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

Link to featured picture gallery