting from the open zipper of his trousers.

Biology teacher she might be; but he was going to teach her a few things about Biology she wouldn't find in any of her textbooks.

THE END

Doctors Orders

A spicy tale about a sultry young lady who is sent to a family friend for a spot of “behavioural therapy” – I have also included what I hope you will agree is a very fitting photo gallery which you can access via each picture or the link at the end of the story – Please enjoy both!

SALLY, a very pretty, green-eyed brunette with a habitual impending pout, had been packed off by her elderly guardian to spend two weeks with Doctor Saverini, an old family friend and retired univer­sity lecturer living just outside Pisa. Like any teenage girl the prospect of visiting Italy, a country whose beauties she'd heard of and read about so much, appealed to her enormously. But there was one snag. It wasn't going to be just an ordinary holiday abroad. There was another, far less pleasurable reason for her going.

Although she'd left school the previous summer, Sally had not adapted at all well to the grown-up world outside. In fact she'd proved quite unable to behave herself as a young lady should, but continued to act as she had at school, more like a silly, naughty fifth-former than someone approaching responsible young womanhood. She was extravagant, insolent, moody, prone to childish tantrums and also at times inclined to be deceitful to cover up her frequent lapses in behaviour.

Her guardian despaired of doing anything with her. It was frankly difficult for him to communicate with her - the age gap was so great - and he had a responsible job which involved him in long hours of work so that Sally's conduct was a real worry to him. He had lectured her, kept her in, in the evenings, stopped her pocket money, and on one or two occasions had actually spanked her, putting her across his knee in her pyjamas. Of course Sally had objected vociferously to the latter punish­ment, although she knew she deserved it. She thought she was much too big to be spanked, even over her pyjama trousers in the privacy of her bedroom, and she would have hated any of her friends to know about it. At the same time she was very fond of her guardian with his olde-worlde manners and outlook, and in a way she appreciated his taking the trouble to correct her . . . not that the few half-hearted smacks he delivered had any real effect on Sally's beautiful, nubile bottom. He no longer had the strength to hurt her.

So finally Sally's guardian had decided to take drastic action. His old Italian friend, Doctor Saverini, had known Sally ever since she was a young girl, and had always main­tained she needed much stricter discipline than she'd ever got. Indeed Sally herself had painful memories of the Doctor's own disciplinary methods. Once or twice in the past when she'd been more than usually naughty, her guardian, willing to take Saverini's advice but unwilling to punish her himself, had brought her to him and left her there for half an hour or so, during which time Saverini had taken Sally into his study, given her a stern lecture and then put her across his knee, pulled down her knickers and smacked her bare bottom - hard. Sally had kicked and wriggled and squalled and promised to be a good girl in future, to which the only reply was that that was what naughty girls always said when they were about to be punished, followed by a further spanking which left Sally's bottom crimson, and Sally herself in a very tearful, penitent mood. She'd come to dread those painful, humiliating visits to the Doctor's study, yet at the same time here was a man - perhaps the only man in her life -whom she could really respect.

It seemed to her guardian therefore that the only effective cure for Sally's behavioural problems would be to hand her over, lock stock and barrel, to Doctor Saverini for a short course of corrective treatment at Pisa. There really was no other way to deal with her. He knew she would be perfectly safe with the Doctor; he would never take advantage of the situation. It would be culturally educative for her, too, and she was a girl perfectly capable of appreciating such an experience. Accordingly he wrote to the Doctor.

Saverini replied that he would be both honoured and delighted to help, provided he was given carte blanche. He suggested that a return to 'school discipline' at least for part of the time she was with him would do her the world of good, and he asked therefore that she bring with her, her gymslip, school knickers, white blouse, black stockings and plain white suspender belt etc, and also her summer uniform which, he remembered, consisted of a short, check gingham dress with white cotton knickers and white ankle socks. When told of this, Sally had rebelled at the whole idea and had protested vehemently. But it was a fait accompli and she had no choice in the matter.

On the coach to Heathrow Sally's tummy had fluttered with excite­ment at the imminence of her big Italian adventure. Deep, deep down, too, there was the feeling that it might, perhaps it just might, be strangely reassuring and somehow satisfying to be under strict discipline, with the prospect of inevitable punishment if she misbehaved for it meant that one person would be devoting all his attention to her because he really cared enough about her to want to make her behave herself. She really did want to learn proper grown-up behaviour. But then she thought of those horrible school uniforms all crisp and ironed in her suitcase: navy gymslip, matching knickers, white blouse and tie, long black stockings; and the little gingham frock with white knickers and ankle socks all of these the very antithesis of sophisticated adult clothes.

And she thought, too, of the Doctor's disciplinary methods. But surely he wouldn't, he couldn't punish her like that, now that she was a grown-up young lady? Sally almost thought of making a bolt for it. But where could she go? Her guardian was escorting her to the departure gate - and once through there she'd be inextricably caught up in the machine. There would be security men. No way out, no escape.

Doctor Saverini met her at Pisa airport with an embrace and a quick kiss on the cheek. A brisk, punctilious man of unquestionable integrity, who had about him an aura of reserve, almost of secrecy. The journey by taxi to his villa took barely twenty minutes. The Italian landscape, simmering in the blazing Mediterranean sunshine, seemed worlds away from the drab English suburbia that Sally had grown up in.

Saverini showed Sally round the villa, which was small and compact. Only six rooms, including the bathroom and kitchen. Last of all he showed her the study: a shady room with a long, high fanlight but without other windows. Its main contents were bookcases and a largish desk.

'This will be the schoolroom, as far as you're concerned,' her host explained, the light reflecting in his spectacles momentarily making them opaque. 'This is where you will have your lessons, as well as regular doses of school discipline which will no doubt be very good for you. I shall bring in a chair and a small folding desk for you, and you will sit there, under my eye,' he went on, indicating a spot in front of the large desk.

Sally looked away and made no comment whatsoever. That would be the part of the visit she felt she was not going to enjoy.

The first two days passed uneventfully enough with pleasant restaurant meals and rail trips_: to places of historical interest. But at bedtime on the second day the Doctor told her:

‘Tomorrow morning, Sally, after breakfast, I want you in the school­room at 9.30 prompt, dressed in your school uniform - gymslip, white blouse and navy blue knickers.’

Sally bit her lip and went to pull a face, then thought better of it and instead said meekly, ‘Yes sir, I understand.’

The Doctor patted her arm and despatched her off to bed. Despite all the misgivings building up within her, Sally found she went off to sleep surprisingly quickly.

Next morning she appeared at breakfast feeling rather self-conscious in her school uniform, but the Doctor made no comment and at 9.30 sharp they met in the schoolroom. Saverini sat down at his desk and called Sally over to him.

‘You’ve reached the age of being a young lady,’ he told her, ‘but judging by the reports I’ve received from your guardian you rarely behave as one, but more like a silly, irresponsible schoolgirl. So it will be very salutary for you to actually return to being a schoolgirl, and under much stricter discipline than at your last school. As long as you are here, wearing school uniform, you’ll be treated like a schoolgirl and punished like one, too. I shall expect you to be attentive, diligent, respectful and above all, obedient. And if you fail to come up to the mark I shall punish you in the only really effective way, by means of corporal punishment.

‘If you so much as put a foot wrong,’ he continued after a brief pause for emphasis, T shall put you across my knee and smack your bottom, but for more serious misbehaviour, such as disrespectful-ness or disobedience, I shall give you a good sound whipping with the cane. We are completely private here and I shall take your knickers down, which will make such punishment much more effective for a big girl like you.'

Sally gasped with horror. Her worst fears were being realised. 'B-but,' she stammered, I’m a big girl now, too big to be spanked and much too big to have my knickers taken down.' But the Doctor gave her a look to intimate that the subject was closed.

The morning was spent first with a lesson giving an outline of the history of Tuscany, during which Sally had to take notes, then with some French dictation, and lastly a first lesson in Italian. After lunch Sally was set down at her desk with some guide books and art-history books and told to make notes of important buildings, pictures and sculptures in places she was likely to be visiting. Sally was quite interested but she found note-taking boring. She skimmed through page after page, made very few notes, and after a time began drawing and doodling.

When Doctor Saverini called her up to show him what she had written, all she could produce were about three lines and a number of doodles, drawings of dogs and so forth, some of which she tried to conceal.

Ts that all you’ve done in all this time, Sally?’ asked the Doctor, in an ominous voice.

‘Y-yes sir’ Sally replied sheepishly. T-I’ve read a lot but I didn’t make many notes.’

‘Excellent!’ chimed the Doctor benignly. If you’ve managed to memorise the information then that is most invaluable. Now tell me what you remember.’

Sally floundered, got hopelessly bogged down, made several dreadful howlers and even, when prompted, was unable to give any coherent information at all.

The Doctor said nothing, simply moved his chair back from his desk.

‘Come here and lie across my knee,’ he ordered her briskly.

‘Oh-h-h!’ wailed Sally, but she knew better than to disobey, and she lowered herself reluctantly over the Doctor’s lap. He took up the skirt of her gymslip at the back.

‘Now,’ he said, inserting his fingers in the waistband of her school knickers, I’m going to take down your knickers as I promised you. It'll be a fine disgrace for a big girl of your age, won't it, Sally?'

'Yes sir’ said Sally in a very small, trembling voice, and the next moment the Doctor, rolling her gently from side to side, had pulled her knickers right down below the tops of her black stockings so that when he turned up the tail of her vest she was bare from above the cleft between her buttocks to well down her shapely thighs. The Doctor patted her pretty dimpled bottom cheeks so that they quivered gently.

'As I thought,' he observed, 'a fine, round, firm, big girl's bottom, well able to absorb plenty of punishment. Aren't you thoroughly ashamed of yourself, Sally, a big girl of your age being put across your schoolmaster's knee with your bare bottom turned up for a spanking?'

'Yes sir,' she admitted almost tearfully.

'So, I should think,' replied the Doctor severely. 'Now while I'm spanking you, you will keep your buttocks properly relaxed as they are now, and you will keep your hands out in front of you. Even when I allow you to get up you will not put your hands behind you, still less attempt to put them anywhere near your bottom until you're given express permission. Do you understand?'

'Yes,' replied Sally tremulously. She immediately received two very hard stinging slaps on the tender, flat sides of her buttocks.

'Yes what?' asked the Doctor.

'Yes sir,' Sally gasped, consumed by the sudden pain flooding through her flanks.

'That's better!' he admonished. 'Disrespectfulness is something I punish severely and you had better not forget your manners while you're bare-bottomed across my knee in an excellent position to have your impertinence thoroughly punished as it deserves. And you may wriggle and kick and squirm as much as you like, and squall and cry too, because no one will hear you except me.'

There followed what was for Sally a most uncomfortable interval. She knew the Doctor was studying her naked, upturned bottom, and apart from the acute embarrassment this caused her she had an uneasy feeling that he was estimating just how hard she should have it smacked. The suspense was killing her and she almost found herself wishing that the smacking would begin, but when at length it did she found the Doctor's idea of what was a suitable spanking for a pert young lady to be totally different from what she had experienced when younger.

To and fro the harsh, resounding smacks ranged, over the whole area of her exposed buttocks, up, down and across ... then up, down and across again with sickening regularity. But since the Doctor knew Sally had not been properly spanked for a long time, and since he also knew that the humiliation of a bare-bottom spanking really counted for something with a girl as old as 18, he confined his attentions largely to the curve of her buttocks and the exquisite round jut beneath them, rather than slapping their flat sides or the inviting surface of her bare thighs, between the crease where her buttocks took off a few inches above the tops of her stockings.

Her jouncy round bottom grew pink, then scarlet, then finally crimson beneath the slow, steady, and leisurely paced smacking until, abandoning all decorum and big girl poise, Sally commenced to kick and wriggle violently and cry out loudly in pain. Finally forgetting the Doctor's orders, she put a hand round behind her in the vague hope of warding off the dreadfully insistent stinging smacks which were making her surging buttocks smart and ache intolerably.

'What have you been told about your hands, Sally?' Saverini demanded. 'How dare you try to protect your bottom!' Keep them in front of you, you disobedient girl, else you'll get a thorough whipping with the cane!' Sally choked back a sob and withdrew the offending hand.

'That's better’ retorted the Doctor. 'I'm going to give you six more hard smacks to conclude the first half of your punishment.' Sally screwed up her face and bit her lip in agonised expectation. The final six smacks sounded out like pistol shots, bringing tears to her eyes. But what was worst of all was the awful thought that her punishment was only half-way through.

She knew deep down that she deserved it, that in fact she had deserved a soundly smacked bottom many times over in past months, but naturally a girl of her age could not help but feel humiliated at being across a man's knee with her skirt up and her knickers down in order to be spanked like the naughty schoolgirl she had so recently been and, in a sense, had again become. She had just decided that misbehaviour of any kind was simply not worth it if it incurred such painful, ignominious punishment, when Doctor Saverini, taking a firm grip of her bare waist again, recommenced the interrupted spanking.

Sally struggled like a wildcat, frantically kicking her black-stockinged legs, but the unremit­tingly smarting smacks continued to torment all parts of her burning-hot, deeply-crimson bottom. Her urgent yells punctured the slumberous stillness of the Mediterranean afternoon.

At length the Doctor took pity on her. He ceased smacking her and released the bitterly sobbing girl from his grasp, but her humiliation was not over yet because he instructed her to stand over in the corner, her face to the wall, and to hold up the back of her skirt so that her big, bare, well-spanked bottom was still on shameful display.

Sally, still tearful and with her navy-blue knickers crumpled and dangling around her thighs, reluctantly did as she was told. As she stood squirming wretchedly in the corner she heard the Doctor repeat:

'While the smart soaks well into your incorrigibly naughty bottom you can reflect on why you've been punished, whether it was worth it, and whether you're going to repeat your recalcitrant, idle, worthless behaviour.'

Sally bit her lip once more and fought back fresh floods of tears. Her poor bottom hurt like hell, stung like fire, but she didn't dare try to put her hands behind her, still risk attempting to rub her burning, throbbing buttocks. No doubt this was one of the humiliating ceremonies the doctor had warned her of. She was soon to find out that there were others.

'Are you thoroughly ashamed of yourself, Sally?' the Doctor demanded. With a nod of her head Sally assented, although in truth she was less ashamed of having misbehaved than of having her bare bottom smacked and being made to stand in the corner with it on show, in her school uniform.

'You deserved your punishment and you're ready to say 'thank you' for it?' insisted the Doctor, relentlessly exploiting her mortifica­tion. When Sally indicated her compliance he called her over to him.

'Kneel down there,' he ordered, 'and repeat what you've just told me. Say "thank you" nicely for your punishment, tell me you know you deserved it, apologise for being a wicked girl and promise you'll be good in the future.' Haltingly Sally repeated this humiliating catechism.

'Now kiss my hand which has spanked you into such a becoming state of penitence and submission.' Again Sally obeyed.

'Above all,' he went on, 'bear well in mind that for the duration of your stay here I shall spank you soundly for the slightest slip or mis­demeanour, and for any more serious misbehaviour I shall cane you severely... and every time I shall keep you in disgrace with your knickers down, so that perhaps you'll remember the shame of it long after your bottom has stopped smarting.'

Then, after a pause he added, 'Does your bottom smart now?'

'Y-yes sir,' whimpered the wretched, dejected girl.

'Very well, you may rub your buttocks.' Sally did so with almost unseemly abandon, so great was the hot and gnawing ache within them, but she omitted to express her gratitude for being granted permission.

'What did you say, Sally?' the Doctor reminded her.

Thank you sir,' she hastened to add.

'Good. We mustn't forget our manners, must we, Sally?' She shook her head in agreement and continued with both hands to massage her burning rear.

'Is that better now?' Saverini at length enquired, and when Sally replied more politely, 'Yes, thank you sir’ she received permission to pull up her knickers, having done which she naturally assumed she was entitled to lower and smooth down her skirt.

'Have I given you permission to put your skirt back down, Sally?' snapped the Doctor. Blushing fiercely she was forced to admit that he hadn't.

'Then get it up again!' he ordered in a voice which signified that his patience was being sorely taxed.

Having to hoist up her skirt and reveal her navy-blue knickers to him yet again should have been no great ordeal for Sally since she'd had to show them to him before, as well as take them down, but for some reason known to her alone this was the straw that broke the camel's back, and she burst into tears.

Saverini, seemingly unmoved by her weeping, compelled her to stand there for a minute or two longer, the hem of her skirt held high, throbbing knicker clad bottom on full display, then:

'Very well, you may put your skirt down now, and Sally, mortified almost beyond endurance by the strict discipline and the repeated reproofs, this time answered, 'Thank you sir,' with a trembling, tear-stained lower lip. Saverini patted Sally's behind and dismissed her for the afternoon, telling her she could put on grown­up clothes to go out to dinner in the evening.

The next two days were taken up with a brief trip to Florence, but on the fifth afternoon, since Sally had argued at lunchtime about how much wine she was allowed, Saverini made her go upstairs and put on her old school uniform. She didn't like this at all, although she looked very pretty and rather cheeky in her little red and blue plaid skirt, white blouse and knee length socks. She felt embarrassed and acutely aware of her long, shapely legs, bare from her knees right the way up to under her tiny skirt and her tight little white cotton knickers. But what was all the more embarrassing was the realisation that he'd made her dress up in this way simply to receive yet another spanking.

At the sound of a small hand bell, reminding her of the school assembly bell, Sally went down to Dr Saverini's study.

'Come over here and lie across my knee came the all-too-familiar injunction. Sally drew in her breath to protest, but thought better of it, and placed herself meekly and submissively over the Doctor's knee as she was told. Her miniscule skirt was turned up and she blushed as she realised that although her little white cotton knickers completely covered her buttocks, they now fitted her plump round bottom even more tightly than they had in her last days at school. But there was little time for these reflections, because the Doctor took hold of her knickers by the waist and pulled them well down her bare thighs.

'If you got what you deserved; he commented, I should really slap these long bare legs of yours as well, but I won't add to your disgrace by taking you out with well-reddened thighs! There's plenty of room on your bottom for the sort of spanking you need right now.'

He seemed to spank her much harder than ever that afternoon, and she kicked and squirmed so desperately that her little knickers were reduced to a mere twist of white cotton just above her knees. At last she was allowed to stand up and sent to stand in the corner with her skirt up and her knickers, of course, still down. Then she had to make the same humiliating submis­sion as on the other occasion, after which she was given permission to rub her well-spanked bottom, pull up her cotton knickers and adjust her plaid skirt. This time, she cried continuously from the mid­point of the punishment until after she was sent out of the room.

During the weekend that followed she somehow miraculously escaped punishment. Monday morning found her back in the 'schoolroom', but she was so inattentive and slipshod that she got no less than 15 strokes of the ruler on her bare bottom, as well as a preliminary six over her knickers.

At least so far she'd managed to avoid the cane, although Dr Saverini had alluded to it on several occasions and even shown her the place where he kept it - not just one but, if he was to be believed, a whole armoury of canes of various lengths and thicknesses. They lived in a shallow cupboard against the wall in a passage-way. Sally shivered instinctively whenever she went past it. One afternoon while the Doctor was taking a nap, Sally's morbid curiosity got the better of her, so she crept out into the passage-way and tried to open the cupboard door. But it was locked. She didn't know whether to feel disappointed or relieved.

One afternoon in the schoolroom Sally completed a piece of French translation so promptly and satisfac­torily that afterwards, as a reward, Saverini allowed her to go to the nearby swimming-pool. Here she made the acquaintance of the 'bagnino', or attendant, a little older than herself, who was born in Canada but whose parents were local people and owned a restaurant and nightclub a few miles away.

Quick-witted but thoughtless as ever of the consequences, Sally saw a way of fitting this new acquain­tance into a vague plan she was already hatching, and before she returned to the villa she had already come to an understanding with the young Italo-Canadian. Next morning there was shopping in the market and elsewhere to occupy the time, and in the afternoon both she and the Doctor retired to their respective rooms for a sleep as it was very hot.

Fairly early in the evening, after dinner at their usual restaurant, Sally gave signs of great boredom and although she was not guilty of any actual misbehaviour, her constant fidgeting eventually got on the Doctor's nerves. He told her to go to bed if she could find nothing better to do than to mope around. This was exactly what she wanted, and she went up to her room without a word of protest.

All remained quiet until about twenty minutes later when he thought he heard a slight sound above the steady noise of the de-humidifier which was running at the time. He went out into the passage-way and surprised Sally in the act of opening the inner front door. She was wearing a tight, low-cut dress which he had not seen before, and he detected a whiff of scent in the air. Approaching her he saw that she was quite heavily made-up.

Sally looked extremely guilty and stammered something inane about 'fresh air'.

'You can get fresh air by opening your window’ the Doctor replied. There are curtains so that you can have the shutters open, as I showed you when you came. Where, may I ask, were you going, and why are you dressed and made-up in such a vulgar, tartish manner?'

Sally had never seen the Doctor so angry before. Bit by bit her story came out. She was going to meet the boy from the pool. He'd promised to take her to his parents' night club.

'It's not a public dance’ Sally explained in mitigation. 'It's a private club and he said he would take me. I was to meet him at the bottom of the path, opposite the petrol station.'

'Were you indeed!' the Doctor sneered. I suppose he didn't tell you he already has a fiancée, did he?' Sally shook her head desolately and looked at the floor. Suddenly she felt very, very foolish.

There's no knowing where it would have all ended’ Saverini remonstrated, his voice heavy with concern as well as anger. 'Altogether a pretty story of deceit and disobedience,' was his verdict. 'Very well, you can go and take off those indecently provocative clothes, wash all that muck off your face and go and change into your school uniform. I want to see you in the schoolroom in 15 minutes.'

At the appointed time, a totally different figure from the painted, scented young lady in the sexily clinging dress, Sally presented herself before him as a schoolgirl once more, her face washed and shining with a healthy pink glow but registering a forlorn, apprehen­sive expression. She stood with her head bowed, feet together and hands behind her back, before the Doctor's desk.

'I told you the other day, Sally’ he began sternly, 'that the very next time you misbehaved I intended to punish you with the cane, didn't I?' Sally nodded miserably and moved her feet uneasily. 'And now’ he went on, 'I have occasion to punish you for a flagrant piece of disobedience, combined with deceit, for which an exemplary whipping is the only suitable punishment. If you were more accustomed to being whipped I should cane your bottom until you couldn't sit down comfortably for a week! Sally grew pale and twisted her fingers nervously behind her back.

'As it is’ Saverini continued, relenting somewhat, 'I shall take into account the fact that you've never been caned before. But make no mistake about it, you're certainly going to feel it, Sally, and I doubt whether you'll forget the experience in a hurry! Get your knickers down.'

Blushing with shame and confusion, Sally raised the skirt of her gymslip and fumbled with the elastic at the waist of her navy-blue knickers.

'Right down!' ordered the Doctor. 'Lower than that, right down to the tops of your stockings. That's right.' Her tummy lurched; she wanted the ground to swallow her up.

'Now hold your skirt up at the back. Higher!' he insisted. Doctor Saverini was a stickler for formalities, and getting a girl correctly presented and prepared for the cane was no exception. Everything had to be just so. When he was at last satisfied that she was ready he handed her a small key.

'Go and unlock the cupboard in the passage-way and fetch the white cane.'

He followed on behind her, as much to enjoy the roll of her exquisite buttocks as she walked, as to ensure that she kept them properly bared. Sally unlocked the cupboard and unhooked the white cane. It was not one of the longest but it was, as she feared, quite long enough, supple and almost as thick as her little finger. Saverini told her to lock the cupboard, give him the key and bring the cane into the schoolroom.

He made her kneel down, still holding up her skirt behind with one hand, offer the cane to him properly, handle first, and ask him respectfully to punish her with it as she deserved.

'It will be a pleasure, Sally’ was his reply. 'And I hope you appreciate the additional disgrace of being sent, bare-bottomed, to fetch the cane and of having to ask for punishment on your knees?'

'Y-yes sir’ Sally faltered meekly, biting her lip and looking down. 'I-I do, and I'm sorry I disobeyed you, sir.

'It's not merely a question of disobedience, Sally, said the Doctor gravely. 'Ifs a kind of constructive defiance of the principle that you must never go out to such places along or with anyone whom I have not approved your going out with in advance. As I told you before, naughty girls are always sorry when they know they're going to be punished, but the proper time for you to tell me you're sorry is when you make your submission, after your punishment.'

He made her get up off her knees, go and stand behind the back of a small armchair at the other end of the room, and then bend right over it.

'Your feet further back’ he ordered her. 'Now bend over still further... go on, still further, until the top of your head nearly touches the seat, and your bottoms properly raised.' Sally almost gasped with the effort it took to adopt the correct posture. Her heart was pounding wildly and she felt her legs going weak at the knees. She was appalled at the thought of the indecent spectacle she was making of herself.

Saverini studied her lewdly prominent, totally exposed buttocks with the judicious eye of a connoisseur. He still wasn't completely satisfied.

'Place your feet still further back, Sally. I want your whipping to sting you without bruising you.' She executed an awkward little shuffle. He ran his fingers all over her firm, jutting hemispheres, patting them to ensure that Sally's fine skin and soft, feminine muscle were not too tightly stretched. Her buttocks rippled delightfully to the touch. He then adjusted the raised skirt of her gymslip, turning it well up over her back.

There, he said at length. 'You're to maintain that position, with your buttocks properly relaxed; until I give you express permission to move. And you're to keep your hands in front of you. Don't forget or I shall give you an extra stroke every time you disobey. Eight strokes is what you're going to get, which is a good deal less than you deserve - and you're going to count them. If you don't count a stroke then you'll have it repeated. Is that perfectly clear?'

'Yes sir' groaned Sally from her upside-down position. Her hair had fallen down over her eyes and she felt sick with fear and embarrass­ment. She desperately wanted to clench her buttocks but didn't dare because she knew it would be breaking one of the Doctor's strictest injunctions. The white cane had looked horribly severe and she could imagine only too well how bitterly it would sting her soft, fragile, naked bottom.

Saverini swished the rattan through the air a couple of times in order to heighten Sally's apprehen­sion, and as he did so she felt a cold shiver run down her spine. He noted the slight tremble in her relaxed buttocks and thought appreciatively that he'd never in his life had to cane a more delectable pair. He put her through an agony of waiting while he admired them at his leisure. Then, standing well to the left side of her, he raised the white cane to shoulder height and brought it down smartly with a SWISH! and a CRACK! leaving a rosy-red stripe mid-way across Sally's bottom, being careful not to catch her with the tip but ensuring that the rattan thwacked fairly and squarely across the tender curve of both her buttocks.

'OW!' yelled Sally urgently; leaving the Doctor in no doubt whatsoever that she was really feeling it with a vengeance. She would have had to be anaesthetised not to.

'One!' she added as an after­thought, suddenly remembering she had to count.

'OW-W! OUCH! Two!' as the cane descended again, a little higher up on her bottom, and then 'AH-H! OH! Th-three!' as it cracked down viciously once more just below the mark of the first stroke, imparting the most unbearable blazing pain.

The fourth came shortly after, catching her just under the provocative jut of her buttocks. This time she squirmed, yelled, burst into tears and completely forgot to count.

'I'm waiting, Sally’ said the Doctor sternly, ignoring her muffled, helpless sobs, and she hastened to count before the agonisingly painful stroke was repeated.

'That's half your punishment done,' Saverini announced. 'We'll just wait a minute for it to soak into your thoroughly wicked bottom before I continue the treatment.' Poor Sally's wealed buttocks burned like fire already, and the Doctor allowed her the luxury of an uninterrupted bout of weeping before he moved to the other side of her and administered two more scalding strokes, slowly and with the utmost severity.

Sally wriggled and kicked, wept and wailed, and had to be reminded each time to count the stroke. After the second stroke she made the fatal error of moving her feet. The Doctor curtly ordered her to replace them. She obeyed to the best of her ability, squirming in hitherto unimaginable agony, but the Doctor made her place them even further back as he did not wish to risk bruising her buttocks or breaking the fine, smooth skin which covered them.

He rapped the back of her knees with the crook handle of the cane to make her straighten her legs. After the mortifying ordeal of having her caning posture so fastidiously cor­rected Sally yelled and blubbered childishly under the onslaught of the next stroke, but she did not dare move her feet again. Finally the eighth stroke thrashed across her poor cringing buttocks with a resounding WHUP!! and she hit the top register with an ear-piercing soprano screech, then hastily added, almost in a whisper, 'Eight.'

Sally's white, well-rounded bot­tom was now graphically striped; indelibly it almost seemed, with eight crimson bars, all parallel to each other and evenly spaced. It smarted and burned as if thrust into living flames, and Sally felt faint and weak with pain. He gave her permission to stand up, and sent her over to the corner, telling her she could weep, wriggle, squirm, and move from one foot to the other as much as she liked, but that any attempt to put her hands to her buttocks before she was given leave to do so would earn her a further caning, from the beginning. Thus he ensured her scrupulous obedience.

She was still weeping softly ten minutes later when he called to her to come and make her submission. She went down on her knees, being careful to hold her skirt up as she had been taught, and kissed the cane very meekly when ordered to do so. A tear fell upon it and slowly travelled down its length.

The Doctor considered that she had been sufficiently mortified and did not rub in her humiliation as he would have done on another occasion, but raised her up and comforted the chastened, tearful girl.

She felt no resentment whatso­ever against the man who had punished her so implacably, but in the curious way that she had experienced before, she felt drawn to him as someone who understood her and was prepared to lay down a line of conduct for her to obey. There was something indefinably comforting and reassuring in the overriding dominance of strict discipline.

THE END

Sally and Dr Saverini actually do exist in real life, under different names of course. To protect their identities the writer has avoided any detailed description of them. Sally is a little older than 18, although you would hardly think so to look at her. She is shortly going to visit the Doctor in Italy for a few days, during which time she will be MADE to enact the role of the girl in the story. Once again.

My Thanks to Author Martin Kempson

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A Tale of two Sisters – Janus

A delightful story set in the North East of England during the 1930’s

It all started for me half a century ago. This is a tale of two girls; Nina and Rose. They were my cousins. Nina, who worked in an office, was quite attractive but not a beauty, and rather broad around the hips. Rose, on the other hand, was a very pretty girl, possessing lovely chestnut hair with auburn tints, and a good well-rounded figure.

As a young man back in the thirties, I used to spend two weeks summer holiday with my widowed aunt and the two daughters, in a north-east seaside town. I became moderately intimate with Nina and we indulged in some petting, but it was frustrating for me because, despite some passionate sessions, she always kept her head and her modesty, and would never permit so much as a touch below the waist. She was certainly no prude, but in those days a girl could be ‘ruined’ by an unwed pregnancy without an urgent marriage - and such a contingency formed no part of my future plans.

Rose attended a girls’ high school. She was on holiday and thus naturally, was more of a day-time companion for me. My Aunt Ada was soft with her girls and Rose, especially, was badly spoiled. She was volatile and ebullient, contrasting with her slightly staid sister; she insisted on having her own way, was saucy and rude to her mother, short-tempered, and apt to indulge in petulant tantrums. My aunt had given up trying to cope with her. I had dark thoughts of doing the job for her - given the opportunity!

One particular fortnight proved to be an unforgettable one. On the second night of my holiday it was fairly late and Rose had been told several times by her mother, who did not approve of late nights, to go to bed. As usual, defeated, Aunt Ada retired leaving Rose to stay up and, mainly, annoy me. I was trying to read and Rose, in a mischievous mood, was deliberately provoking me. She kept pushing my book and giggling at me. Several times I got up and gave her a playful slap on the seat of her skirt and eventually I grabbed her, sat down, and pulled her across my lap. I expected a struggle but, to my surprise, she offered no resistance and lay, quite submissive, as I pushed the skirt of her dress up over her hips.

I had had girls sit on my lap before but I had never had one face-down in this position - and very enjoyable it was. I sat, gloating over the adolescent chubbiness of her bottom, which was tightly covered by her navy-blue school knickers.

I doubt whether I had ever heard the term ‘masochist’ at that time. I certainly knew nothing about it and her passivity surprised and excited me. I was on the point of giving her a smack when my aunt called from her bedroom, “Rose, will you get to bed - now!” She may have heard our little scuffling. In any case, it was probably as well that she called out, for obviously spanking is a noisy business -something that, in my naivety, I hadn’t considered.

Rose was on her feet in a trice. I had a sudden idea. She had been decidedly docile over my lap - and well, you never know your luck. Before she reached the door, I whispered; “If you want that spanking you know you deserve, then come for a walk with me in the morning.”

She gave me a startled glance and was out of the room without a word.

After breakfast the next day, and Nina’s departure for work, I remarked casually, “How about a stroll along the cliff, Rose? It isn’t warm enough to lie on the beach.” The unsuspecting Aunty Ada beamed and said it would be good exercise while I noticed little dots of colour appear in Rose’s cheeks. After some hesitation, she said “All right, Chris.” My heart leapt.

I haven’t visited that part of the country now for fifty years and for all I know it may be built on, but in those days the area was unspoiled country and the cliff path was a pleasant lonely walk. We seemed to have it to ourselves. To my delight there was not another soul in sight when we reached the place I had in mind, a large, almost flat, smooth stone probably left over from the dry-walling which is typical of the area. The open air is not to be recommended for purposes of chastisement but this isolated spot seemed ideal for my unseemly purposes. We had it to ourselves, although there would certainly be more people about during the afternoon. It was open country and there was an unobstructed view in every direction. If the sound carried there was no one to hear.

”Right, my girl, how about just here!”

”What for, Christopher?” she asked, innocently.

”You know what for. That spanking you got out of last night.”

”Eee, I don’t know. Man, that’s silly. Spankin’ is a punishment.”

”Yes it is - and you deserve it the way you talk to your mother. You are disobedient and rude.”

Her round, pretty face was very pink as she gazed at me with limpid blue eyes. “Am I naughty, Chris? Do I really deserve it?”

”Yes you are naughty and this is way overdue. Come here!”

The imperative tone has its uses. Slowly and with apparent reluctance, the trembling teenager came to me. I grabbed her arm and she allowed herself to be gently pulled down across my thighs, lying with her head right down and her legs trailing to the grass. As on the previous night she was docile and passive, and allowed me to ease the weight of her warm body in order to push the skirts of her under-slip and her dress up over her hips.

In those days, girls dressed like girls and wore skirts. Again I was presented with the alluring sight of her young buttocks covered by those navy knicks; the broad rounded thighs and shapely sun-tanned calves. Oh how I was sorely tempted to pull her knickers down but I dared not. I didn’t think she would tell her mother if I pulled them down - but suppose she did? There would be a terrible scandal and I would never be invited back to the house again. And of course I was too diffident to ask Rose if I could.

I gave her a slap, not too hard; she did not move. Emboldened, I gave her another, fairly hard - then another, still harder, and still she made no move. I said , “You’re a very naughty girl aren’t you, Rose?”

She whispered , “Yes, I suppose I am Chris - please make sure no one’s coming?”

”Not a soul in sight. Now, keep still.”

I administered another fifteen heavy cracking smacks upon various parts of her rump, until she was squirming and wincing. Never, as long as I live, will I forget the pure libidinous joy of that first time I ever spanked a girl.

I had been very fortunate. Lucky that by pure chance I had discovered Rose’s penchant for getting her bottom smacked; lucky that we had this quiet spot with no-one else walking along the path. To me , at the time her response was puzzling. Undoubtedly she got a sexual thrill from having her bum walloped. but at that age she didn’t understand that any more than I did. To me, too, spanking was supposed to be punishment. I’d previously had no idea that girls enjoyed it. But both Rose and I had clearly got sexual satisfaction from the experience. But she had to rationalise it. It had to be punishment for misbehaviour; and she was never deliberately naughty in order to get a spanking, that would have been too obvious. It was just fortunate for me that she was a naturally recalcitrant girl.

I couldn’t wait for another suitable occasion. But I didn’t have to wait too long. Only two days later Aunty Ada was annoyed at breakfast because Rose was doodling on the table-cloth with a pencil. When she tried to take the pencil away Rose, in a fit of petulance, threw it across the room.

”You can pick that up!” snapped her mother.

”No!” replied Rose

”Don’t you say no to me, my lass!”

”No!”

”You saucy little baggage! Now pick it up!”

”No, I’ll not!”

To my amazement that was the end of the matter. Rose remained where she was, the pencil remained where it lay. In hindsight, I believe Rose was putting on a show for me, but in any event that was all the excuse I needed. When after breakfast I told Rose she ought to take another walk along the cliffs with me, she licked her lips and put her tongue out at me.

”Cheeky brat!” I said.

Her mother was in the kitchen and Nina had left the house. Rather pink in the face , Rose grinned and said slyly, “So I’m going to catch it again, am I?”

”Yes you are. The trouble with you is you’re spoiled.”

Surprisingly, she nodded. “Me Mam’s too soft. Me Dad wouldn’t’ve spoiled us. He was strict. He used to use the tawse.” I was ignorant in those days. I knew all about the cane but I had never heard of a tawse.

”It’s a leather strap split in two. So it’s got two thongs. Gosh, it hurts like hell! Me Mam’s still got it.”

”So why doesn’t she use it on you?”

”Eee, she’s too easy. She never touches us. Nor Nina when she was younger. I’ve been strapped at school though, but not much. It’s beastly!”

We took our little walk as far as the flat stone but we had to wait because there was another couple behind us. Once they were out of sight the countryside was quiet. The only signs of life were the wheeling, swooping sea-birds, a few cattle behind the dry-stone wall, and the distant short, urgent blasts from a destroyer that was leaving the River Tyne.

She came across my lap without a murmur and I pushed up her dress. She was still wearing the same type of navy school knickers. This time my hand hovered uncertainly - oh but those knickers were tantalising - and this time the temptation was totally irresistible. Rebalancing the weight of her soft, shapely body, I started to ease her knickers down gently, taking my time, giving her every chance to protest, but she merely turned her head, smiled, raised her hips to assist the descent of her underwear, and whispered “Ooooooooo - cheeky!”

I was feeling bold, bad and a little scared. Even if her mother found out there could be no question of her going to the police. But my imagination was overworked. Just supposing...This could certainly be called sexual assault and at that time youths could be sentenced to a birching, and that was a fearful thought.

The birch was a dreaded implement. To many people these days it sounds barbarous. Yet I sometimes wonder whether it was such a bad thing. It was a scandal in any family; it was utterly degrading, humiliating, and extremely painful. I doubt whether many offenders would go back for a second dose.

Even while the dire possibility of being flogged was running through my feverish mind, my pretty cousin was naked from the waist to the knickers around her thighs, and I was caressing her smooth white rear; very yielding but firm-fleshed. And obviously she was not finding the situation unduly embarrassing or shameful. That was the first time I had seen a girl’s nether parts bare and I was trembling with licentious delight. Oh Hell!! Another couple were appearing in the distance. Hastily I bundled Rose off my knees. “There’s someone coming!”

”Bloody hell!” she muttered. Pulling her skirt down to cover her knickers she squatted on the grass.

”You needn’t swear,” I admonished her.

”That word’s nothing,” she giggled.

”It is coming from a young girl. It’s very naughty and you will be getting a few extra spanks for that.”

We had to wait until the couple had passed us and were out of sight. Spanking a girl in the open is decidedly risky but we had nowhere else to go. There was no-one else to be seen and Rose again came across my lap quite willingly. Indeed, I was amazed at her docility; at the time I certainly was an ignoramus. She wriggled, rubbing her thighs together as I fondled her uncovered hips, the plump, gorgeously enticing, rounded, satin-skinned cheeks and the inviting cleft. I was experiencing a strong urge to put my fingers into that dark little chasm, but I decided ‘better not.’

Suddenly she giggled and turned her blushing face round. “Eee, man, you’re cheeky,” she said, “I can feel something sticking in me.”

”What did you expect?”

It was embarrassing but there was nothing to be done about it, and Rose was not naive. Her thighs were writhing and I could feel moisture on my trousers. She was randy as hell! I said , “I’m going to do it really hard, this time.”

”Oh I dunno about that, Chris. You really think I deserve it?”

”You damn well deserve it after that display this morning. You’re bad tempered, disobedient and defiant. And you swear!”

After another good look round, I brought my open palm down good and hard upon the soft, fleshy side of her buttock. She winced. I slapped hard , she was wincing and crying out. I smacked with regular blows upon the sides and middle of her writhing nates. She was moaning and beginning to weep loudly.

SMACK!- Oooooh - SMACK! - Aaaagh - SMACK! I must have given her twenty to thirty really hard slaps. It was certainly a noisy affair but only a few cows were within earshot. Even at that stage it was a very strange business to my mind; I had given her a really good hiding.

When I stopped I twisted her over so that she was sitting on my thighs. I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and dabbed her tears away. She wriggled a little, her skirt still rucked up to the top of her thighs, then sat, totally unconcerned by her immodesty, for her knickers were still round her knees.

”I’m goin’ to tell Mam,” she whispered reproachfully,” You bloody ‘urt me!”

”And I suppose you are going to tell her about the way you’re sitting on my lap showing me everything you’ve got?” Well, in for a penny in for a pound! I simply could not resist lightly touching the softness within the little pubescent triangle of brown hair. It was wet and tempting - but I refrained from any actual sexual interference. I was pretty certain she would not dare say anything about this to my aunt.

Nor did she - but I had a shock when I talked to Nina on the following Sunday afternoon.

Nina had started her summer holiday,my aunt had gone to Newcastle, and Rose was in her bedroom, leaving me and Nina alone. We were lying on the hearthrug, indulging in a wet, juicy, open-mouthed kiss. I began to pat her bottom. “Nooo” she whispered. Putting her hand up behind her she grasped my hand and pulled it up around her waist.

”I only want to touch,” I protested.

”No, Chris, I’m tekkin no chances after what I’ve heard about you,” she said with a sly grin. Then she gave me the shock of my life. “And who said you could spank our Rosie on her bare bum?”

For a moment I was taken aback then I muttered guiltily, “She told you about that?”

”Course she did. We’re sisters. We tell each other everything, me and Rosie.”

”Oh but she let me do it.”

”Mmmmm. Tekkin ‘er drawers down and walloping ‘er bare bottom?”

”She agreed she deserved it.”

”Don’t worry, Chris, me Mam won’t find out.”

”I reckon she wanted it. Come on , give us another kiss.” We kissed, bruisingly, then drew apart as Rose suddenly walked into the room.

She grinned mischievously. “Been givin’ our Nina a bit of a poke, have you, Chris?”

For a few seconds there was dead silence. That might not seem all that outrageous these days but 50 years ago decent, well brought-up young girls would scarcely have heard that expression, let alone use it. I was genuinely shocked and horrified. Then Nina gasped; “Rosie! How dare you!”

”Dirty minded little brat!” I snapped.

”Bet you’d like to all the same,” Rose replied defiantly.

”Our Mam would go mad if she knew,” Nina said.

”Yaaah she’d only tell us off!”

”You deserve to get your bottom smacked again for that,” I remarked.

”Yes,” Nina joined in, “ how about givin’ ‘er a damn good hiding while our Mam’s out?”

”Nina you rotten beast!”

”You don’t seem to mind it too much,” I said. “Anyway I think you’re begging for it. That was disgusting.”

”Do I really deserve another walloping, Chris?” She turned to me, her eyes lowered and her cheeks a pretty shade of pink. As our eyes met the pink suddenly blazed crimson.

”Yes, you do,” I replied. This was beyond my wildest dreams - even her sister wanted to see me spank her. “Look at the way you were carrying on this morning! Saucy and downright insolent. How your mother stands it, I don’t know.”

”Yes, you’re right,” Nina joined in. “Cheekin’ Mam - and you swore at her!”

”I did not!”

”Oh yes you did. You told Mam to bloody well shut up. That’s very nice coming from a 18 year old girl!”

”And now she’s using obscene language,” I said, “I think she should have another spanking,Nina.”

”So do I. She can be a little bitch at times -“

”Don’t call me a bitch!” Rose replied hotly.

”All right, litle devil then. Anyway you need a good hidin’. Give her a good spankin’, Chris.”

Waiting no longer, I commanded Rose to go to her room. The feeling of power was marvellous. “And you better be waiting with your knickers down!” I added.

Her blue-grey eyes were very round, her tongue licked her lips and a crimson tide once more crept into her pretty cheeks. “Yes, Chris,” she murmured meekly. “Don’t be too hard on me. I’m sorry I’m a bad girl. And I shouldn’t have talked about poking Nina.”

”What are you wearing underneath today?” Nina suddenly asked her sister.

”Cami-knicks”

”Eee that’ll be nice for you, Chris,” Nina tittered. “Do you know how cami-knickers work?”

I had no idea how cami-knickers ‘worked’. I followed Rose into her bedroom. Nina came in, also, to watch. We were going to have an audience and the thought got me very excited. This time, I decided, we’d have a change of position. “Lie on your bed, Rose. And pull your dress up!”

She looked at me uneasily; she was obedient but apprehensive. She lay prone, at full length on her bed, with her legs slightly parted. I realised immediately the significance of cami-knickers, they are a very sexy garment. Nina was watching with evident, lascivious eagerness. She was so wanton - she didn’t seem to care what I did to her sister. Yet I mustn’t touch her! I unfastened the buttons with quivering, fumbling fingers, my heart beating wildly. Relieved that I had been able to cope with them, I pushed the intimate garment well up over Rose’s hips.

Staring down at seductive curves of her now familiar, fine, fleshy buttocks I was nearly drooling. I had to swallow repeatedly. There was no indication of redness from the previous spanking. I looked up at Nina. This was really a new experience, having her present. Her dark brown eyes were round and shining and as she gazed at her sister’s glorious white derriere, the pink tip of her tongue showed between her lips.

I thrashed Rose even more severely than before. I smacked, hard and systematically, upon every portion of that beautiful posterior. She jerked and wriggled, wincing, gasping and moaning, but she remained stoically in position. I had a hard, betraying bulge in my trousers but I could only ignore that!

I beat her forcibly and determinedly, producing large inflamed areas upon the sides of her writhing behind, upon the middle, upon the upper parts near the waist, upon the lower parts where it curved outwards from the thighs. She was crying , but I continued relentlessly upon the upper parts of her thighs. SMACK! “Ooooohhhh no, Chris, n-no more..oh, owww, stop..please!” She howled at every slap, crying like a baby in between. She was squirming and roling until she rolled on her side.

I straightened myself, breathing hard through my open mouth. My hand was stinging like fire. Almost the entire area of that delicious bare bottom, and the tops of the thighs, were stained a fiery red. I had to wipe my slavering mouth with my sleeve.

When I looked at Nina I saw that she was gazing, her face very pale except for one glowing red spot in the middle of each cheek. Rose was lying, sobbing, squeezing her burning bottom with her fingers.

”Eee, man,” said Nina, “that was some spankin’!” Her hand was overtly pressing her skirt into her groin. I was wishing I could relieve my own needs.............

”Yes,” I said to Nina,” and I can see how much you enjoyed watching it. How about allowing me to smack your very delightful arse?”

She giggled. “You don’t know how delightful my arse is - nor you’re not going to! I’m not like Rosie - she loves it! I’ll go and get some cold cream for her bum! God that looks sore!” As she gently creamed her sister’s crimson, burning skin, Rose was still weeping. Poor Rosie! Yet she had been literally asking for it.

What a pair they were. It was beyond my youthful comprehension at the time, but Rose really did get some strange aberrant sexual thrill from having her backside walloped. And Nina was just as salacious as her sister despite her own reluctance to be touched. She loved to be a voyeur at her sister’s punishments but she simply would not trust herself in intimate situations.

Durign my second week there, Rose had another furious breakfast row with her mother which resulted in an egg being knocked to the floor after an altercation which also involved Nina and again her mother refrained from any physical response, but maybe my Aunt Ada was more in tune than we thought. “Cheeky young besom!” she said angrily, “Somebody should give you a good smacked bottom!”! It sounded like an open invitation and Nina and I exchanged glances across the table. Unexpectedly Rose suddenly had an attack of contrition. “Sorry I was so rude, Mom,” she muttered. “I’ll clean up the mess!”

She didn’t believe that was going to save her bottom, surely!

Having done the washing up, my aunt, probably glad to get out of the house for some peace and quiet, said she was going shopping and why didn’t the three of us go to the beach? But this was not part of anyone’s plans for the immediate future.

”I suppose I’m getting another spankin’?” Rose licked her lips, almost smiling.

”You can count on it,” I answered. “Using that language to your mother! You should be ashamed of yourself!”

”I am, Chris, I’m sorry. It just comes out.”

”You’re still going to get a damn good hiding!” I said, and suddenly I was becoming ambitious. “Rose, where is that tawse you mentioned!”

”Noooo!” For the first time there was fear in her voice.

”Oh yes,” said Nina with wide eyed enthusiasm, “ that’s what she’d ve got from our Dad. It’s in Mam’s wardrobe.” With obvious growing excitement, she said. “Bet you’ve never seen a tawse, Chris. I’ll go and fetch it.”

”Noooo,” Rose cried, her eyes wide. “He’s not touching me with that!”

”You’ll get what just what you deserve, “ I said. “ Now get upstairs!”

It was up to Rose. I could do nothing against her will but, to my joy and thundering excitement, she didn’t argue, just sniffled and walked slowly upstairs. I followed her into her bedroom , and Nina entered , carrying an implement I had never seen before.

”This is the tawse, Chris.” She proffered it and I grasped it curiously.

It was brown leather, pretty thick; although not limp like a belt, and heavier than one, its two thongs bent quite pliantly between my hands. This, I thought, was a splendid instrument. But - was I going to be permitted to use it? I thought it was likely that the culprit might not be entirely averse to another spanking, but with this formidable piece of leatherware? I noticed that Rose was eyeing it, unsmiling but with a strange expression, almost of fascination; she flinched when I brought it hissing down with a crack on her bed. I could try anyway - who could tell, with a strange ambivalent creature like Rose?

”How long do you think your Mam will be, Nina?”

”Oh, a good hour. She’s pretty slow, shopping. Chris, are you going to give our Rosie a good tawsing?”

”Nooo,” said Rose again, pleadingly. “Spank me, Chris. Oh God, I don’t want the tawse. I’ve not had it since poor Dad died. It’s awful!!”

”It’s just what you’re going to get, my girl!” I said, boldly.

Rose tried a desperate ploy. “If I’m going to get it so should our Nina. She hit me at breakfast, twice.”

Nina paled. “Not on your life!” she said hurriedly. “I’m not being beaten!”

”But you think Rose deserves it?”

”Aye I do. She chucked that egg on the floor!”

”But you did hit her twice. Come on, Nina, one stroke of the tawse for each blow. It’s only fair.”

I perceived that Nina was in a quandary. She undoubtedly wanted to see her sister thrashed, but she clearly feared for her own bottom. After an agonising pause she finally said “All right, but only two strokes.”

How did this thing compare to a cane? I made a wild guess. “Six strokes for you, Rose.” My heart was pounding as I waited for a reply. If she refused at least she would take a spanking. Nina suddenly tittered, she was staring at the tumescence thrusting through my trousers. I felt hot all over with appalling embarrassment. “I can’t help it.” I mumbled. There was nothing I could do about it.

”Ooooooo you are a bad lad, Chris!”

”Well how do you expect me to react,” I demanded, “thinking about thrashing the bare bottoms of two pretty girls?”

”Oh nooo. I never said bare bottom. I wouldnt dare risk it,” she gasped. “Just look at the state of you and before any girl is naked!”

”Come on, Nina, “ I said. “Surely you’re not a coward! Your little sister, two years younger, is going to take six on her bare bottom and you won’t even take two?”

Still she hesitated. The difference between these two was becoming increasingly apparent. I still could not understand it, but although she was clearly scared, Rose got a real thrill out of being whacked on her bare bottom , whereas to Nina it was merely a painful punishment and horribly embarrassing. Yet her prurient interest in her sister’s chastisements, and her encouragement to me to punish Rose, showed that she too was affected by the same strange tastes.

”Come on, Nina,” said Rose encouragingly,” just keep your thighs together. If you won’t do it, I won’t!”

”Oh, all right,” she grudgingly conceded. “I’ll get my knicks down - but only two strokes, Chris. And no touching me with that - thing of yours!”

Red-faced, I promised. “We’ll get yours over first, Rose. Take your knickers down - or are you wearing cami- knickers?”

”Cami-knickers. Er..undo me,” She turned her back. God, she intended to get undressed! This was getting better and better. I unbuttoned her dress and she shrugged out of it, letting it drop to the floor. Her waist-slip followed. She wore no stockings and her legs were tanned - as that so provocative rump was going to be. To my joy, she unlooped her cami-knickers and stepped out of everything. She stood, nude except for her bra. She was adorable. I admired her pubic triangle and suddenly felt that I was in the naughtiest and most sexually arousing situation I had ever known. I realised that my entire body was trembling.

”Now,” I ordered. “Bend over. Right over!”

Obediently, she swung right over and stood with her fingertips just touching her toes, legs a little way apart. I couldn’t understand her. It was a very humble and abasing posture and grossly indecent in front of a boy who already had a painfully stiff erection. I could see everything she’d got. She was completely wilful, apparently getting a kick out of lewdly exposing herself in front of me and her sister.

Only six strokes but that was doubled with two thongs. I knew I certainly would not have wanted to take her punishment. I intended it to hurt. I brought that vicious tawse fairly sizzling down...

Rose gasped loudly as the leather swished and cracked squarely across her taut, resilient bottom cheeks.

Again the wicked instrument fell with an explosive report, the two thongs flattening themselves, biting into girlish buttocks. The girl winced loudly and her body jerked.

WHAP! “Owwwww” It was a throaty quavering cry and Rose jerked upright. “Oh God, Chris, please no more!”

”You’re getting three more. You’re bad tempered, foul mouthed and disobedient! You’d better lie across the bed!”

Rather to my surprise, because she could have refused, she obeyed and lay with her behind curved over the edge of the bed. It was glowing deep red and she was weeping quietly, with short, quick, indrawn breaths.

Again I raised the tawse, held it high and brought it swishing down with all my weight behind it. She uttered an agonised yell and her whole body twisted.

WHAP! “Oh,oh,ohhhhhhhhhh!” She was now crying piteously and I was breathing hard.

She shrieked at the final blow, squirming onto her side then went back onto her tummy and her hands went behind her, squeezing the reddened skin, which was swelling into broad weals. After a moment she stood up, slowly and stiffly, completely unconcerned about her glaringly exposed private parts. Her mouth was wide open, her face bore an expression of anguish. Tears were trickling over her cheeks and her hands were still clasped to her bottom. I suspected that she had derived little if any pleasure from that thrashing.

Not so her older sister.Nina was standing with a glazed expression, her breathing fast and light, her cheeks pink with pleasure at the sight of her sister’s whipped bottom. I broke the spell.

”Right, Nina. Your turn. Two whacks.”

Nina came out of her trance, her face suddenly pale. She looked very scared. “I-I don’t want to...I-I’ve changed my mind.”

”Oh Nina,” Rose wailed. “You must. You promised. Look what I suffered.”

Nina bit her lip. “All right. I suppose I have to. But I’m not undressing like Rosie. I’ll just take my knicks down.”

She pulled her underpants down and let them drop, pulled up her skirts and without being told, bent over and gripped the edge of the bed. I gazed , enraptured , at that sublime posterior, the deep shadowed cleft large and magnificently rounded - sheer poetry. God, how I wished I could caress her bottom cheeks; I suspected they were extremely erotogenic. But I had given my word.

She was brave however. She lay perfectly still whilst I brought the thick strap down twice with all the weight of my shoulders behind it. I loved its fierce swing, which was entirely devoid of consideration for the soft sensitivity and succulent tenderness of teenaged female flesh, and even more ardently I adored the tawse’s deafening sonic impact with the smarting buttock mounds. Nina jerked and groaned at eachbut that was all. Her eyes were filled with tears as she straightened herself and her hands were under her skirt, squeezing and pressing. She seemed like a cat on a hot tin roof.

”Oooo, Chris, “ she said through her tears “ I never thought I’d agree to this, when we met you off the train in Newcastle’”

And neither did I. The climax to a special and wonderful holiday!!

THE END

My thanks to Author  Christopher James

SOMETHING TO CELEBRATE

When an attractive IT account Manager falls foul of her Customer, a severe punishment leads to a very intense sexual encounter! Click on the accompanying pictures to go to a bonus video gallery!  Please enjoy.

I was angry. No, I was furious, absolutely livid with rage! Not only had the new computer system been delivered several weeks late, when we did eventually get it the hardware had faults, the programs were full of errors and some of the promised functions didn’t work at all. For three weeks my computer department had struggled with these manifold problems and meanwhile the business was being adversely affected, orders were not being shipped, invoices not processed.

The people who supplied the system had worked hard to rectify the problems. We had expected things to go less than smoothly; none of us are exactly innocents and we had made provisions to avert some of the worst effects of the introduction of the new systems. Certainly, a call from me to the supplier’s Managing Director had got me all the high-level attention focused on the problems that I could have wished for. What was really annoying me, though, was that during all this time the salesman, or I should say saleswoman, who had sold us the system was noticeable by her absence.

As Chairman and Managing Director of this organisation I, of course, took part in the selection of the new computer system. Quite naturally I let my departmental managers worry about the technical aspects - that is what they are paid for - but the contract and commercial negotiations were up to me. In the course of these protracted discussions I encountered Karen Briggs, our ‘account manager’. She is an attractive girl in her mid-twenties, probably with a degree in an obscure subject from an equally obscure university, but overall a typically tenacious sales type on her way to the top. She certainly knew when to treat us all to a flash of her shapely thighs to divert attention when a tricky technical point came up and she was entertaining company over the several lunches and dinners needed to bring negotiations to a head. I must admit that her tenacity in pursuit of the business began to irritate me but in the end her firm won out on technical merit ...

Around here my word is law. When I say ‘jump’ the only question allowed is, ‘How high?’ So, getting tired of waiting for Karen to put in an appearance I summoned her to a meeting at my office. She was going to get a piece of my mind and a lecture on my view of professional sales ethics and be made to understand what I expected from an ‘account manager’ who dealt with my firm. If she was lucky that would be all she would get. But time would tell.

A few minutes later than the appointed time, Penny, my personal assistant, announced my visitor and ushered Ms. Briggs into my office.
”Thank you, Penny.” I waved her away. “You can get off home now. But please make sure that everyone knows we are not to be disturbed.”
Karen was smartly dressed as ever, in a pale blue business suit with, underneath, a crisp white blouse, primly buttoned to the throat: the uniform of her calling. Complete with Gucci briefcase, she breezed into my office, offering her well-manicured hand in a limp facsimile of the traditional businessman’s greeting.

I ushered her to a chair and, from my stronghold behind my polished rosewood desk, I spent the next thirty minutes in lecturing her on my views. Occasionally she tried to break in and offer some remarks which might excuse or explain. I reminded her that she was there to listen and to learn and that, at this point, her opinions were of no value and of less interest. So I carried on, speaking calmly, not raising my voice, making each point clearly and crisply. I must confess that I was particularly pleased to note that this calm and unemotional approach seemed to be having quite a chilling effect on my victim.

”So,” I concluded, “my firm has already lost a large amount of money due to the system you sold to us. You, for your part, seem to have lost interest since we placed the order and that is just not good enough. There will be a claim for damages against your company - a very substantial claim - and your selling methods and personal conduct will be very relevant.” Of course, such a claim was highly unlikely to succeed and I had no intention of pursuing one but quite obviously the threat impressed Karen. I licked my lips as I saw her flinch and the colour drain from her cheeks which had become flushed with embarrassment as I warmed to my lecture. I pressed home my advantage. “Unless,” I added, “you care to make some form of personal restitution?”

Her face, framed by her short blonde hair, was now deathly pale. Her tongue played nervously over her dry lips while haunted blue eyes darted from left to right avoiding direct contact with my stern glare.
”What do you mean, res-restitution?” she stammered. Her usual poise had quite deserted her.
In a matter-of-fact voice, as if I were proposing the most obvious and natural solution to a mutual dilemma, I mounted my favourite hobby-horse. “Corporal punishment would probably do you a lot of good. And, my dear, it would also square things quite admirably.”
”My God!” she said. “But that’s gross - obscene!”
”Not at all,” I said. “Only what you deserve. Don’t you agree?”
”Well -“
As she hesitated I reached into my desk drawer and tossed my favourite tawse onto the desk in front of Karen’s wide-eyed gaze. Her face bore an expression which contained a mixture of apprehension, intrigue and downright disbelief as she eyed the black leather instrument which lay menacingly on the polished desk. Quite obviously she was amazed at the prospect but nevertheless her hand reached out timidly to stroke the strip of leather.
”You - you want to spank me with that?” she finally stammered.
”Yes.”
”It’s - no! - it’s not on. No way!” But she didn’t sound very convinced about that.

It was time to drive home my advantage. “So you’d rather lose your job?”
A very curious sort of half smile flitted across her tense face. “Well, if you put it like that ...”
”Oh, I most certainly do put it like that!” I said. “You deserve to be punished and punishment is what you’ll get - one way or another.”
Cowed, backed into a corner, she tried to hide behind bravado and bluster. “Do your worst then,” she spat. “But you really are the worst kind of grubby creep!”
I ignored that. Always concentrate on what matters, and what mattered right then was that I had won. Or nearly won. “Get ready then,” I urged.
”I am ready, creep!”
”Oh no. This is a bare bottom affair.”
”What!!”
”Yes, Karen, of course. On your bare behind.”
She hesitated for a long time. She was on the verge and it could go either way. I imagined the thoughts that must be racing through her mind, balancing a bare assed beating against a bleak future without the job that meant money and status and security. Then her shoulders straightened. “Creep!” she murmured grudgingly through clenched teeth. But from her expression I could tell that I had her beaten.

As if she were in a dream, she got to her feet and reached behind to release her skirt, drawing down the zip, sloughing the garment down her legs and stepping out of it. She had fine legs, very shapely, clad in blue stockings that were held taut by a pastel blue garter belt. My eyes lingered on the scrap of blue nylon lace that concealed, just barely concealed, her pussy.
She hesitated again. “I’ll tell you when to stop,” I barked at her. “I want you naked!”

She stirred herself again, still in a state of shock, took off her jacket and began to unbutton the blouse. Then the blouse was sliding off her shoulders and down her arms to join the skirt where it lay on the floor. Again she reached behind her to unclip the pastel blue bra that matched her other undergarments. Her firm, ripe breasts tumbled from their captivity; ample gourds of creamy flesh, tipped by rosy nipple buds which bedded in wide aureole, spilling into view.

She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and drew them down her legs and over her feet, dropping them to join the heap of her discarded clothing on the floor.
”That will do.” I stood back, taking time to run an appreciative eye over her creamy pale body. She crossed futile arms across the swell of her breasts in a vain attempt at modesty but dropped them to her side in obedience to a motion of my hand. I let my gaze dwell on the downy blonde fluff that barely covered her pubis before lifting my eyes to candidly admire her breasts yet again.

I was pleased to note that the colour had really mounted to her cheeks. She was blushing a deep, deep red of embarrassment and humiliation.
I came out from behind my desk and picked up the tawse, flexing the supple leather beneath her astounded gaze. Clearly she could not yet quite believe that this was happening to her, did not know whether to run or stay, still did not quite know whether she would allow this to happen to her.

I did not give her time for further inner debate but got down to work! I made her bend over the edge of the desk with her head cradled in the crook of her folded arms. Her bare and delectably rounded buttocks were thus presented for punishment, thrust pertly in the air to receive a proper, old-fashioned pasting. Her breasts dangled heavily beneath her and swayed gently from side to side with her breathing.

I stood behind my recumbent victim and let my hand run luxuriously over the silk smooth skin of her firm posteriors as I made minor adjustments to her positioning. Then ‘thwaaak!’I unleashed the tawse, smacking the leather squarely across the plumpest portion of her bum.

She almost jumped upright with the shock. A gasp of pain escaped her lips and a grimace of pain contorted her charming features. A distinct red area formed on the white, almost translucent, buttock flesh.
I drew back and ‘whaaak!’, again the supple leather connected with Karen’s taut bottom. She shuddered, which made her dangling titties dance delightfully. I laid on harder and really punished her as her quivering bum flesh took on a deep red hue. Soon her entire rear end was glowing hotly red while her whole being became centred on the pain in her bum. At first she suffered silently but as the strokes loaded pain on pain she began to groan and whimper.

Suddenly, just as I was getting into my stride, there came a sharp knock at the door. I put up the tawse but motioned to Karen that she was to stay where she was, bent over the desk with her throbbing arse in the air. I slipped out of the office, pulling the door to behind me.
It was Tom, the manager of the computer department. We exchanged a few words and he gave me a quick briefing on the current situation.
A few moments later, having fixed a grim look on my face, I entered my office again. Karen was still bent over the desk, her fiery bum cheeks aglow and did I detect the telltale shine of the track of a single tear on her left cheek?

”More grief with the damn computer!” I remarked sorrowfully. “You really are in for it now!”
I took up the tawse once more and really began to leather poor Karen’s defenceless arse, slapping the leather hard against her bum cheeks, relieving my frustrations on them. Karen jigged from one leg to the other, whimpering and groaning while her pretty face contorted with pain.

Finally I grew tired of this exercise and tossed the well used tawse onto the desk in front of the poor tortured girl. Again I told her not to stir and moved into her line of sight so that she could see just what was going on. I locked the office door, making quite a production of the elaborate use of the key and sliding home the bolts top and bottom - I didn’t want any more interruptions. Then, very deliberately and without any undue haste, I began to remove my own clothes. Soon I was naked with my male member standing heavily erect and jutting fiercely out from below my belly.

”What is it now?” Karen asked nervously as, head still cradled on her arms, she watched me strip for action.

”No questions. Your place is to obey and not to ask foolish questions.”

Once more I stood behind her and made her part her thighs so that the entrance to her cunt was revealed in all its pinkly moist glory. I ran my hands over the hotly glowing globes of her posteriors kneading the flesh until she yelped. Then, placing the head of my engorged manhood between her pussy lips I thrust home to embed myself deeply in her cunt which, not greatly to my surprise was sopping wet and ready to receive me. She half twisted herself round to face me, a look of disbelief on her face. The words of a half-hearted protest died on her lips as my belly slapped against her bum cheeks and Karen let out a low moan which could have been a groan of pain but was more likely a gasp of pleasure.

I remained quite still with my prick clasped in Karen’s sex. I reached around her to seize a dangling breast in each hand and roughly kneaded the yielding silky sacs. I squeezed hard on the ripe flesh, mashing her tits against her rib cage, then, moulding the plastic flesh I drew my grasp down until I held her by the nipple buds between thumb and forefinger. Despite herself Karen was becoming increasingly excited by this treatment, her nipples were lust engorged berries in my grasp, her pussy flooded with her juices which welled around the throbbing root of my penis as she wriggled her silk smooth nates against me and purred lustfully.

Still motionless and fixed in her up to the root, I pinched both nipples as hard as I could, increasing the pressure, harder and harder. Deep in her throat Karen moaned at the pain I was making in her abused tit flesh, but the muscles of her cunt clasping on my prick and the squirming of her bum against my belly told me that she did not want me to stop.
With a parting squeeze, I let go of her bosom and instead grasped her hips firmly. I began to fuck in and out of her sex. Slowly I withdrew along the length of her sopping wet tunnel feeling her cunt walls lovingly clasping my erect length until just the tip penetrated her pussy. Then, equally slowly, I pushed back in, reaming her sex to probe her cunt womb deep. In and out of her sex I fucked while my hands dug roughly into Karen’s fair skinned flesh.

It was quite obvious by her reaction that my victim was beginning to thrive under this treatment. Each inward thrust brought a yelp of pleasure as her bum thrust back at me to aid and deepen my penetration. Her eyes were tight shut and her tongue played moistly over her lips. Now her moans were quite clearly moans of pleasure as my male hardness filled her up. She was on the brink of a glorious, shuddering orgasm, within a few strokes of the abyss.

Suddenly I left off fucking, allowing my tool to slip from her oozing hole with a slight ‘plop’. It hung at my groin, shining with a liberal coating of Karen’s love juices as Karen gasped and a sigh of quite obvious disappointment escaped her lips.

”On your knees.” I ordered. Obediently she raised herself from the desk and knelt before me. I presented my still unsatisfied erection to her lips and ordered her to lick it clean.

Eagerly, her eyes still glazed with lust, she reached up to cradle my scrotum on one hand, feeling the generous weight of my seed purse. With her other hand she delicately steadied the shaft, putting out her pink tongue to lick the crown with relish, laving it with her spittle before running her tongue over the ridge of the glands and thence down the entire length to bury her nose in my pubic beard. Then she was licking the heavily erect shaft as if it were a giant lollipop, adding her saliva to the musky coating left by her own sex cavern.

I let her carry on for a while, enjoying the sensations her tongue produced in my manhood, watching her blonde head bobbing about. Then I stopped her and grasping the sides of her head, thrust my entire length into her mouth until the crown hit the back of her throat. She gagged, then opened her throat and with bulging cheeks accommodated herself to receive me.

”Suck me!” I began to fuck in and out of her mouth just as I had used her cunt, while her carmined lips sucked wetly at my shaft. The girl sucked bravely as I violated her mouth, forcing her jaws open with my prick, ramming my meat into her throat.

When my seed boiled in my balls I did not think of holding back but with a grunt of animal lust let it rush along my excited length to erupt into Karen’s mouth. A copious jet of hot cream boiled out of my pulsing weapon to hit the back of her throat and fill her mouth to overflowing. I pulled my prick from her flooded mouth as she fought to swallow down my spending, flecks of come trickling at the corner of her mouth and down her chin.

I directed my member as a second and a third jet of creamy jism spurted from me to splash squarely in Karen’s face and over her heaving tits. Her tongue lapped around her lips as the thick cream slithered down her face to pool at her collar bone. Absently, her hand spread the semen over her body and massaged it into the flesh of her bosom.

She had understood by now that she must not move until she was told. She just knelt there with my seed drying on her face and chest while I got dressed again.
”Now Karen, I think it would help customer relations if we met more regularly. You will have lunch with me here every Wednesday - plan to spend at least two hours. Now get your clothes and get out.”

Her response, although unexpected and surprising from one whom I had counted inexperienced in such matters as we had just then explored, was nonetheless highly gratifying. Still kneeling, a slight smile playing about those enticing, lips she quietly replied:

”Thank you, er, Sir, for showing me my errors. I shall look forward to our meetings in the future.”
And the girl actually meant it! She even managed a cheeky wink as she got to her feet and used my private bathroom to clean herself up.

When she had gone I picked up the phone.

”Tom, thanks for letting me know that everything is up and working. It’s great news. What say you and your team meet me for drinks in Rubens Bar in fifteen minutes? I was a little busy when you came up but now I think we’ve all got something to celebrate!”

THE END

My thanks to Author Larry Stern

The Fordham Hunt – Janus

I do hope you like this story, and for all those who like to see a pretty girl in her riding gear I have included a little bonus at the end. Please read and enjoy!

Alan was in a foul mood and no mistake. Penny, my beloved nineteen year old 'accomplice' , was standing in the corner of the room, her riding breeches around her knees, facing the wall and whimpering quietly.

"Well?" The one word was addressed to me. "Can you explain what happened today?"

It was difficult to know where to begin. However, the expression on Alan's face made me realise I better start somewhere - and soon!

Falteringly, I began my story.

We'd been at the bi-monthly Fordham Hunt. It was one of the few rural events that Penny and I looked forward to, us both being city girls at heart. I think it was the dressing up more than the actual hunting that turned us on; there is something about the riding-uniform that makes the heart race - whether you're wearing it or just looking at it. And after you've spent almost a fortnight mucking out the stables it feels great when you're able to dress up to the nines, even if only for a couple of hours.

"You look fantastic!" Penelope (or Penny, as she preferred to be called) had come up behind me as I stood before the full-sized mirror in our bedroom.

"You don't look too bad yourself," I replied.

We both stood for a while and admired ourselves in the glass. We looked resplendent from head to toe. Black riding hats and blazers - white cravats and breeches (skin tight of course) and knee-length riding boots.

"Do you think there will be any good-looking spunks at the hunt today, Pamela?" Penny asked with a sly grin.

'Spunks' was her latest in-word. It was a derivation of 'hunks' and I think she picked it up from watching one of the current ubiquitous Australian soap-operas.

"I really wouldn't know, my dear. I attend the hunt to savour the thrill of the chase, not to ogle the gentlemen present." I said this with mock snootiness and we both fell into a fit of giggles.

"Are you two ready yet?" Cilla called from downstairs.

"Yes, Cilla!" we replied in unison before descending.

Penny and I had been employed at Elwood stables for over a year; firstly on work experience and then as fully fledged employees. Alan and Cilla were husband and wife. Our employers, they were in their mid-forties and had run the stables for the best part of twenty years. Penny, my best friend from way back in our schooldays, had a crush on Alan (as did I) and teased him regularly - so much so that he had, on several occasions, threatened to put her over his knee and give her a 'damn good spanking'.

I knew for sure that this would have done nothing to improve her behaviour. Penny had confessed to me on several occasions while we were esconced in our bedroom late at night that she would like nothing better than for Alan to carry out his threats. "Can you imagine it?" she would whisper throatily, "Over his knee with your knickers down..." Then her eyes would glaze over and she'd drift off into her own little fantasy world. I couldn't blame her ; I had fantasised about a similar scenario myself.

Still I think Alan took Penny's teasing in good spirits. Secretly, I think he was chuffed to have two pretty young women working for him (Penny was nineteen and I had just turned twenty) - especially when he knew both of us fancied him! He had the kind of mature good looks that makes girls swoon.

His wife, Cilla, generally turned a blind eye to our flirting with him, but occasionally I thought I saw a flash of temper cross her face. She was a strict looking woman; rather like the prim, middle-aged school-ma'am you remember from your youth, with her raven hair drawn up and tied in a severe bun. She was quiet and solemn too - as though she kept all her feelings wrapped within herself. For that reason I think Alan was glad of our presence; Penny and I gave him a little light relief with our flirting and our youthful exuberance.

It turned out that there were some great looking guys at the hunt and it was all Penny and I could do to concentrate on our riding. There was one chap in particular that Penny had her eye on; Captain Tyrrell, the son of a local landowner. I had to admit that he was rather gorgeous.

"And he's rich," enthused Penny. "Absolutely loaded from what I hear."

"So how is the spider going to catch the fly?" I enquired.

"This little spider has a plan," she replied and promptly wheeled her thoroughbred away from the chasing pack. I could only wonder what the girl was up to as I turned to follow her.

Penny rode towards the copse on Mare's Tail Hill just as the sound of thunder filled the gloomy air. We both pulled up under the trees and dismounted as the rain began to come down in angled sheets.

"Well," I said eventually, " I don't think you came up here just to get out of the rain, did you? What have you got in mind?"

She responded to my question with one of her own.

"Pamela, do you think I've got a nice bottom?"

Penny put her white-gloved hands on my horse's stirrup for support and bent forward at the waist. "Well, go on then, have a good look and tell me what you think," she urged.

Somewhat bemused by her request, I used my riding-crop to flick the back of her blazer up and had a good look at her backside. Encased in those riding breeches, I had to admit that her bottom was gorgeous and I told her so.

"And I'm no lesbian!" I added hastily.

"That's not what I've heard," she teased.

I wasn't standing for her impudence so I raised my crop and brought it down across her pert rear with a satisfying thwaaack.

"Aooowwwwwwww!" she cried, unconvincingly, and wiggled her bottom suggestively.

I was in two minds whether to give her another smack when she shot upright and turned to face me. She still had that mischievous grin on her face as we stood facing one another.

"Well, come on then. What have you got in mind?" I asked.

She explained that she had been trying for ages to catch the eye of Captain Tyrrell.

"Well he's here today, isn't he? He's riding with the hunt. Why don't you use your girlish charms to ensnare him. Isn't that what you usually -"

Penny interrupted. "But you don't understand," she said, pouting. "There is so much competition, I don't stand a chance. Have you seen how many pretty girls are out riding today. And all of them doing their utmost to attract his attention. Not only is he gorgeous but he's filthy rich into the bargain. Oh Pamela, I just have to have him."

Just then a rumble of thunder shook the heavens. I nearly jumped out of my skin and I was so glad Penny had brought us to the shelter of the trees. Penny didn't even flinch - so wrapped up was she in her lewd thoughts about young Captain Tyrrell. She lowered her voice confidentially:

"I've got an idea...."

By the time we rejoined the hunt, after taking a short cut through various storm-gullies, phase one of Penny's plan was about to be put into action. First of all she caught up with Captain Tyrrell and rode close enough alongside him to attract his attention; fetching him seductive sidelong glances all the while. I was riding slightly behind and to the left of them and I could see him take the bait - his head was fixed in her direction and he wasn't even looking where he was going - quite a risky thing to do when galloping in driving rain.

Little did he know that Penny, my darling young friend, was merely warming him up.

When she felt the time was right, Penny began to pull up slightly and drop back to the rear of the pack. The young Captain followed suit and I followed them - I didn't want to miss any of the action.

Riding within the hunt, Penny had kept her shapely bottom firmly in the saddle. Now that her only observer was Captain Tyrrell ( and, of course, myself) she felt confident enough to put the crux of her plan into action. She rode slightly ahead of him and stood up in the saddle in a jockey's stance; head low and bottom up high.

I giggled at the gasp of astonishment from the young Captain when he was confronted with the sight of Penny's bare bottom cheeks framed in the split oval of her riding breeches.

Back at the copse, I had (on Penny's instructions) cut a long gash down the backside of her breeches with a penknife. Then I had pulled the sides apart sufficiently to allow an almost perfect view of the whole of her bottom - her panties being pulled up tautly between her cheeks - prettily framed by the straining white material.

I had questioned the logic of what she was doing and whether she realised the implications of her little stunt if it were to go wrong.

"My bare bottom is for Captain Tyrrell's eyes only," she smiled. "If anyone else happens to observe it, I can explain it away by saying that I fell from my horse whilst you and I were split from the hunt and my breeches were torn in the process. You'll back me up, won't you, Pamela?"

"I don't know about that. I want you to know I thoroughly disapprove of your actions, young lady," I replied, tapping my riding-crop against my thigh. I was trying to look severe and failing. It was impossible to suppress a grin. She was a sassy lass and no mistake.

And thus it happened that on the occasion of the 385th Fordham Hunt, Captain James Tyrrell got a splendid view of my nineteen year old friend's bare posterior in all its girlish splendour. Penny kept glancing back at him as she thrust her bottom high in the air and it bobbed up and down with the motion of her steed.

In her eyes was the intense and serious expression that young ladies give only to the man they have chosen as their potential mate. Poor Master Tyrrell's eyes were torn between her straining nether regions and her pretty face.

Penny kept up her teasing for all of five minutes and Captain Tyrrell seemed only too happy to keep pace behind her while she was showing off for all she was worth.

Suddenly, as I wondered how long Penny intended to continue with her caprice, a huge bolt of lightning rent the air and struck a tall, decaying cedar tree to the left of us. The horses were startled and the hunt was halted as each rider struggled to control his frightened mount. All, that is, except poor Penny whose thoroughbred, Jasper, refused to yield to her attempts to control him. The terrified horse took off wildly in the direction of nearby Fordham - not before careering through the rest of the static riders and giving every last one of them an explicit view of Penny's naked backside.

The scene was so incongruous that I couldn't help but laugh as I set off in pursuit of my wicked little friend. Up ahead I could see the village of Fordham growing nearer. In the mid-distance was Penny, still trying to gain control of her frightened mount.

Jasper was having none of it.

I realised , with some dismay, what Jasper was going to do. From past experience, I knew that whenever he was unnerved, he bolted for home. He was heading back to the safety of Alan's stables and taking his unwilling, bare-bottomed, rider with him.

Jasper approached the low wall that flanked the road into Fordham and cleared it in one smooth motion. It occurred to me that Penny might try to jump clear but I soon realised this would be impossible to do safely. The horse was simply galloping too quickly.

Having some experience of jumps, I decided to attempt the wall myself for to dismount and find a gate would have taken far too long and, besides, I knew that Pandora, my mare, was perfectly capable of clearing it.

Once over, I followed Penny and her runaway mount into the village High Street. Cars were forced to veer out of the way of the rampaging animal as it headed for the refuge of the stables. Pedestrians looked on in astonishment as the bare-bottomed girl on horseback galloped past.

I saw several people, probably tourists, take photos of Penny in her shameful predicament. At one point, Jasper pulled up as a car swerved in front of him near the fountain in Oswald Street. A grubby little man, grinning from ear to ear, raced up behind Penny and took a photograph of her behind as she strained and bucked, trying to control her steed. He must have got a spectacular view. And to top it all, she turned towards him at the precise moment he took the shot so he captured her hapless, red-faced embarrassment as well as her naked bottom!

If I hadn't been so concerned for my friend's safety, I would have dismounted and shoved his camera where the sun doesn't shine. Meanwhile, as I expected, Jasper sped into Cockspur Lane and turned into Elwood Stables. I wondered what on earth Alan and Cilla would make of it all.

"So this is how you repay my kindness!"

Alan was furious. He paced to and fro muttering under his breath. It was now almost three hours since Penny had made her undignified arrival at the stables. She was standing in the corner of the living-room, facing the wall. Her mutilated breeches had been yanked down to her knees by Cilla, and she was whimpering like a chastened schoolgirl.

"Where would you two have been if I'd not taken you off the streets of London and given you a job here? You enjoy full room and board and a decent salary...my wife and I treat you well enough, don't we?"

He paused and went to the settee where he picked up Penny's riding-crop. Somehow I began to sense that his little tantrum was just for show; you can tell when someone is genuinely angry. In fact I'd have said he was more excited than irritated. I think Penny sensed this too and had picked up on his excitement - her moanings and whimperings were more of titillation than fear. The room was charged with an unspoken eroticism and even Cilla, who stood impassively beside her husband, looked to be suppressing some kind of innate thrill.

"One hour ago," he continued, " I received irate phone calls from Captain Tyrrell and other members of the Fordham Hunt describing Penelope's disgusting behaviour; displaying her naked backside to all and sundry and to Captain Tyrrell in particular."

He turned his attention to me.

"As for you, Pamela," he said, "I expected a lot more. After all you are the elder and I thought you had a sensible head on your shoulders. And don't look innocent with me! Captain Tyrrell's gamekeeper informs me that he plainly saw you cutting Penelope's breeches at Mare's Tail Hill. But when you arrived back from the hunt, you had the audacity to lie to me. Some nonsense about Penny tearing her breeches in a fall."

He angrily swished the riding-crop through the air. "I have been far too lenient with you two for far too long," he said. "It's high time both of you received a sound lesson in behaviour befitting young ladies."

He turned to Penny. "Get over here, girl!" he growled.

Penny turned and waddled towards him - her legs hampered by the breeches around her knees. Alan pointed to the heavy coffee table in the middle of the room. "Kneel!" he commanded. I looked over at Cilla as Penny took up her humiliating position on the low table. As usual she was suppressing any outward emotion but I could tell by her eyes and posture that she was filled with eager anticipation.

"Now," said Alan, rolling up his sleeve, "when you display your bare bottom in future, it will be to me. And I will deal with it thus..."

He brought the whip down on Penny's trembling buttocks with a mild thwack. Penny gave a startled grunt and threw her gloved hands back to protect her exposed flesh.

"Take those hands away at once, my girl," said Alan. "And while you're at it you can get that bottom higher. Come on, girl, don't be shy! I want that bottom as high in the air as you can possibly get it."

Penny obeyed immediately, pushing her head low so that her cheek touched the cold wood, arching her back and pushing her rear out and up until Alan grunted approvingly. Cilla came over and adjusted Penny's breeches; pulling them lower towards her riding boots, then raising the tails of the girl's blazer so that her bottom was fully displayed. The whiteness of her full bottom was emphasised splendidly by the framing effect of her black blazer and riding boots.

"That's better," said Alan, swishing the crop to his side and bringing it down again on Penny's backside.

"AOWWWWWWWWHHH!"

I shuffled uneasily as Penny cried out; I knew it would be my turn soon. I felt a mixture of ecstasy and trepidation and knew that my face was flushed with both. Hadn't I fantasised about this very situation? Hadn't Penny too? Despite her cries, I sensed a thrill in Penny that went beyond a normal reaction to physical chastisement. Her eyes caught mine and despite her play acting I knew instinctively that she was actively enjoying her punishment.

Alan brought the riding-crop down again...and again....and again, ignoring Penny's crocodile tears and childish cries. She was moving her bottom suggestively, grinding and bucking her hips in response to every blow. It seemed as though she was urging him on; pushing her backside up and back to meet the whip.

Alan's face became flushed with exertion - but nowhere near as flushed as my younger friend's bare arse. Cilla stood with her arms crossed, a slight smile playing on her thin red lips. She gave a nod of approval as each blow struck home and Penny's bottom quivered with each impact. Perhaps she was savouring our comeuppance for all the times we had flirted with her handsome husband.

Stopping eventually, Alan drew the back of his hand over his brow. "Right," he said, "Get to your feet, my girl!" He pulled Penny off the coffee table. My friend made a half-hearted attempt to pull up her breeches but he merely laughed.

"I haven't finished with you yet , young lady,"he said. Holding Penny by the arm, he moved to the armchair, sat thereon, and unceremoniously threw her across his knee.

"Consider yourself lucky," he said, "that I don't take you into the centre of the village and do this in front of everybody. The entire population has seen your bare bottom already today so it wouldn't come as a shock to see it again!"

Penny commenced kicking her legs in horror at such a suggestion, but Alan coolly began to spank her bottom, ignoring her protestations. With one of his large hands he held both her wrists against the small of her back whilst he belaboured her quivering backside with the other.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" she protested indignantly.

"Be quiet, girl," ordered Cilla. "One day you will thank my husband for showing you the meaning of discipline."

Alan went on to give Penny the soundest hand-spanking any nineteen year old girl has ever received; relentless and thorough. When he finally finished, my crestfallen (but highly aroused) friend was sent to stand in the corner - ordered to hold up the tails of her blazer so that her tanned backside was fully on display.

Then, of course, it was my turn. Being the elder, I was dealt with even more thoroughly. The air in the room still seemed charged with primitive and carnal emotion as Cilla ordered me to the centre of the room and, I must confess, I found it quite intoxicating; as though some destiny was being fulfilled which had been suppressed and put off for far too long.

Firstly, Cilla ordered me to pull my breeches down to the tops of my riding boots. "Now," she said firmly, "get your panties down. Stand with your legs wide apart and bend over!"

I did as ordered. Cilla produced a thin cane whilst I adopted the position; clasping my booted ankles and pushing my vulnerable bare backside up and back. It was difficult to hold this position as Cilla applied the cane , but I did my very best while she belaboured my bottom and I blubbered in pain.

She eventually tired of this position and I was made to lie flat on my back on the coffee table with my legs straight up in the air. Alan held my boots to provide some stability whilst he applied the riding-crop to my brightly flushed buttocks. As with Penny, he made a show of strength but pulled each stroke so that the actual blows were more stimulating than painful.

My final humiliation was to be placed over Cilla's knee and given a hand-spanking that made Penny's ordeal look like a slap on the wrist. I found this to be the most exhilarating part of the punishment session. So much so that, despite my best intentions, I had the most exquisite orgasm I had ever had as I ground my hips against my punisher's thighs. My crotch kept brushing against the suspender straps beneath the thin material of her skirt and the mix of shame and sublime pleasure pushed me almost to boiling point. I tried to make my orgasmic cry of pleasure sound like a cry of discomfort, but I don't think it worked and really I didn't care. I had been opened like a book for all to read and nothing would ever be the same again.

When it was over, Penny and I were made to stand in the centre of the room while Alan and Cilla made tea; our breeches still down and our blazers held high above our waists.

They sat casually on the sofa sipping their tea and chatting as we paraded our naked charms in front of them. At one point Penny made to rub her glowing cheeks. She was immediately reprimanded by Cilla and told, "Keep your hands where they are." When they had finished their tea we were finally allowed to go to our room.

In all, I think our combined punishment lasted the best part of two hours. Afterwards, in our bedroom, we applied cold cream to each others bottoms and talked about the day's events. We agreed that it had been the most unusual day we'd had since arriving in the countryside.

And the most exciting.......

The events I have described occurred seven years ago. Penny and I are in our mid twenties now and have long since moved back to the city. We both went to college and have good jobs. Penny is a solicitor and I am a secondary school teacher. Today, Saturday, I will go into town and meet Penny at the usual place. We will go into a restaurant and chat as we always do when we meet.

But the most important aspect of the day will be utmost in our minds as it has been every Saturday since we left the stables. We will go to the station and board a train bound for Fordham. We will take a taxi from the station and arrive at Elwood Stables ten minutes late.....as we always do. Alan and Cilla will be 'angry' that we are late and we will be suitably apologetic. But they won't be satisfied with an apology.

And then the real business of the day will begin - just as it did seven years ago when we returned from the Fordham Hunt.

THE END

BONUS: Click here to get a free picture gallery featuring a cute girl in and out of her riding Jodhpurs

Dr Stanton and Miss Martin find each other

I found this little gem on SSM a few months ago and liked it immediately. It tells the story of the lecherous Dr Stanton and his recently appointed school matron. Dr Stanton is a strict disciplinarian and his inquisitive Matron soon develops an overwhelming fascination with his punishment methods.         

Dr.Stanton, on his appointment as headmaster at St. Swithin’s School For Girls, made many changes in his staff in order to improve the school’s performance and reputation. Some of these changes had a double purpose, however, being carefully planned to facilitate his private ambition in regards to the caning of his pupils. This punishment was already accepted as a proper way to maintain the discipline so necessary to excellent academic performance, but pursuing this activity to an unusual extent was a very distinctive part of his own satisfaction.

Among the most important of these two-edged changes was his appointment of a new school matron, one whom he felt he could rely upon to accept without qualms the parade of striped bottoms that would inevitably result from extensive reliance upon the cane for the maintenance of high standards in all aspects of his pupils’ activities. This was especially important because he believed that, if a caning was to be effective, it should be administered with appropriate severity across a bared bottom. Such a belief produced bottoms that were not merely striped by the cane, but often very colourfully marked and deeply corrugated.

His own career had earlier suffered a temporary reversal when a school matron had protested at the frequency of painful results that were coming to her attention. This, he was determined, would not happen again.

He had not trusted the matron who was already in place on his arrival at St. Swithin’s and, after advertising the position anew, had selected Miss Martin from the applicants. She had most convincingly passed a test he had devised, conducting the applicants through his office while a cane was hanging in view and casually commenting that the matron would be required to attend canings as an observer. Miss Martin had accepted the notice almost enthusiastically and he had promptly appointed her. That she was young, only 30, with a remarkably fine figure and a bottom that, even obscured by her uniform, had immediately aroused in him thoughts of what a splendid target for the cane it might be, were only additional bonuses.

She proved both effective and popular at the school. She had, further, exhibited no reluctance when, soon and sure enough, the first erring young lady had to report to Dr. Stanton’s office for a severe caning. Dr. Stanton not only required that Miss Martin attend but also that the young lady first visit Miss Martin’s office so that Miss Martin could ascertain whether the day appointed was an appropriate one according to the young lady’s own personal calendar. Indeed it was and Miss Martin provided this information very readily.

Dr. Stanton had her come to his study 10 minutes before the miscreant herself was due to arrive. This was early in his career as headmaster of St. Swithin’s and he was still administering the cane in his official study, located on the second floor of his residence. He informed Miss Martin in as matter of fact a manner as possible that he would have the young lady remove her skirt and knickers and bend over the back of an armchair to receive 18 hard strokes. She did not seem in the least surprised at this and, when the pupil appeared, remained discretely in the background as Dr. Stanton gave his orders. She stayed there as the miscreant, face red with embarrassment, removed her skirt and knickers, placed them on the seat of the chair over which she was to bend, and then shuffled around to the back to bend over with very evident reluctance, placing her elbows on the seat and her head between them, helplessly sticking her bare bottom up above the back of the chair.

During the caning itself, of course, Dr. Stanton had to concentrate on that bared bottom and the accurate delivery of his strokes, but he managed to steal an occasional glance at Miss Martin. If she was at all disconcerted, either by the sounds of the hissing cane, the thwacks of its impact across the proffered bottom, the gasps and yowls of protest, or by the sight of the young lady’s rear jumping in response to the cane, the gyrating of her hips and the crimsoning tram-lines across her bottom cheeks, she certainly did not show it. Indeed, when the miscreant was finally sent sobbing on her way, clutching her bottom under her restored skirt, Miss Martin complimented him quietly on the effectiveness of the punishment. Dr. Stanton, seeing an opportunity to sound her out a little further, remarked that he hoped that she did not find this discipline too severe, and she responded, after a slight pause, “Oh, not all! Not at all! The female posterior is remarkably resilient and well capable of absorbing very severe chastisement in the cause of educating the brain, without any lasting damage to itself whatsoever!’ Dr. Stanton congratulated himself anew on making such an admirable appointment.

The future continued to confirm this judgment. Dr. Stanton realized even that he appreciated Ms. Martin’s presence at the canings, which grew ever more frequent. Whether it was because he felt the appreciation of a kindred soul, or whether he felt that it was an insurance against criticism, he wasn’t sure, but he regularly checked for her agreement. In general, however, it was her approval that he sought, rather than her advice. There was, however, a partial exception to this. As he established his practices, he also ordered the conversion into a second study of some space on his third floor that had formerly been servant’s quarters. This study he used almost exclusively for discipline and there he installed a specially designed caning table, kept his extensive collection of canes and consulted his registers of corporal punishment. With the increasing number of canings and the elaboration of the accompanying rules, he thought it a good idea to introduce another level of approval. Thus, when a pupil was receiving a severe caning he would customarily consult with Miss Martin on the state of the young lady’s bottom after 18 strokes (and again after 30, on the rare occasions when the punishment was to exceed that), continuing the punishment only if she declared it acceptable. At first, he would simply ask her to examine the bottom under the cane and inform him if he could go further but, after some discrete encouragement on her part, he allowed himself to join in the inspection. This, of course, allowed him two privileges that he had secretly desired: one was a careful and close-up look at the marks he had just inflicted, the other was a chance to peer into the intimate places within the cleft of the bottom and between the thighs. Miss Martin was surely aware that he made the most of these opportunities but she certainly did nothing to discourage him.

Miss Martin, to consider her in her turn, had arrived at this situation by a long and complicated route. Her childhood had not been a happy one. Her father had died when she was four and her mother had remarried a man of very unpleasant disposition. He had treated the mother very strictly and had frequently beaten the child. Her mother’s attitude had been somewhat ambiguous, for she had seemed to side with her husband in the administration of discipline but had also warmly comforted her child after it had been administered. Miss Martin had thus come to associate affection with chastisement. A particularly traumatic occasion had occurred when Miss Martin was twelve years old and was just discovering the pleasures of sexuality. Her stepfather had discovered her lying on her bed pleasuring herself and had responded with a rage, beating her mercilessly with a strap. Afterwards, in her bewilderment, the young Miss Martin had examined her severely bruised bottom in a mirror and, in further confusion, had finished masturbating, reaching her first orgasm.

A further conflation of pleasure and pain had occurred when she was a little older. She had been discovering that she was sexually attracted to both boys and girls and on this particular occasion her stepfather, whom she had supposed to be away at work, had walked into her room while she and another girl were naked on her bed, exploring each other enthusiastically. Her stepfather, enraged even more than before, had sent her friend running screaming from the house and had fetched a cane that, although kept in the house, had not been used on Miss Martin before. Her mother had joined him and had seemed to be as upset as her husband. Perhaps because of this, they had made the punishment unusually formal, bending her, still naked, over the back of a chair, and caning her until her bottom was black and blue. The pain had been excruciating, but Miss Martin had by now learnt to keep still and protest as little as possible, for protesting had always earned her more punishment. Afterwards, perversely perhaps, she had gone out with a boy her own age, who had asked to see her severely bruised bottom. She had showed him and, to her surprise, he had become very excited, asking urgently to have sex. Knowing at least something about the risks of becoming pregnant, Miss Martin had refused. The boy, however, was more experienced sexually than she was and, undeterred, had then persuaded her to try anal sex. He had been surprisingly careful and, sore though her bottom still was, she had actually enjoyed it. Thus, again, did particular kinds of pleasure and pain become even more strongly connected.

It was not the last time her stepfather her punished her and from this point onwards he used the cane. These beatings were excruciatingly painful but, peculiarly enough, Miss Martin actually found that she preferred the cane to other implements he had formerly used. Perhaps it was because the immediate pain of the cane’s impact was almost paralyzing and usually, by the time that it began to subside, she had gained control over herself. Perhaps also it was because every time she was caned she remembered that peculiarly pleasant feeling of the boy squeezing in and out of her bottom.

The boy, unfortunately, had left the neighbourhood almost immediately after the incident and she did not find a replacement for him, either male or female. Her stepfather had died about two years later, little lamented. Miss Martin had gone on to nursing school, for it seemed a good profession. Being a very intelligent young woman, she had done very well and continued on to a job in an excellent hospital. During this time, she had had a sequence of intimate friends, both male and female, but none of them had been able to make lasting sense of her peculiar blend of intelligence, warmth, neediness, and masochism. She had learnt to exercise a very high degree of self-control and had been both very friendly but peculiarly distant with most people. But she had grown into a distinctly beautiful, fair haired and fine-figured young woman. It had been clear at the hospital that several doctors had been extremely irritated at finding so attractive a nurse so unavailable.

After acquiring an excellent training, she had accepted a job as nurse in a private girls’ school, where she performed very well indeed. Having acquired such a high degree of self-control, she never threatened the morals of the older girls, even though she admitted to herself that she found some of them physically attractive. And neither did she form any attachments to adults, either male or female, for experience had taught her to recognize people who would be intimately compatible and she met no such person. Her excellent performance led to a more senior job at another school, and then to a position as head nurse in another, smaller school. At this last school, corporal punishment with a tawse was sometimes administered and, since girls who had suffered this indignity sometimes came to her afterwards, hoping for some relief, it was here that she finally saw the bottom of another person who had been chastised. In her actions she was entirely professional, suggesting nothing wrong about the punishment itself but offering comfort and some salve. But she was entirely fascinated by the bruising, characteristic of the tawse, with the long, dark-edged, rectangular red marks wrapping around the cheeks, and bluish patches on the right cheek where many strokes overlapped. Long before, her stepfather had used the tawse on her but, at that time, she had seen the results only by twisting round to look in a mirror. Now she got to see them in detail, and on another bottom actually presented for her examination. It was also the case that rubbing salve into the bottom cheeks of a tearful sixth-former lying face-down on her nurse’s table was a very pleasant experience. As a nurse, of course, she had seen everything, male and female, and such experience had enabled her effectively to distance her feelings from the activity. But there was something rather more personal about this particular activity, partly because of her identification with the events that had led up to it.

She had applied for the position of head school nurse at St. Swithin’s as soon as she saw the advertisement, for the school was much larger and the salary correspondingly higher. A colleague had warned her that St. Swithin’s had a reputation for its severe discipline (a reputation which, of course, was shortly to be much reinforced) but, not surprisingly, this did not deter Miss Martin from applying. On her visit for an interview, although she was a little dismayed at finding how remotely situated was the school, she had been very impressed with the quality of the education and the school’s resources. The sight of the cane hanging on a chair in the headmaster’s study and his seemingly casual mention of both his disciplinary practices and the attendance expected of her, intrigued rather than offended her, for the cane had played an important role in her own development and she had not seen one since. She was delighted when her application was successful.

She soon settled into the school and was very popular with both pupils and staff for, despite the distance she privately maintained for herself, she was very friendly and helpful. When Dr. Stanton had first informed her that an offense deserving of the cane had been committed, her interest was intense. She knew, however, that she would have to maintain a cool and professional attitude, even as she might also let Dr. Stanton know that she was quite comfortable with the event. And so it was, for Dr. Stanton had not the faintest idea of what was going through her mind.

When the young woman removed her skirt and knickers, as ordered, and presented her bared bottom over the back of the chair, and Dr. Stanton adopted his position to the left, raising his cane to measure his first stroke across the proffered target, it was as though Miss Martin was recovering the sense of identity that her childhood had imprinted on her some fifteen years earlier. She was almost mesmerized by the sight of the fully rounded, twinned cheeks presented to the cane as this implement bridged the dark cleft, and she felt not only the sudden stillness and silence in the room but also her own fear as she had been forced to present her own bottom in such a similar way so long before. But now she realized that raising and rounding the female bottom in this way was singularly effective in maximizing its aesthetic and, equally, it was never one of the many views afforded during medical practice. She stared with dawning astonishment at this remarkable association of beauty and pain.

Swish! Thwatt! Ooohoo Ow Oh! Ms.Martin almost jumped out her skin in sympathetic shock as the Headmaster, in a very well-practiced movement, suddenly released the first stroke and the unfortunate young lady bucked her bottom and howled in protest. Ms. Martin’shock, however, turned into fascination again, as she watched a momentary thin white line across the bare bottom turn red, then crimson and begin to corrugate the formerly smooth skin . Her reliving of her own experience, now as a peculiarly detached observer, was oddly mixed with her expert medical knowledge of what was going on under the skin of the stricken cheeks to produce these colourful changes.

Fortunately, neither the Headmaster nor the young lady were in a position to notice Miss Martin’s initial reaction and, when the Headmaster stole a glance at her (of which she was well aware), she had entirely composed herself. She watched the entire punishment, all eighteen strokes of it (the miscreant’s protests would normally have earned her extra strokes, but Dr. Stanton, uncertain of Miss Martin’s reaction, decided to forgo this in the interests of maintaining her approval), with continuing fascination and, when the young lady finally pulled her knickers back on, over her quite vividly striped bottom, put her skirt on again and fled tearfully from the room after a brief admonition from the Headmaster, Miss Martin knew exactly what and how the sorry young woman was feeling.

She recognized in the Headmaster’s concluding questions to her that he was sounding out her attitude, so she tried to give him reassurance without revealing anything of her own emotions and then took her leave. Subsequently Miss Martin attended the canings of a great many of the school’s pupils and was, indeed, peripherally involved with Dr. Stanton’s planning and construction of a new room expressly for corporal punishment on the third floor of his residence. She maintained a remarkable balance in her professional attitude between cooperation with Dr. Stanton’s policies and friendly advice and ministration for the pupils. Meanwhile, she was thinking long and carefully about the desires that were welling up inside her. It was not until almost a year and a half had passed that she finally decided to take what was admittedly a large risk and commit herself to satisfying her impulses. Having determined to do so, she made sure to move with extreme care and waited until an interesting but comparatively mild session of punishment was sent to her for approval. Three of the more innocent pupils were scheduled each to receive a classic six strokes. She thought this would be a suitable occasion for her fateful move, since she did not want to make herself immediately vulnerable to the excitement that she often recognized in the Headmaster when he had finished a more severe caning.

The three pupils were called into the study together, where the Headmaster briefly lectured them, having previously done so at greater length, and told them that they were each going to receive six with the cane, the one who was less culpable six good strokes and the other two six of the best. The latter two were then sent to wait outside the study door, which was carefully left ajar, and the first miscreant, remaining on that critical spot in the center of the study, was told to turn to her right, bend over with her feet together, and touch her toes. The Headmaster then folded her skirt up, pulled her knickers down to her knees, and administered six very smart wrist-strokes across her bottom, producing a neat pattern of six, closely spaced red lines. The girl was obviously both very startled and pained, but managed to maintain her position. Tears were oozing from her eyes, however, as she was ordered from the room. The next girl was called in and was told to remove her knickers and hold them in her hand, and then to face the right, place her feet apart and bend right over, all of which she did with a reddening face. The headmaster raised her skirt, folding it up carefully, stood back measuring his distance with the cane and delivered a hard half-stroke. The miscreant shrieked and jumped up clutching her bottom. Her punishment was finally completed, with an extra two strokes for bad behaviour and, after desperately pulling up her knickers back over a bottom striped both more extensively and more scarlet than that of her predecessor, she almost ran from the room. The third pupil was called in and caned in the same manner as the second. She had looked rather rebellious so the Headmaster delivered the strokes a little harder and the crimson stripes across her bottom grew noticeably darker, but she managed to keep her position and received only six strokes.
After the three miscreants were dispatched along the corridor and down the stairs, Dr. Stanton closed the study door. As he returned to the center of the room he suddenly found Miss Martin had made a very unusual move. She had come from behind the desk, from where she always observed the canings, and was now more or less where the three girls had stood before bending over, standing with eyes downcast.

Dr. Stanton, who had come to wonder about Miss Martin’s distinctive attitude towards his disciplinary practices, had an immediately instinctive sense of what was about to happen, but nevertheless proceeded extremely carefully.

“Well, Miss Martin, let us hope that those three have learnt an effective lesson, though certainly I wonder whether their punishment was sufficiently severe?”
A pause, then, suddenly but quietly, “Headmaster, my own behaviour has been equally dubious … I … I think it would be appropriate for you to give me six of the very best as well.”

So! The moment that Dr. Stanton had occasionally allowed himself to envision had quite unexpectedly materialized! But he continued, again, cautiously. He refrained from enquiring about her offense, which almost certainly was imagined and probably irrelevant.
“Very well! It is unfortunate but, as you say, necessary. I will administer six-of-the-very-best … do you understand what that means?”
“Yes, headmaster, I do.’
He had asked because he always used deliberately specific terms and he knew that Miss Martin was aware of them. Six-of-the-very-best meant that he raised the cane above his shoulder and delivered a full, very hard stroke. It also normally required the miscreant to remove both skirt and knickers before bending over. Even more cautiously, however, he proceeded along this path.

“Very well, again! Will you please remove your skirt and knickers accordingly, turn to face the wall on your right, and bend over.”

He was abbreviating his orders and leaving out some details, such as the request to cross the room to place discarded clothes on a chair by the door, a short walk that inevitably resulted in exposure of the body below the blouse, and the command to place legs apart before bending over. Truth be told, he was slightly flustered by this sudden development, but he also though it best to leave some choices to Miss Martin, who knew well enough what was normally expected. In fact, she made some choices and, rather than walking across the room, removed her skirt and panties (for they certainly were not regulation school knickers) were she was standing, letting them drop to the floor, before turning in the necessary direction and bending over, but with feet together.
Dr. Stanton, at this moment, almost wished he could simply be an observer rather than an administrator, for here in front of him was suddenly revealed, completely bare, the bottom that he had secretly admired in its clothed privacy for nearly two years. Her long, elegant legs were together, and in her position, bending right over with fingers touching the floor, the conjunction of the cleft between the glorious spheres of her bottom with the creases where bottom met thigh, and the tantalizing disappearance of these folds of flesh up into the dark between her thighs, presented a view that he could have happily contemplated for some time. He would have loved to have done what he had often done with Miss Martin, rather to her as would now have been the case, that is to bend forward and gaze into those intimate recesses between the thighs. Miss Martin, however, appeared to be offering him her bottom only, and not those inner secrets. He thus remained strictly upright, concentrating his attention on what was certainly the most desirable rear view of a female he had ever been granted. He had seen a great many female bottoms presented in this position, but he had become extremely efficient at separating his outward actions from his inner reactions. Now, however, they threatened to reconnect in an almost irresistible way. The striking perfection of Miss Martin’s bottom was not distinguished from those he normally observed by its perfection alone, but also by the fact that she was wearing stockings and a suspender belt. The peculiar sight of her cleft cheeks framed by the suspenders seemed to make them even more desirable – and also more explicitly promised. But what if she were to abruptly change her mind, in which case she would probably leave and never be seen again?

He decided he should proceed with care but also with dispatch, while she was still committed to this very peculiar choice. He was still holding the cane from the earlier punishment, so he took up his customary position to the left of Miss Martin’s proffered bottom and raised his cane to measure its first stroke across that perfection of divided symmetry. He noticed that her eyes were wide open and that she was staring at the floor. She had confirmed that it was six-of-the-very-best that she was expecting, but he left out his usual warning about penalty strokes. He decided that his first stroke would be straight across the crown of this extraordinary target, took an unusually deep breath, settled his aim, paused a moment, and then Swisshh THWATT! He felt the impact of rattan on bottom cheeks as the cane blurred and bounced in its own reaction to the striking instant and his inner desires surged at the signal.

Miss Martin’s bottom gave a sudden jump as she uttered a loud gasp and her eyes squeezed shut. But she held her position and left Dr. Stanton contemplating the thin line that was crimsoning across the crown of her stilled bottom, stretching between the nearer and the farther suspenders. It was real. She had asked for the cane, he had administered the first stroke, she was still there, and the evidence of its impact was as clear as it could be. He paused but not for too long, about fifteen seconds, and raised his cane to administer the second stroke. And so he continued, for six crackingly hard strokes. Having completed the sixth stroke, however, he suddenly found himself himself stranded at a loss, not knowing how to proceed, quickly filling with fear that this remarkable opportunity might yet collapse. The view of her stockings and suspenders somehow now seemed to paralyze him.

Miss Martin had not felt so unsure of herself for a very long time. Although she had thought carefully through her entire plan many times over, once she had taken the drastic step of initiating it she was consumed by anxiety and even fear. Before she could think much further, however, she already found herself ordered to remove skirt and panties. She was, in fact, too petrified to walk across the room, to the chair where miscreants were expected to perform this action, and simply dropped the garments to the floor beside her. Then, suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of helplessness she had not known since her childhood, bent over to assume the fateful position. She tried to make her mind a blank, staring at the floor in front of her eyes as she sensed the Headmaster adopting the stance she had observed so often from behind the desk and felt, once again, that long, thin, threatening line of pressure across her bottom. At the last moment she remembered the advice she usually gave the girls who had been sent to her before their canings were scheduled … breathe deeply! She took several deep breaths and held the last. Swisssh THWATT! Her long experience allowed that awful sound to register clearly in her brain, even as the sharp line of fire suddenly leapt across her bottom. She heard herself gasp, squeezing her eyes shut with the quickly mounting pain and then letting out her breath as the pain began to soften. She knew this so well, so very well. And so she kept to her chosen role, as the next five strokes seared her bottom, her feelings sinking back into her memory as they did. After the sixth stroke, however, her mind quickly reasserted itself, urgent with the knowledge that she had to take charge again. She stood up rather quickly, her face red and her eyes still wide, even as she completed her role.

“Thank you sir. I will try to improve my behaviour, thank you sir,” and then she bent again to grab her panties and skirt, hurriedly pulled them on, and fled from the room, face and bottom burning.

Dr. Stanton was somewhat taken aback by her abrupt departure, but also somewhat relieved at not having had to decide what to do next. The time was now just before supper, a little after the hour at which canings were usually scheduled. Miss Martin went directly to her bedroom and Dr. Stanton, without knowing where Miss Martin had gone, went to his. There, alone but consumed with each other in their separate bedrooms, they both stood for a while, looking in their mirrors, trying to collect their tumbled thoughts and then both, under the same impulse, moved to seek solitary release of their powerfully pent-up feelings. Their methods were comparable. The main difference, except for that of anatomy, was that Miss Martin knelt on all fours so that she could see her own bottom in a mirror, staring at the crimson marks that were imprinted so vividly on both her cheeks and her memory as she frantically fingered herself to climax, the pain in her bottom and her memory transformed in the hot crucible of her sex. Meanwhile, Dr. Stanton was feeling he might die of the pent-up tension, exploding with the astonishment of the events in his study.

On the next day, as was usual, Dr. Stanton met Miss Martin in the course of their duties. For Dr. Stanton the occasion was a very peculiar one. He was, of course, well used to meeting pupils whom he had caned just previously and generally enjoyed these encounters. The pupils usually looked somewhat embarrassed and averted their eyes, but Dr. Stanton would greet them as though nothing untoward had happened, while privately imagining the state of their bottoms under their school skirts. Miss Martin, however, appeared completely oblivious of what had occurred the previous evening and continued in the following days to give him no clue as to her feelings, even when they met in his study for the next scheduled caning, which occurred less than a week later. At least, however, she had not resigned her position.

It remained this way for several weeks and Dr. Stanton was beginning to believe he had imagined the entire episode. After one normally scheduled caning, however, she suddenly repeated the request for six-of-the-very-best and the first episodes was repeated in exactly the same manner. Afterwards, she still continued as though nothing had happened for several more weeks, but at least Dr. Stanton knew that he hadn’t dreamt it.

Then it happened again, but this time she asked for eight-of-the-very-best. Dr. Stanton, of course, obliged. Then there was another long interval before she suddenly asked again. This time, she not only asked for eight strokes but also, of her own accord, walked across the study to the designated chair to remove her skirt and panties. Dr. Stanton, naturally enough, took advantage of this to catch a glimpse of her mons veneris, made very noticeable by the patch of pubic hair that protected her slit, light-coloured like the hair on her head but somewhat thicker than the pubic hair that he was used to seeing in his pupils. He was considerably excited by this glimpse but, unfortunately, in adopting her normal bent-over with legs together position, she still declined to reveal any of the intimacies between her thighs. The eight strokes, however, were perfectly delivered and deeply satisfying.

Miss Martin was, characteristically, proceeding with great caution. She now felt that she could trust the headmaster to administer the cane with his normal professional standards, and she also felt confident with her own choice in returning to this center of her psyche. She finally decided to take the last major step and, accordingly, prepared carefully. She waited until a rather severe punishment had been scheduled. Three of the senior pupils had been caught playing truant and were to receive 24 very hard strokes each. This, she knew, would leave the Headmaster in a very excited state. Shortly before going to attend this punishment, she administered herself an enema, placed a small bottle of Vaseline in a small purse, composed herself, and went to the study.

The punishment was indeed severe. The three young women were by now clearly terrified of the fate that they had brought upon themselves, and their discomfort was considerably increased when the Headmaster had them all remove all their clothes at the same time, except for their socks, while he prepared the caning table, and then ordered them to stand naked in a row in front of the desk. One by one, they were then ordered to bend over the table and present their bottoms for the cane. As pupils who were inclined to misbehaviour, they had all been caned before, but not this severely. One of them received three extra strokes for a total of twenty-seven and another received an extra six for a total of thirty, but they all managed to survive their punishments well enough to avoid being strapped to the table. Miss Martin, of course, had a wonderful view of all this, not only of the caning itself but of the purple-welted bottoms of the first two as they stood with their backs to her, hands on heir heads, after their own canings were concluded. In addition, naturally enough, she had joined the Headmaster to inspect each of their bottoms after twelve strokes, and again of two of them after twenty-four strokes, giving her approval for the completion of their punishment. While doing so, taking advantage of all the usual side benefits, her long acquaintance with the headmaster had enabled her to sense the rising excitement beneath his business-like exterior.

When seventy-eight sizzling thwacks of the cane had echoed through the study, punctuated by many gasps and cries of pain, and the weeping young ladies had pulled their clothes back over their colourfully bruised bottoms and then hurried from the room, the atmosphere was indeed electric. When the Headmaster returned from seeing them down the stairs, he was not really surprised to find Miss Martin standing in the significant spot at the center of the room. She did surprise him this time, however, by requesting twelve strokes and stipulating that they should be over the table. She then delighted him by walking over to the chair and removing all her clothes, except for her stockings and suspender belt, before returning to bend over the table and offer her bottom to the cane. She delighted him yet more by parting her legs in the manner that was usually ordered for pupils bent over the table. She did not encourage him to bend low to inspect, but she knew that he could now see quite clearly the soft secrets between her thighs that she had so far denied him. Dr. Stanton, having suddenly and without warning been granted a view of Miss Martin entirely naked (except for her suspended belt and stockings), would, once again, have dearly liked to have simply stood there staring. But duty, in its very peculiar way, was calling.

Miss Martin knew from frequent observation that the Headmaster always caned harder when the bottom was in a “bend-over-the-table” position rather than a “bend-over-and-touch-your-toes” position, even when the caning was meant to be of the same severity. She was, in fact, very nervous about the first stroke. She knew she must have excited him by taking off her clothes and she also knew that he usually made the first stroke especially hard. She had its seen its effect on a great many young women, as they jumped upright with a howl, clutching their seared bottom. But so far he had not exercised the penalty-stroke policy on her, and she did not wish him to. Neither did she want to spoil the rules of control by breaking from her position. The hypnotic effect of the caning usually set in after the second stroke and so she had make sure that she could stay in place at least for the first two. Fear and doubt began to assail her again, as they had when she had first presented herself to the Headmaster for a caning, but she knew she would go through with it.

She slide her feet apart, having already decided that she would offer him this view, and bent over the table, as she had previously imagined herself doing while watching other unfortunate young ladies presenting themselves for their punishment. The table seemed at once strange, familiar and even comforting. She knew how the cushion at its end was pushing up her bottom, parting her cleft and rounding her full cheeks as a target for the cane that the Headmaster was holding. She sensed him moving around and at last felt the thin pressure of the cane across her bottom. This time she closed her eyes, took several deep breaths and clutched the edge of the table as tightly as she could …

SwisshhTHWATT! Oh my God! It hurt so much and for a moment the burning grew worse and worse, before slowly softening. But it left her knowing she could manage it. She also knew that hearing the sound of the cane hissing through the air and cracking across her cheeks was an essential part of her excitement. As the pain receded, she took several more deep breaths. Then her ears, her bottom and her whole being began to feel that fearful but urgent expectation of the next stroke that always held her helplessly in place until a caning was finally over .

The caning was indeed hard, so hard that she still had great difficulty in holding her position, but she gripped the table as tightly as she could while twelve times the cane hissed and thwacked and fire streaked across her bottom. Her gasps and stifled cries and the jumping and twisting of her hips became quite involuntary, as was the fact that these movements, with the inevitable squeezings and openings of her bottom cheeks, finally afforded Dr.Stanton not only clearer glimpses of her sex but also quite shamelessly revealed what he had so longed to see, namely the pale brown circle of her anus.

When the twelfth stroke had been delivered, there the two of them were again, both of them panting, and with the Headmaster having no idea as to how to continue. But Miss Martin now knew what she wanted, and as the burning of the last stroke slowly faded she took charge of the by now almost breathless Headmaster. He was shortly to be even more breathless.

“Pickup that purse I’ve left on the desk …. have you got it?”

“Uh … yes …”

“There’s some Vaseline in it, get your finger covered with it and come and stick your finger in my anus … .” A fumbling pause and shuffling of feet (she could not see the look of momentary bewilderment on his face followed by faint comprehension), the sound of a metal lid being unscrewed. Then she felt his finger pressing into her cleft and finding her hole.

“That’s good, now work it around … that’s right … now more Vaseline … good! Now put someone yourself and stick it in my anus!”

She was now completely in charge and raised her head to look back along the table, watching with some concern as the Headmaster first of all seemed as though he did not understand her orders and then, finally grasping the point and regaining control of himself, began to fumble his trousers and underpants off, still looking as though he might be too confused to succeed in the task. It was obvious that he was, in fact, much less experienced sexually than was she. But he finally manage to remove both trousers and underpants, and she saw him move right behind her and felt the greasy pressure of his fingers and then his hardness, moving against her bottom cheeks. She reached back with both hands and pulled them apart, wincing as her fingers pressed into the welts left by the cane.

“Now! Put it against the opening and push … slowly, not too hard … that’s right! Now more … deeper … yes, right in…. now leave it there a moment!”

She waited until she felt herself relax and then began to move against him.

“Now! In and out … slowly … good … now more!”

She reached under her stomach with her right hand, finding her clitoris, feeling his slippery hardness sliding to and fro past her fingers, sensing its pushing deep in her bottom, and she began to rub herself furiously, grateful in one corner of her mind for the softness of the cushion that raised her hips, while the rest of her brain dissolved into the confusion of her own history, barely aware of the now loudly panting Headmaster, thrusting desperately between two bottom cheeks vividly crossed by the scarlet tramlines left by his own cane.

The end result was very messy but profoundly satisfying to both of them.

After this momentous event, the relationship between Dr. Stanton and Miss Martin became mutual and explicit. They quite often discussed both the school’s practice of caning and their own participation in it. Dr. Stanton was extremely careful not to allow any glimpse to others of this relationship, and Miss Martin continued her distinctive approach to those many young ladies who were ordered to the Headmaster’s study. She always let them know that such discipline was proper and indeed essential to maintaining an excellent educational institution, but she also offered them advice and sympathy, including the availability of comforting measures after their caning, should they desire it. Not surprisingly, some pupils found her attitude somewhat ambiguous and, indeed, rumours sometimes circulated through the school. Such is the nature of boarding schools, however, that these rumours were never taken seriously.

As for the private privileges she continued to allow Dr. Stanton, she kept her own subjection to the cane at intervals of months rather than weeks and never offered him a bottom on which signs of earlier encounters were still visible, and she never allowed him to administer more than eighteen strokes. She did not, in fact, like walking around feeling bruises on her bottom, for her main pleasures were confined to the experience of the caning itself and then to feeling the hot ache and the corrugations of the tramlines across her cheeks in the immediate aftermath. She did, however, continue to offer her bottom to him for that other purpose with rather greater frequency, and there were several occasions on which their excitement threatened to let his maid, at least, suspect their strange conjunctions in pain and pleasure.

THE END

Author Unknown