Owing Owen - photo story

Photo story from Roue 58.


Owing Owen


This is the tale of a particularly eventful day that I spent at the home of my boss, Mr Owen. You can just make him out in the mirror – he's the one with the beard! The reason for my being at my boss's house was a very strange one; one that I would never have believed possible had anyone told me it was to happen. You see, a girl I know, Linda, works for our strongest competitor, an up-and-coming clothes designer. I had heard through the office grapevine that Mr Owen had come up with a design which was considered by all to be a potential money-spinner. I mentioned this to Linda in passing, and together we hatched a plan which would involve me stealing the design, passing it on to her, then being rewarded by her own employer. I work in an adjoining office to Mr Owen and, as he is often out – and I have the keys to his safe – the idea seemed brilliant in its simplicity. At 3.20 on Friday – just when he should have been heading towards the clubhouse with his golfing chums – he entered his office to find the safe open and me, red-faced, clutching said design. He was outraged, of course, and I was threatened with dismissal instantly. "Unless," he said to me, "you agree to accept an alternative form of punishment." Now, I've known for ages that Mr Owen not only fancies me but that he has a 'thing' for girls' bottoms. It therefore came as no great surprise when he qualified that statement with the words: "A bloody good hiding, young lady." Faced with the sack, what would you have done? The fact of the matter is that I quite fancy him and, while the idea of a bloody good hiding didn't actually appeal, I was somewhat intrigued at the prospect. It was agreed that I call upon him at his house the next day at 11 am. "Bring your night things," he told me. I didn't ask him why; I didn't want him thinking me naive. Bring my night things, eh? Things were looking up...


The spanking starts in earnest. It's not at all unpleasant being held firmly over his strong, manly thighs. Owch! That one hurt! Still, I suppose I'm not here to enjoy myself, am I? Not till later at any rate.


I decided to wear my tightest trousers because I thought he'd appreciate seeing my bum in them. I'm now glad of them as protection. Oooh! Not that they are keeping much of the sting out.


Hmmm. Something told me that it wouldn't he long before my trousers were down. He's forever flicking up the back of my skirt in the office and saying: "Oh! Pink ones today, Cheryl." Bit of a knickers man too, Mr Owen.


I bet he's having the time of his life, the randy sod. Now, I wonder what it's going to be like over the knickers. Owch! That was on the bare flesh! Why oh why didn't I put on a fuller pair?


Wait for it. Here comes another. I tense up my bottom. Will it be on the left one or the right? Perhaps in the centre? Ooooch! At least it was over my knickers. Still bloody hurt though.


Boy! That hand of his sure can sting. I start to doubt my idea of accepting this alternative punishment of his. But who want to be on the dole in Britain these days. Anyway, tonight should compensate.


Gosh – if he pulls them up any tighter they'll cut me in half. To all intents and purposes I'm bare-bummed now. I'd guessed he'd probably want to see my botty, and he sure hasn't wasted any time.


Owch! I can't remember it hurting as much as this when mum spanked me. Down they come. He's certainly a fast worker. I just hope that he likes what he sees (I'm sure he does). Get him in the mood for later.


What would the girls at work think if they could see me now? Laying over Mr Owen's lap with my bottom all bare. Cripes! That one really stung. When's all this going to stop? Pretty soon, I hope.


This is getting beyond a joke. I like the feel of my tummy pressing down into his lap and the feel of his strong arm holding me firmly, but these smacks! Oww-Oooh! It's really getting to me now.


Please stop. Oooof! Ah, that's more like it – a nice bit of rubbing. Ummm – he can keep that up for as long as he likes. Scrummy! Oh! No – not another one. Owww! He's doing it harder. That's not fair.


I begin to cry a little... just tiny whimpers. Will that soften his heart? Not likely! Oooch! Right in the middle. Perhaps if I parted my cheeks a bit. Owww! That didn't work. What was that? I can get up and change into my night things? At last!


It's explained to me why I was told to bring my night things with me. "More appropriate attire," he says. Appropriate for what? A glance over at the mirror gives me my answer. A nasty-looking cane hangs there. "But I haven't had the cane since..." I blurt out, stopping myself in mid-sentence. "Since when?" he asks. "Since daddy caned me for calling the vicar a... er... naughty word," I tell him. He's interested and asks me to tell him all about it. "I was just turned eighteen at the time," I began. "I called the Reverend Inkpen a stupid fart." A smile comes to Mr Owen's face. I give a little grin myself. "Go on," he says. Daddy fetched this cane from the garden shed. It hadn't seen light of day since he used to use it on my older brother. Long and swishy it was. Well, I had to go to my room and... er..." I get embarrassed. "Out with it, girl!" I do like him when he gets masterful. "I got the cane – that's all." He's not impressed. Question-and-answer time ensues. "How many strokes?" "Six." "Over your clothes?" "No." "What then?" "On the... the bare." "Hurt, did it?" "Yes, it bloody well did." "And it's going to hurt this time as well." I plead with him not to use it on me, but to no avail. I'm told to hand him the horrid thing.


I reach for it. It feels very bendy – a bit like daddy's. I hand it to him. I'm told to turn and face the mirror and grab hold of some contraption on the floor. "Knees together and legs straight," he says.


He taps it gently against the seat of my knickers. "Keep still!" his masterful tones tell me. I straighten my legs and await the first stroke. Swish!-Thwick! It lands. Like my mum's spankings, I had forgotten how much a cane can hurt.


I'm kneeling on the sofa now – but it still hurts the same. Knickers or no knickers, my bum really stings. Although my thin pants can't be protecting anything other than my pride, I do hope he doesn't take them down.


Owww!! It sure does bite. How many more of these is a girl expected to take? It slices through the air again... my bottom twitches... then it lands – right across the middle of both cheeks.


I flop over and have a little cry. "That'll do," I hear him say. Thank God for that. My bum aches like mad! I can feel him standing over me with that cane still in his hands. He whips it through the air a couple of times, smacking it into his palm. I wince. Wait till Linda hears about this little lot – she won't believe a word of it. A tear plops down onto the cushion. I sniff. Surely he thinks I've had enough. Doesn't the sight of poor little me all tears and sniffles... doesn't that make him feel sorry for me? I keep my head buried, not wanting my eyes to meet his, thinking that if they do he'll speak to me – and that what he has to say won't be in the least bit pleasant. God, how my bottom hurts – though it is cooling down a bit now. Another tear runs down my nose. I sniff but it drops onto the sofa. I feel so very sorry for myself; repentant; penitent. I feel just like a naughty little girl who has been punished – which is true when I come to think about it. I wipe my brow. I'm feeling a little better now; the real hurt in my bottom is subsiding, leaving a sort of... well, a sort of glow. It's not unpleasant, actually. I can feel his eyes leering at me; that strong, handsome man mentally undressing me. How unlike all those whimps at the office he is. Okay, he's just whacked my poor little bottom, and it hurt like hell, but I know of a few girls who wouldn't say no to being half-naked on his sofa. Oh, I so want him to take me in his arms and hug me; to pull me to his masculine chest and comfort me. But it doesn't look as if he's going to. I just hope that my punishment's over. The glow in my bottom is growing and spreading through my body. I'm starting to get damp between my legs. I want to touch myself there – or, more to the point, have him touch me there. This never happened to me when daddy caned me... mind you, Mr Owen isn't daddy, is he? I wonder if it's normal to feel this way. Who cares? I'm feeling this way... and it's lovely. Oh, order me about, Mr Owen; humiliate me; make me obey your every whim. I think this but cannot speak the words. The silence is broken. His dark-brown tones reach my ears. "You will now strip off, Cheryl," he says. Anything you say, I think to myself. I stand. What next? I wonder.


Standing behind me, he looks on as I first remove my shoes, then my nightie, then... I turn to face him. "Everything?" I ask. "Everything," he replies. I insert my fingers in the waistband of my skimpy pants and notice what he is holding in his hands.


Being ordered to strip has made me feel all funny inside. But I don't like the look of that leather strap. Still, I peel off my knickers. I'm sure he's noticed that my nipples are erect... and I'm sure that he knows why.


In mock shyness, I turn my back to him, my left arm covering my boobs, my right you-know-where. "Hands in front!" he barks. I obey. He can't see my boobs anyway, but I know what he is looking at – my bum. "Bend over," he says.


"No," he tells me, "I'm not going to strap you – unless, that is, you would prefer it to something you've been wanting me to do all day." I stand and pretend not to understand; as if I was deciding what course of action I'd favour. No contest!


I've been told to wait whilst he has a freshen-up. Time to relax for yours truly. Yes, I am looking forward to what is to come. But what he said to me as he left the room has got me feeling that I might have been better advised to take my P45 and run. "I propose three weekly sessions with you, young lady," he told me, "in addition, that is, to today's. For the next three Saturdays you will report here for further punishment. You will be caned, you will be slippered, you will be spanked, and you will be strapped. Only after this period of correction will you have learned properly the error of your ways. What you have received today is merely a foretaste of what is to come... a mild expression of my anger at your misbehaviour. You will throughout this time be afforded fully-paid holiday. As well you know, you've been treated extremely leniently today – I'm sure that your mother spanked you harder than I did, and I'm certain that dear daddy used his cane on you to greater effect than was the case today. You will learn that spanking and caning – indeed all forms of discipline are meant to hurt. The effect it has had on you today was as a little turn-on. We both know how we feel about each other; you know I fancy you, and I know that you want to have you-know-what with me. That's fine. But punishment is what you were meant to be here for, and I feel most strongly that today's little session has not so much served as punishment but more as pleasure. I do not blame you for this, Cheryl – there are many ways that a person's body can be excited sexually; aroused, and corporal punishment is but one of them. We both seem to have found today's session arousing, and we both feel a need to do something about that arousal. But starting next week I will begin to show you just how punishment should be carried out... and precisely what effect it should have on naughty young ladies. If you do not agree to this – indeed if you don't wish to join me upstairs after I've had my bath, then all you have to say is 'No'. I am not forcing or coercing you in any way. What have you to say?" Well, dear reader, what would you say? All those females out there – how would you react? I said: "Whatever you say, Mr Owen," again pretending that I wasn't over-keen on the fun that was to follow – for I am keen; keen as mustard! And, who knows? – the next three Saturdays could end up the same way. Oh, I do hope so, my masterful Mr Owen...

Night duty

Story from Roue 03.

Night duty

Night duty. Men's Surgical, Sister Evans.

Oh God! P'raps I'll go sick, say I've got the 'flu. She'll know I'm avoiding her. I've got to face it sometime though. But – Oh Hell! I wish I'd never done it! But I had to, didn't I? I don't know, p'raps I didn't have to. P'raps there might have been some other way. Oh Christ! And it was only one bottle. One lousy bottle of pills. And now she's going to –. But I'll have to turn up, no matter what. Because if I don't, p'raps she'll tell Matron, and Matron'll tell the Police –. And I didn't even get the money. That sod didn't pay me. I could kill him. And that Beryl, she's the one who split on me. Oh God! What a bloody awful predicament.

On the ward. Sister Evans with an odd, satisfied kind of smile on her face.

She's going to, I know it! She did it to Allison, and she only nicked some money out of a locker. Oh Lord! I haven't got a hope. And Allison said it was awful. Her poor bottom!

Medication to be given, pillows to be plumped, visitors to be shushed out as soon as decently possible.

And tomorrow's Thursday! Bloody rent day! He'll want his money, haven't paid in three weeks. What the Hell am I going to do?

Tractions to be checked, temperatures, pulses, respirations. And Mr Keller.

Wonder if he'll ask me again? And if he does – wonder if I'll dare? He-he'll give me money, he said so. And he's got money to burn, I should think. So – p'raps he'll ask me, and p'raps I'll say yes – I mean, other girls do it. I know they do. Lucy said she's done it loads of times. She says they're nearly all like that, when they're getting better. And they're all private in this place. None of them short of money. P'raps I could even get enough to start paying it off. Oh Christ, if only I hadn't had to take the bloody money in the first place, then I wouldn't have to pinch the pills and – and...

Bedsores to be massaged and creamed. Bedpans, bedpans, always bloody bedpans –. No. Don't think about bedpans. Bedpans go into the sluice. And that's where Allison got it, in the sluice. That's where –. Stop thinking about the sluice.

'Nurse, my radio's not working!'

What am I, a bloody electrician or something?

Horlicks, Ovaltine, tea, coffee, chocolate.

'Hot milk Mr Keller?'

Smile, girl, smile.

'I fancy something a bit sweeter, darling.'

Smile. I said:

'What's that, Mr Keller?'

'You.'

If he pinches my bum again, I'll –. No I won't. Smile girl. You need him.

'What colour you got on tonight eh sweetie?'

'Mr White! Don't you ever think of anything else –?'

'Eh? White you say? White knickers, that what you say?'

God, these'll be the death of me. I don't know where they get the urge from at their age. Sister Evans, eyes like a hawk, checking, checking, linen, charts, drugs cupboard. Especially that.

A weird, sinking, hollow feeling in the tummy, knickers feeling tight underneath. Allison said she couldn't sit down after. Well, almost. She said she had to sit on one side first and then the other. And that it was hell if your knickers were too tight, because the elastic in the leg kind of cut up across your bum –. Stop thinking about it, will you!

'Nurse. Would you have a look at my dressing please?'

'Just a moment Mr Keller.'

I bet there's nothing wrong with it.

Screens. The dressing perfectly alright. A ten pound note tucked in a fold of the sheets. Pink glans, glowing hotly, standing up and waiting patiently.

'Mr Keller –!'

'Come on. This is for you, like I said.'

'But –.'

'Here. Take it anyway.'

Cool fingers slipping up under her skirt. The note crinkling and scratching as it tucks down the front of her knickers.

'But I can't –'

' 'Course you can. Look, just like this.'

Hot under her hand. Solid, feeling alive.

'But Sister might see. It – it's dangerous –'

'Come back later then. After the lights go out.'

Sister Evans might be gone then, with two other wards to keep an eye on. Yes, she might be gone long enough.

'Yes, alright. If I can.'

His hand wandering back up between her thighs. His voice a conspiring whisper.

'Take 'em down, eh? There's a good girl.'

'For Christ's sake –'

'How much d'you want then, eh?'

'It's not that –!'

'I'll give you another tenner. Alright?'

'Mr Keller – I... I'll try to come back.'

Her knickers slipping down across her hips.

'I've got to go now.'

The screens whisked away. Hawkeyes prowling. Later. But, later –. Don't think about it!

'All finished, nurse?'

'Y-yes Sister, more or less.'

'You don't sound too sure.'

'Er – well there's just the oxygen to check.'

'Check it then. Then come to my office.'

'Yes, Sister.'

Oxygen checked.

Christ, these knicks are going to fall down if you don't do something about it. P'raps – p'raps it's an omen. Oh Christ!

A slim hand tapping nervously on a door.

'Come!'

The door closing.

'Now then Elaine. Having cornered you at last, and don't say you haven't been avoiding me because I know you have, you and I are going to settle our differences, are we not?'

'Er –'

'Yes, we are my girl! Firstly you are going to say thank you to me for putting myself at risk by not reporting the shortage in the drugs cupboard, aren't you?'

'Um – y-yes, Sister.'

'Well?'

'Er – th-thank you Sister. Thank you very much.'

'Good. And a little later, you, my girl, are going to be taught a lesson, aren't you?'

'Am I, S-Sister?'

'Yes.'

Sister stares with her bright eyes, up and down, up and down.

'Have you ever been caned, nurse?'

'Oh!'

Elaine's little hands twist panic-stricken behind her back.

'Well?'

'N-no, Sister.'

Sister smiles, rather sweetly.

'Well tonight you will be.'

Sister, relishing her power, rolling the words around before she says them.

'Properly caned, young lady. You will be soundly thrashed.'

Oh God! With a cane! Oh Jesus!

'On your bare bottom.'

Bare bottom! Thrashed. Oh Christ!

'Without your knickers.'

Without my knickers! Thrashed! I want to be sick!

'And no matter how you may protest or struggle –'

Struggle – me struggling! And thrashed! I'm going to wet myself!

'I shall whip you thoroughly.'

Whipped – thoroughly! Me, struggling! Screaming, bawling!

'Is that clear?'

Oh God, this is awful! It's going to happen. Really going to.

Sister's voice soft and coaxing. Teasing.

'Do you understand?'

'Oh – yes, S-Sister.'

'And what have you to say?'

She's enjoying this. She's going to love it.

'I d-don't know.'

'Quite! Because there is nothing more to be said, is there, nurse?'

'N-no, Sister.'

And, of course, there wasn't.

* * * *

Elaine near to panic, her eyes wide and frightened, Sister looking her up and down, a little smite playing at the corners of her mouth. Elaine wondering helplessly if she ought to smile back or something.

'So – I'll see you in the sluice at one o'clock. One o'clock sharp, mind.'

'Yes, S-Sister.' Elaine's heart pounding inside her starched white apron.

'And you won't forget now, will you?'

'Er – n-no, Sister. One o'clock – that's is, isn't it?'

'Aren't you sure, Elaine?'

'Y-yes, one o'clock.'

'Right, one o'clock. And now you can take your knickers off, Elaine.'

'P-pardon?'

'Knickers. Take them off. Are you going deaf, girl?'

'But –'

Sister looking stern.

Nothing for it. Elaine rucking up her uniform skirt, thighs soft and smooth above her stocking-tops. Knickers tight and curving tantalisingly up across the fullness of each buttock. The ten pound note discreetly palmed, the knickers slipping down, Elaine stooping to pick them up. Sister's hand held out. Elaine's knickers a small, intimate bundle of white nylon in the hand.

'You can have them back after your caning.'

Elaine's naked bottom tingling at the very word. Sister smiling openly now, as Elaine excuses herself and runs off to the loo.

Washing her hands in the sluice, Elaine tries to keep her mind off what's going to happen there, come one o'clock.

This is dreadful! God, what am I going to do? I'll refuse to be caned. Yes, that's it. Refuse point blank. But then – Oh Lord! No, I can't refuse. I've got to do it. Thrashed! Oooh, it sounds awful!

Lights out. Ten o'clock and all is well, except in Elaine's tummy. Several squadrons of butterflies are having a dog-fight. The dog is losing.

Quarter past ten, and the pale amber light is flashing. Mr Keller.

Oh no! I forgot about him.

Soft shoes squeaking on the floor. Snores, sonorous in the gloom.

Voices a whisper.

'Yes?'

'I didn't know if you were coming.'

'Oh. Well, I'm not sure –'

A door clatters at the end of the ward.

'Sister's gone. Come on, pull the screens round.'

Oh Christ! But I s'pose I'll have to. And I could do with the money. God, this is going to be frightful.

Screens swishing sibilantly.

'That's a good girl. Come on, come over here.'

Elaine, warily, going round the bed. A hand, insistent, fumbling under her skirt. Stroking her bare thighs, above the stockings, wandering up and around her bottom. Bare bottom.

'That's my girl. Only teasing, weren't you. Took 'em off specially for me, didn't you?'

'Er – n – y-yes.'

'Good girl. Here, see what you can do with this?'

Hot in her little hand, strong and solid and hot.

A hand, fumbling with her belt.

'What're you doing?'

'Shush! I'm just taking this belt off.'

'Why?'

'Because I want you stripped, little girl, that's why.'

'No. Nor you can't. Sister might come back at –'

The belt, coming loose.

'Now this.'

Elaine pulled down onto the bed, her dress being pushed up, her legs faintly visible in the dim light.

'No, I can't.'

A hand, rummaging under a pillow. Crinkly sounds.

'Take your dress off. Here's ten pounds if you'll take it off.'

Ten pounds. Almost a fortune.

Oh Lord!

'I'll have to get up then –'

'That's my girl.'

Elaine slowly stripping. Ten pounds for the dress. Another ten pounds to see her tits. Nipples standing brazenly erect. Elaine naked except for her stockings and suspenders.

'That's lovely. Come in here – come on.'

Fingers fumbling in the dark. Crisp sheets rustling. Elaine breathing heavily, desperately.

'Oh God. I'm coming –'

Elaine, writhing frantically, hips pumping, clamouring for the release. Voices soft in the dark again.

'You're a naughty little girl, aren't you, eh?'

'But – you made me do it.'

'You wouldn't have done it if you didn't want to. You really are a naughty – naughty – naughty girl.'

Naughty emphasised by a softly smacking hand.

'I – I'm not – not really.'

'Yes – you – are. Naughty – naughty – naughty. If you were my little girl I'd smack your naughty bottom.'

The hand, wandering again. Elaine, helpless, impaled on the prodding, teasing fingers, coming again in quick, panicy gasps.

'You're a little sexpot, aren't you? A naughty little sexpot. You need someone to take your knickers down and smack your little bottom don't you, eh?'

Elaine, tummy churning again, whimpers helplessly and weeps silently against a pair of striped pyjamas. The blue pyjamas are taken somewhat aback. Comforting words are said. Elaine weeps some more. Secrets are told. Soon there are no more secrets. Elaine weeps prettily yet again.

'And how much is it that you need, all together, eh?'

'Hundreds, and if I don't pay it all back my mum'll be in trouble you see. I'll never, never be able to get out of this mess. And now there's Sister – oh, God, I don't know what I'm going to do, really I don't.'

More words of comfort are whispered into a delicate ear. Elaine stops crying. A bargain is suggested.

'And I'll pay you a certain amount, over and above your salary, which we can put into a bank, you see. So that way, in about six months you'll be out of trouble, won't you?'

'Yes. I see. And – the other thing. About me being naughty like you said. Will – will that be awful, d'you think?'

'No, no my dear. The merest suggestion of chastisement, I assure you. Knickers to be taken down, of course, but not really what you'd call proper spankings, oh no, not at all –'

Elaine squirming again.

'P-please – no. Don't make me – not again.'

'Nonsense, my dear. Fine, strong, healthy girl like you? I'm quite sure it won't do you the slightest harm –.'

'Oh n-no. You're making me –!'

'That's my girl. That's my naughty little girl.'

Elaine, eventually, allowed to get dressed.

'But – what about Sister? What can I do about her?'

'Sister – well now, let me see.'

Sister is considered. A solution is found. Elaine isn't altogether happy.

'B-but she's going to th-thrash me. I don't want to be thrashed!'

'Well now, what else do you suggest? If we time it right, perhaps your dear little bottom won't suffer too much – with luck.'

Elaine, not entirely reassured, is nonetheless persuaded.

The ward, dark. One o'clock approaches. Elaine goes to the loo, then goes again. The suspense is dreadful.

At last, the fateful hour. Her teeth chatter as she goes with dragging footsteps to the sluices.

A hollow, echoing place. Bright stainless steel and clinical porcelain. Only just far enough away from the ward to make it feasible that a cane might land on a girl's bare bottom and not be heard by the patients. Cries certainly would be. So perhaps, if she cried out –

Footsteps, quiet but determined. Sister. Doors swing open and then shut.

'So you're here then?'

'Er – yes.'

Sister Evans, looking her up and down. Elaine feeling naked, remembering about her bareness under her dress. Elaine trying to find something to say, something to put off the awful moment.

'C'n – Can I ask you a question Sister?'

'Yes, what d'you want to know?'

'Why did you make me take my knickers off?'

'And why shouldn't I?'

'I-I don't know really, but –'

'A foible, my dear. Something to amuse myself. Why, did it bother you, walking about without your knickers?'

'Er – yes, I s'pose it did.'

Elaine lying, feeling it would be better to lie.

'Wonderful. That's what it was meant to do, you see. Meant to remind you, to make you think about – your thrashing.'

'Oh, I see –'

'Yes, that and simply the fact that I could make you do it. I was just playing with you, Elaine.'

Sister Evans, half-lowered eyelids, smiling secretly.

'And you'll have to get used to that, my dear.'

Elaine, feeling helpless again. Her eyes following Sister, big and wide and frightened.

'Because I'm going to play with you later, aren't I Elaine?'

'Oh!'

It all fell slowly into place. The other thing that Allison had mentioned, but then wouldn't talk about.

'And now –'

Now. It was going to happen – was happening, now.

'– you can come and kiss me, Elaine.'

Kiss? Elaine staring with her nervous eyes. Moving uncertainly, not really understanding.

'But first, you'll have to kneel down.'

'Oh –'

Elaine kneeling, the tiles cold on her knees. Sister Evans, coming closer, her dress sliding slowly up her thighs, pink flesh, plump bulge under delicate nylon.

'Here.'

An elegant finger, pointing, beckoning, coaxing pretty lips. The lips touching, caressing anxiously, the finger leading higher. A faint rustle, something bumping against the penitent's face, something long and slim and cold against her cheek.

'Oh!'

'Now kiss that. Kiss it, before it kisses you.'

Chill rattan, smooth and varnished, stroking across her lips.

'Good girl. Slowly – painfully slowly no doubt, you will learn Elaine. Learn like Allison has. She's very good now. Very good with her lips. And her tongue. She has to be, because she hates the cane you see.'

Elaine, shivering. The chill tiles having little to do with it.

Dear God! She's going to make me really grovel. For Christ's sake, Mr Keller, don't let me down.

The elegant fingers, unpinning, unzipping, baring the young shoulders, the girlish breasts, teasing the pink little nipples to attention. Elaine's dress falling loose around her waist, her apron dangling down in front.

'And now – my cane will return the compliment. My cane will kiss your bottom, Elaine. So stand up girl. And don't fiddle with yourself, your tits are just right as they are.'

Elaine, standing up.

'Across that!'

Sister's voice oily smooth, but impatient of argument. Cold stainless steel sink, the edge the height of her navel. The chill, impersonal touch of the cane, finding its bearings.

Oh God! It's come, it's here. I'm going to be caned –!'

Thwack!

Jesus! That stings. Stings like mad!

Whack!

Pretty, naked buttocks bobbling under the cane's brisk impact. Young hips swerving aside, thighs pressing together in anguish.

Whack!

'Oooh – oh no! No, please –!'

'Shut up!'

'Oooh! Sister –!'

Thwack!

'OOH! NO! PLEASE DON'T!'

'Quiet girl! D'you want people to hear?'

Crimson spreading swiftly, staining the nervous, twitching buttocks.

WHACK!!

'Ohh! For God's sake –!'

'Get up!'

Thwack! The cane sharp and stinging across her thighs. Elaine jumping up straight, face distorted with pain, hands clutching at her thighs.

A piece of sticking plaster, magically produced. Pretty lips drawing back. Sticking plaster stuck anyway.

'Bend over.'

'Mmmugh!'

'Bend –'

Whack!

'– over!'

Thwack!

Brilliant double lines streaked across the backs of two plump trembling thighs.

'Nnnmmghh!'

'Down, girl!'

Crack!

Frightened girl, skittering away, but having to bend over nevertheless.

Crack! Whack! Swatt!

Bright, stinging bum-cheeks wriggling pathetically. Unintelligible grunts and groans. Sister Evans with a smug little smile on her face.

Mr Keller, a smug little smile on his face too. His face peering eagerly through the glass panel of the sluice-room door, his pyjamas in disarray.

Elaine crying, blubbering, the tears streaking her flushed and glowing cheeks, her bottom jerking and jumping with the steady, punishing rhythm of the cane.

Five minutes elapsing. The cane monotonously at work, Elaine being hoisted back into position after each and every stroke. Her poor, wretched little bottom quivering incessantly, the bright weals blossoming with patient regularity.

A door, swinging open.

'Nurse – can I have a drink –?'

* * * *

Time passes. Passing time becomes a week.

A chauffeur-driven car draws up at the hospital entrance. Elaine, her uniform different now, still that of a nurse, but smarter, looking almost tailored, helps the fast-recovering Mr Keller down the steps and into the car. The car whisks away.

'You look nice my dear. Distinctly appetising in fact.'

'Thank you.'

Mr Keller coughs, though discreetly.

'Oh, sorry. Thank you sir!'

'Money get to the bank all right?'

'Yes. Thank you very much, Sir.'

A hand, on walkabout. The pretty dress is crumpled slightly. Satiny thighs are bared. Elaine looks flushed and awkward.

'What's the matter?'

'I-I'm sorry, but –'

Elaine's eyes, indicating the chauffeur. A voice, whispering in her ear.

'Doesn't matter about him. Now, did you follow instructions?'

Elaine's face, definitely blushing.

'Y-yes.'

'Well?'

'Er – what, Sir?'

'So, show me.'

'Oh! B-but –'

'Come on now, let's see. Let's have a look, to be sure.'

Elaine's skirt flutters up reluctantly, the sweet little nest hides shyly between smooth youthful thighs.

'That's my girl! There's a good little girl!' Warm fingers stroke approvingly, and then Elaine, hesitating only enough to make it interesting for him, gives in and wriggles across his knobbly knees. Her bare, pinkening bottom trembles prettily with each crisp spank, and her hips bounce obediently to the slow insistent rhythm. The car rounds a bend in the road and bounces sharply off the inside kerb. The chauffeur murmurs an apology and tries to keep his eyes on the road, and Mr Keller makes a mental note that perhaps he ought to find himself a chauffeuse. Perhaps a nice, shapely one, and preferably one with a few money troubles!

Miss Armatage

Story from London Life Vol.1 No.3

Miss Armatage

'I'm sorry, Allison,' said Mrs. Armatage, rising from her desk. 'But I can't allow this type of behaviour to continue. I've got to think of the other girls, and of course, the animals.'

She paused to see what effect her words were having on the girl, but Allison only glared back with her customary defiance. 'That's what comes of giving a girl too much money and too much freedom,' thought Mrs. Armatage to herself, 'she had absolutely no respect for anyone or anything.'

She continued aloud, 'I've spoken to you before about racing into the stables with your sports car, but you just don't seem to take any notice. Not only do you frighten the other girls but you also scare the horses. And now, you leave your horse after a hard ride, all hot and sweaty and just drive off without bothering to care for him. I suppose you think it's alright to leave him for someone else to take care of. You're far too important a person to have to do such menial tasks such as rubbing the horse down and feeding him.'

'Well, if it's a question of paying extra,' Allison put her hand in her jacket pocket and brought out a handful of notes. 'How much will one of the girls want to take care of him?'

'There you go again,' Mrs. Armatage was obviously annoyed at the sight of the young girl holding so much money, and with such little regard. 'You think your money is the answer to everything. Well, I'm telling you, young lady that that sort of attitude will not get you anywhere at this riding stable. I'm not having the whole place upset just because of one spoilt girl. I'm sorry to say this Allison, but you are not welcome here, and I'm going to ban you from the stables until I see a change of attitude.'

'You can't do that to me,' said Allison. 'I want to come here and ride. I'm willing to pay, in fact I'm willing to pay well. You can't stop me coming.'

'Oh, no,' said Mrs. Armatage. 'This is my stables and I can do what I want. Now listen to me, Allison. You are banned from the stables for the next week. If at the end or that time you come to me and you can show me that you're prepared to take an interest in the other girls and the animals I might reconsider. It's up to you. Either you change, or you continue in your spoilt arrogant ways until no one likes you, and all you have left is your money. You think about it.'

* * *

It was a week later when Mrs. Armatage opened the office door to find Allison standing there. 'I've thought about what you said, Mrs. Armatage, and I did miss not being able to come to the stables. Can I come back, please,' said Allison.

'Come in Allison and take a seat,' said Mrs. Armatage pointing to a chair. 'I'm expecting someone whom I'd like you to meet. Ah here she is, come on in Jenny.' She spoke to a young girl dressed in a pair of muddy jeans and an old faded sweater who stood framed in the doorway. She wiped her muddy boots on the mat and then stood in front of Mrs. Armatage's desk, her head bent forward in shame.

'Now Allison, I want you to meet Jenny. Jenny suffers from the same lack of thoughtfulness that you do. She neglects to care or feed the animals, using them only for her own pleasure. Horses cannot speak and so they need someone to take care of their needs, and I will not tolerate girls who are so absorbed in themselves that they have no consideration for others. Now watch this Allison, and let it be a lesson to you.' She turned to the younger girl and continued 'You know what to do Jenny.'

Jenny looked at Allison, and a crimson flush crept up her face. She undid her jeans and slipped them down her legs, and then rolled her sweater up until it was gathered just below her small breasts. Allison watched the young girl as she bent over the desk and spread her legs slightly apart. She felt a mixture of embarrassment and excitement as she looked at the pink panties that were Jenny's only covering. Allison's gaze turned from Jenny to Mrs. Armatage and the long thin cane she had taken from her desk drawer. She flicked it through the air as she moved to stand behind Jenny and the swish it made caused both Jenny and Allison to look upon it with apprehension.

'Now Jenny,' said Mrs. Armatage softly. 'You know I dislike using this, but I hope that this will be a lesson to you, and will help you change your selfish and thoughtless ways.'

Mrs. Armatage leaned forward and gripping the waistband of Jenny's panties she pulled them down until they lay around her ankles with her jeans. Years of horse-riding had made Jenny's bottom firm and hard, and Allison stared, fascinated by the pale skin. She felt a great sympathy for the young girl, and knew that her presence only added to the girl's embarrassment and shame. She herself was also embarrassed about being forced to watch, but at the same time she felt an excitement more real than any of the thrills her money had been able to buy, and her gaze stayed riveted on the twin white globes that awaited Mrs. Armatage's punishment.

Mrs. Armatage did not hurry, for she knew that the shame of standing naked from the waist down was as much a part of the punishment as the actual blows, and being the kind-hearted woman she was she hoped that this one punishment would be enough to correct Jenny's manner in future.

Allison watched as Mrs. Armatage's arm rose and the thin cane swished through the air and seemed to cut into the white flesh. Jenny jerked and cried out, and almost magically a red stripe appeared on her bottom. Again the arm rose and at the second stroke Jenny wriggled her body, unconsciously exposing herself to Allison who sat watching her mouth open in horror and apprehension.

A third red welt joined the two that already marked the smooth white skin and Allison saw tears stream from Jenny's eyes. Whatever she read in the past about spanking being a fun pastime and prelude to sex there was no doubt as far as Jenny was concerned that this was a straight and simple punishment, and one that she would not forget in a hurry.

And then it was over, Jenny lay heaving and sobbing across the desk, her bottom covered by six red stripes that seemed to give off a red glow. Allison could see a tuft of hair between Jenny's legs, and as the young girl wriggled in pain Allison could see the very essence of womanhood revealed, but Jenny had no thought for what she was revealing. She was more concerned with her bottom which stung and throbbed like it was on fire.

'Right Jenny,' she heard Mrs. Armatage say 'You can get dressed now. Come on stand up.'

Jenny stood up facing Allison but did not seem to notice the girl sitting there nor indeed realise the sight she presented; naked from the waist down her legs spread apart and the triangle of hair at the top of her legs, and the secret it concealed completely on view to this stranger. Slowly as if in a daze Jenny pulled the pink panties and jeans back up, and tugged her sweater down. Her face was red, and wet where the hot salt tears had flowed as she stood there waiting for Mrs. Armatage to say something. 'Now Jenny,' said Mrs. Armatage. 'That gave me no pleasure at all, and it's my dearest wish that I won't have to do anything like that again. Now go and wash your face and compose yourself.'

As Jenny left Mrs. Armatage turned her attention to Allison. 'As I said Allison, Jenny reminds me a great deal of you, but fortunately her thoughtlessness is an occasional lapse, unlike your attitude. No don't interrupt me. I know that your father gives you a generous allowance, far too much for a girl your age, if you ask me. And I've seen what it has done to you. You think your money can buy you anything, and that everyone else is here just for your amusement and pleasure. Let me tell you young lady, if you don't change your ways you'll end up a lonely woman, surrounded by people who are only interested in your money, and without any true friends.' Allison stood up and spoke to Mrs. Armatage. 'I've been thinking over what you said last week, and I really have missed not coming to the stables. I really will try and be different.'

'That's really good to hear.' Mrs. Armatage smiled and continued, 'But I do think you should still be punished for what you have already done. It will also serve as a reminder just in case you succumb to the temptations your money makes possible. You've seen how I punished Jenny,' she picked up the cane and gently flicked it, 'I think you should have the same punishment. It will also prove that you're serious about changing your attitudes.' Allison stood there open-mouthed not knowing what to say. She had seen how Jenny had suffered from Mrs. Armatage's strong right arm and she had no wish to suffer a similar experience. On the other hand she had been lonely and bored for the last week since she had been banned from visiting the stables. Now she had the chance to return if she was prepared to endure what promised to be a very painful experience.

'All right Mrs. Armatage, I'm ready to let you punish me.'

'Come over by the desk and get undressed,' said Mrs. Armatage, flicking the cane gently back and forwards.

Allison slipped her trousers down her legs, and then pulled her jumper over her head and stood there in her underwear. Unlike Jenny, Allison was a full-grown woman and her choice of underwear reflected this: the thin skimpy black panties hardly covered her full round bottom, and the uplift matching bra barely held her ample bosom in place. Submissively she bent over the desk and felt Mrs. Armatage pull her pants down. Although the thin material had not offered much protection she felt more helpless knowing that they rested around her ankles and her bottom seemed to tingle at being exposed to the air. She waited for what seemed hours with her bottom, naked and defenceless sticking up into the air. And then it came! There was a searing pain across her buttocks and she gasped in pain. In her mind's eye she could see the red welt staining her white flesh, but before she could give much thought to the pain the second stroke landed just below the first. Her whole body contorted with a pain she had never thought existed and she twisted and writhed in an effort to shake the pain away. The low-cut bra finally gave up its vain attempts to confine Allison's full large breasts and the white globes flopped over the black material, the brown nipples erect in a mixture of pain and erotic excitement. Allison was unaware that her breasts were now in full view, and had she been aware it would not have caused her any concern. All her mind was taken up with the pain that swamped her brain and drove away all other thoughts.

Mrs. Armatage looked at the sobbing girl who twisted and writhed in agony across her desk. She saw the black strip that was Allison's bra lying under her breasts, contrasting with her white skin. Looking down her back to the smooth white bottom she saw the twin red stripes that cut across each cheek. There was no doubt that Allison was in pain, and Mrs. Armatage felt sorry for the girl. But she knew she was doing the girl a kindness by punishing her like this. The pain and humiliation she was suffering would stay in her memory for a long time, and would help her to change her attitudes. Mrs. Armatage was worried that if Allison continued using her father's money to buy pleasure and her way out of any responsibility she would never know any true friends or real happiness, and hard though the punishment might be it was a small price for Allison to pay for her future happiness. She raised the cane and heard the supple instrument swish as it cut through the air and landed on Allison's bottom. She gasped a wordless cry and twisted her body across the desk, sending papers and books flying onto the floor. She rolled onto her side, facing Mrs. Armatage, hoping to keep her tender and sore bottom out of the way of the stinging stick.

'Please Mrs. Armatage,' she cried, 'No more, please.'

'I gave Jenny six strokes, Allison' she heard Mrs. Armatage reply, and her voice seemed very faint, as if she stood a long way off. 'I think it's only fair that you receive the same.'

Gently but strongly Mrs. Armatage turned Allison over onto her stomach on the desk. Allison's breasts pressed against the smooth polished wood and to her pain-wracked mind her bottom seemed to be jutting into the air, awaiting the strokes she knew would follow. She heard the ominous swish as the cane rushed to meet her and she felt her flesh darken into a red line where the cane had landed. Two more blows followed and her whole bottom flamed with pain. She could not tell which parts of the cheeks had actually received the blows and lying there on the desk she was not even certain how many strokes she had received. She felt Mrs. Armatage helping her off the desk and to her feet. She stood there, sobbing not knowing what to do until Mrs. Armatage indicated she should get dressed.

'Now Allison, I hope I shall never have cause to re-introduce you to my cane. If you go to the last stall I'm sure you'll find Jenny there, rubbing cream onto her sore bottom. Now go along girl, and mind you behave in future.'

Allison nodded as she left, and Mrs. Armatage turned to the business of tidying up her desk.

* * *

Twenty minutes later Mrs. Armatage peered through the door of the stall, and saw Allison lying on the straw, her trousers and pants once again around her ankles. Jenny knelt beside her and was gently applying cream to the red-striped bottom. Mrs. Armatage smiled and left the two girls, thinking to herself that a punishment shared is a good basis for the start of a friendship.

Postscript.

Mrs. Armatage was right Jenny and Allison became firm friends, although they were both to suffer the sting of the cane on another occasion. The punishments changed Allison and despite her money she changed from a selfish spoilt girt into a kind feeling friend.

What It's Like

Story from old Swish.

What It's Like

Jane was nervous and shifted her long legs about uncomfortably, perched as she was on the side of a single bed in her dorm while Nicky fiddled with her hair in front of a small dressing table mirror, her black miniskirt lying slung on her own bed which ran parallel to Jane's.

"Do they.... do they always cane girls in the evening here?" Jane asked. It was only her third day at St Catherine's and so far she had only been spanked once, and that by the gym mistress who – shamefully as far as Jane was concerned – had attended to her, knicks down, over a vaulting horse while the other girls watched with a mixture of excitement and awe as her bottom had reddened to the fierce smacks.

"Yes", Nicky said and leaned forward to see if her eyelash-black had 'caught'. It had, and they looked all right, she thought. Why she had to have a new girl like Jane in with her, she didn't know. It was part of the new system, or that at least was the whisper. Nicky had preferred being in with Carole who had, like herself, almost completed her month's term. At least they were both a bit more experienced and could talk about it. Jane obviously didn't know much yet, and her next question showed it.

"Well, why? Why in the evenings?" Jane asked. – "Because you have to get used to being seen to just before bed", Nicky wanted to say bluntly, but instead she just shrugged and said, "It's the custom, I suppose. It's worse being caned on an empty tummy, I can tell you. At least when I've got a good supper down me and a couple of glasses of wine, well.... You must have known you were going to be caned here, Jane, or at least you knew it was strict, didn't you?" she asked almost accusingly.

"Not as bad as being caned – I didn't expect that", Jane said moodily, "I'm sure I won't be able to stand it; I don't know how you can".

More decisively then Nicky turned away from inspecting herself and swung herself across so that she sat facing Jane between the two beds with their knees touching. – "Jane, can I give you a bit of advice? May I? You have to learn to go into the cane. They call it.... Well, they call it "offering" here. You'll not only have to learn to take it, but you'll learn postures, too. Have you... I mean, d'you mind if I ask you – have you been spanked, before you came?"

Jane blushed and swung her legs up, lying on her back along her bed with one arm over her eyes as if to protect them from the light. She could feel Nicky watching her, waiting for her reply. – "A bit", she said. It was no use saying she hadn't, and anyway it wouldn't be true. With a start the felt Nicky glide down beside her as if comfortingly. – "And it wasn't TOO bad? I mean, not absolutely awful, Jane. Did you get a cuddle afterwards?"

Jane swallowed and nodded. Something inside her told her she was 'awkward' – as had been said to her. She remembered wriggling and sobbing pettishly and feeling her hot reddened bulb being momentarily caressed by two strong seeking hands while she lay mulishly on the bed afterwards. – "It was awful," she said, whereat Jane half sat up over her and ran a speculative finger along Jane's lower lip. – "I don't s'pose it really was; you only allow yourself to think it was Jane. We all have to learn to put our naked bums up here, that's what".

"N...naked?" cried Jane, sitting up so that their noses bumped, and this bringing a surprised laugh from Jane. – "But what did you expect, darling? Don't tell me your skirt was down when you were spanked". Jane shook her head. She was spilling out more than she had ever intended to. – "I had my nightie on", she mumbled.

Yes, and your panties halfway down your legs, Nicky thought, but didn't say so. – "Well, then, what's the difference? You' re really learning poise here, Jane. We all screech at first, but we get used to it. Well, sort of", she added with a giggle. This evening would be special – she knew that. Her mouth felt a bit dry at the thought and in just half an hour she would be 'poised', as she had been trying to get over to Jane.

But Jane had to learn the hard way, Nicky decided. After all, they all did. The very idea of coming to St Catherine's on just a short-stay term was that there was an atmosphere of discipline here, and it was applied impartially, if one could call finger-tasting impartial. But that was part of it, too. That was the lead-in. The cane brought submissiveness, and Miss Marston was as bad as any of them, if bad was the word.

Miss Marston was thirty and some of the girls soon enough got a crush on her. It was clever, Nicky realised, that a curvy, soft-spoken female should be one's first teacher in certain respects. – "I don't want you to think about who I am, or even whether I am male or female, Nicky", she had been told on her first 'inspection and posture' night in the gym.

The gym was the place where you really got started, and not in front of other girls either. When it was dusk you knocked, tripped in and found Miss Marston waiting for you. And she would be smiling as if to say 'Welcome!' Miss Marston always blindfolded you first, as if to say "It doesn't matter where you are or who you are with". You were given a warning then not to jerk or snatch away as inspecting hands then flipped up the back of your black pleated skirt and unveiled your knickered bottom. Tight knicks were important – bottom-tight – because you had to learn to display that way.

"Hold skirt – up – UP!" Nicky remembered being told briskly while Miss Marston stood just behind her and Nicky could see nothing through the black velvet band across her eyes. Then the teacher's voice would come softly, "Well now, what have we here? Oh, beautiful isn't it? Stick it out a bit more, Nicky. Dip your back. Good. Stand perfectly still now, legs together. Keep your skirt up, Miss. This is Posture One – inspection. First inspection, shall we say? Still, I said – don't waver!"

"Shall we have Posture Two now?" Miss Marston's lulling voice would continue, "I want you to reach behind you, Nicky, and push your tight knicks down to below your black stocking tops. Just do it nice and slowly, as if you want to show it, darling. Yes – good – a bit more. Fine! Now hold your skirt up again. Lovely and round and smooth, aren't we? You see that bar in front of you? Now, sorry, of course, you can't, but if you let me guide you down.... No, it's O.K., you'll be safe. There – yes – just grasp hold of it while I unclip your skirt and – ah, there, you see – it's off!"

Bare-bottomed then and with urging injunctions to push her bottom out more, Nicky had 'shown' herself, and evidently to Miss Marston's approval. The blindfold helped, though. It was almost as if she could persuade herself that she didn't know what she was doing, showing her cleft like this.

"I believe you displayed a couple of times before you came here, Nicky, but not too willingly, eh? Well, we must do something about that, mustn't we? THIS is much, much better. Out more, please – right out towards me – good! This is a really splendid Posture Two, Nicky. You CAN do it, you see, but you felt embarrassed and selfconscious before, didn't you? I'm going to teach you not to be. I'm going to teach you ACCEPTANCE, Nicky. Your knicks have slid down below your knees now. No – don't move! Just spread your legs more and keep them taut. Ah yes – excellent, darling, excellent! NOW, what is the word we NEVER say when our knicks are down and we're bending over. Do you know it, Nicky?"

"No", answered Nicky truthfully enough, though if she had had time to really think about it.... but it was too late by then.

"That's the word, darling, yes – the word we never say, but we are going to be quiet, Nicky, very quiet. And do you know why, Nicky? Because I'm now holding a cane, and a nice sensible girl who is offering her bare bottom keeps as quiet as she can at times like this. It's best for all concerned, isn't it? Quiet now. No mote talking, darling", Miss Marston said just as if Nicky had herself been chattering away all the time.

But it wasn't the cane that came first to the breathlessly-waiting girl. It was a finger. The finger was curled and came up under the blissful bulb of Nicky's bottom and teased along the ridge formed by her puckered lovelips – whereat Nicky regrettably jerked. Regrettably, for no sooner had she done so (wilfully and rebelliously, as the teacher thought of it) than ZOOOO-WITT! came the right across her outstretched bum, bringing a whining cry from her that floated up to the gymnasium ceiling and then bounced off.

"I THOUGHT I said QUIET, Nicky", came Miss Marston's voice at length. "And when I say quiet...."

But that sentence was never finished, for precisely at that moment tapered fingers slid around and under Nicky's sleek tummy and soothed her love-notch again, causing Nicky's nostrils to pinch at the dual sensation she was then experiencing while the deep stinging resounded through her naked bottom still. Straining desperately, Nicky kept very quiet. The only movement was in the shimmering of her tummy as fingertips coaxed her pouting lips and rambled for a moment in the surrounding thicket of curls.

"Good, Nicky – that's VERY good. Now, two more, Miss, and I want this bottom of yours RIGHT out, please. No – even more than that. Yes, better. Keep those knicks stretched. I want you to feel that you're going to come into the cane, Nicky – come into it. Push your bottom out and up to meet it."

"GEEE-YEEEK!" Nicky had squealed then as a searing streak of fire seemed to course across her offered halfmoons. It was getting dark by then in the gym but Nicky didn't realise that under her blindfold. Her entire sensations were wrapped up in the fearful burning that invaded her with that second striping. Her hips waggled madly as if to shake it off, but for some reason Miss Marston didn't chide her for her screech. Unknown to Nicky she was more interested in the maintenance of her posture. Hard as it was to do so, Nicky had managed to keep her botty pushed out.

You little devil, Miss Marston thought admiringly and with a surprised, if muffled "OOOH-WE!" from Nicky she again cupped her plump young quim from the front while her free hand came with the sharpest of smacks into the girl's already deeply-stinging bottom.

"GOO-HOO! NO!" Nicky wailed, gripping the supporting bar even tighter.

SMACK! came Miss Marston's hand again and therewith another soulful "WO-WOH!" that was broken into sharply by her gym teacher saying crisply, "It's a Friday night, Nicky, and your panties are down. What is it?"

Unable to gather her wits for a moment and with the bulb of her superb arse already feeling as if it were in flames, Nicky failed to answer, endeavouring as she was to choke down sobs and further cries. But at such a moment Miss Marston would have none of that. – "I said it is a Friday night, Nicky. What did I say?" SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! And the red streaks left by the cane were then splurged into the stinging impact left by her palm and fingers.

"FRI-HI-DAY night! WOOOO!" Nicky sobbed.

"And your knickers are down and you're being good, aren't you, Nicky, eh!" SMACK-SPLATT!

"GOOO-WAAAAR! Yes! Yes, yes, yes!" Nicky blathered and was rewarded then by a gentle stroking of both her bottom and her cupped slit that made her bottom roll and wriggle. There was a sicky-burning, breathless feeling in her that invaded her slim body like a gentle cloud. She could hear herself hissing through her nose; quickly, quickly. Everything was swirling, and it was dark, dark, dark under the blindfold.

"It's a Friday night, Nicky, isn't it – or maybe a rainy Sunday afternoon, isn't it?" came Miss Marston's insistent whisper and therewith choking gurgles from Nicky who could feel her cunny getting stickier and stickier on the teacher's palm.

"DOO-DOOO-DAH!" Nicky whimpered incoherently. There were fireworks now in both her tummy and bottom. She could feel the moist fleshiness of herself rubbing sleekly over Miss Marston's cupping palm and the sicky, tingling feeling was increasing and seemed almost to be encouraged by the heat in her cleft peach which itself seemed swollen and wanting, wanting.... but surely not the smacks or the cane again? Her hips had begun to jerk, and not to the displeasure of her teacher who unknown to Nicky was smiling as she listened to every small sound the girl had emitted and felt every nubile movement of her as yet unsatisfied crotch.

But Miss Marston knew that this was no time to bring an L-plate spankee to fruition. They had to be kept waiting for it and in that way they would, whether consciously or not, associate discipline with final fulfilment and aftercare – which, as she could sense, Nicky was as all but ripe for.

"We'll have you cock-ready soon enough, darling", the teacher thought, but of a sudden – and to Nicky near despair as her cunny really began to bubble – she removed her teasing fingers from under the girl's crotch and brought Nicky upright, peeling off her blindfold and bringing the girl to press the top of her head blushingly (and with more urgent wriggling of her hips) against her teacher's fulsome and prominent tits.

As much as Miss Marston would have adored kneeling and tongueing Nicky's sticky pussy then, she knew she must resist it. There were several schools of thought about that, but the leading one at the moment was that the cock should go in first and give a girl a pulsing creaming after the cane, or even – in some cases – after a good spanking. Miss Marston's delirious tonguings came later – sometimes immediately afterwards or sometimes during a confidential cuddle in her bed an hour or so later.

When Mr Hebden, the Principal, caned Nicky it was different. Or at least it was at first. He instilled obedience simply by sternness. – "When a door is closed on you – when your knickers are down, Nicky, and the cane waits for you – you become suppliant, conscious of your need to be obedient to the older male. That is the understanding here. This is the principle on which we work. I tell you this because you have now been here for ten days and are beginning to understand. Do you understand, Nicky?" he had asked her.

Nicky had hung her head. She was already hanging her knickers, with her skirt held dutifully up and Mr Hebden had several times glanced approvingly at her fresh, plump bush where the tops of her thighs curved very, very slightly inwards to leave a tiny, inviting gap even when her legs were closed.

"A little bit," she had ventured. Mr Hebden liked you putting on a silly little voice and she did her best to sound fifteen rather than the eighteen and a bit that she was.

"A little bit will be enough for the moment, Nicky. The cane will teach you the rest. Loosen your skirt now and take it off, together with your knickers. Undo your tie and unbutton your blouse and then walk slowly to the desk. Yes, Nicky, now!"

It was such a blatant, naughty thing to do, and yet Nicky knew she had to respond. The gentle waving back and forth of the cane in his hand told her so. There were always whispers around the college that if you were quick and obedient, you only got three instead of six. If you were silly and awkward then you might get eight, or more, and Nicky couldn't bear to think of that.

"You look very beautiful, Nicky. Now, let me see your posture", Mr Hebden had said, not taking his eyes off of her midriff where his vision scanned her then half visible titties, the whorl of her navel and the thickly-curled puff of her mount. Conscious that her black self-supporting stockings were drawn up tight, Nicky swallowed and ventured closer to the desk, her movements making her open blouse flutter and her brown nipples show.

When she bent, dutifully and hoping that it would be only three, she had parted her slim legs as Miss Marston had told her to, and orbed out her bottom. It was partly true, as she was beginning to realise, that if you went INTO the cane, it wasn't quite so bad. – "Remember your future Friday nights, Nicky", the gym mistress had said before Nicky had gone into the Principal's study.

It was warm in there at least and her bottom felt warm – warm and exposed, its cleft fully shown for his approval – as she dimly hoped, though conscious that her legs-open, jutting position also revealed the fig of her nest, or her 'haven', as Miss Marston called it. A haven was somewhere where one came to rest, Nicky told herself, and knew that something exceedingly naughty was going to happen to her, and that that was really why her bottom was stuck out for it.

Mr Hebden praised her posture, though. That was something. He even stepped back more to admire the view of her twinky, stockinged legs and the peeping thatch under her tremulously-waiting bulb. But then when she heard him step forward again, Nicky knew he was ready for it – and so, in every sense except eagerness – so was she.

"We have learned to be quiet, I believe", Mr Hebden intoned, flexing the whippy cane in his hand. Nicky didn't know whether she was supposed to reply to that, but decided finally on silence. – "Silence means consent, you know, Nicky", Miss Marston had told her, added "Especially when your panties are being rolled down".

"WHEEE-OOOH!" squeaked Nicky in the next second, for the first came sooner than she had bargained for. Surreptitiously she had even come up a bit on her toes to give Mr Hebden a better 'peep', and although it was an excellent pointer that he didn't fail to note, he still knew that Nicky was 'treatment-due'. Otherwise she could still prove giggly and frisky if a cock-touch was put up to her too soon.

Mr Hebden allowed Nicky a full twenty second of quiet sobbing then before he silently swept back the cane again and again he measured the distance. The first red streak showed beautifully. One did not wait until it 'spread'.

"THOW-OOOCH!" came Nicky's slightly louder cry at the next which he skilfully placed an inch under the first. Artistry was all, as Mr Hebden often smugly told himself. She wasn't roof-screeching, at least. Miss Marston had done as good a job on her as was possible, and in any case Nicky seemed to be a natural. What she HAD to be taught was to take the cane first. Ideally the very sight of a cane held in a waiting hand in a bedroom would henceforth bring her to automatically begin easing up her skirt – if skirt she was wearing, and not a nightie.

Nicky – who knew nothing of the subtleties of such thoughts – uttered another howling wail, and even louder this time as, after a due interval of 'soaking in', the cane took her right under her bulb, making her toes strain up and her black high heels lift an inch off the carpet. – "NO-HO-HO, sir. PLEASE!" came her beseeching sob, but Mr Hebden was implacable. The fees that he called for demanded that he should be.

"You are NOT thrusting it out to me, Nicky", he uttered sternly. – "HOOO-WOO-WOO, I'm t...t...trying, sir, I am", Nicky sobbed, squeezing her bumcheeks tight and purposefully allowing him to see that she was doing so by her vivid muscular contractions.

"ARE you – are you really, Nicky? Then let us have another obedience test, please. I want your top off, and quickly. Up straight, girl, and do it. Cast it aside together with your tie – and now, TURN!"

"SOO-HOOO-HOOO!" Nicky sobbed blindly as she obeyed and made to bend again, her quivering nipples bared completely and brushing the top of his polished desk. It was the first time she had stood in stockings and high heels only in front of a man and her bottom was raging hot and there were tears blurring her eyes, and she wanted something, she wanted something, but not the awful cane! – "P...please, sir", she stammered, trying to peep at him under her arm.

"Yes, Nicky, what? Quickly, girl?" – "Well, sir, I want to be good, I do, really, but please don't cane me again – please!"

A silence followed that – a silence so awesome that Nicky wondered whether he had ignored her plea and was flexing that wicked cane again. But then.... "You want to lie down, Nicky?" he asked and received her slow, gulping "Yes". Perhaps it was then that Mr Hebden wondered if he had spoken too quickly, too impulsively for once, but the way her hips waggled as Nicky walked to the waiting couch told him that it was time for her – almost.

When Nicky subsided and rolled on to her back (the movement making her hot bottom squirm even more), she knew it was the most wicked thing she had ever done. Well almost. Up to then at least. But it was when Mr Hebden leaned forward and carefully slipped the cane under one limp wrist and moved her hand pointedly towards her crotch that Nicky knew, with flushed face and biting lip, what he wanted to see her do next.

The room blurred then and her eyes half closed, and her finger began to move in rhythm with her bouncing bottom, and she couldn't help herself, even though he was watching her, watching the frank opening of her legs; but after all it would be Friday nights soon....

Mandy

Story from Roue 01.

Mandy

I had never done this kind of thing before, but working three evenings a week as a waitress in such a posh restaurant sounds good to tell your friends. But my reason was different.

I am a show-off at heart, and the thought of all those eyes looking at my legs gave me a big thrill. Of course, it wasn't just the men that looked, and I was surprised at the effect it had on me when I saw women eyeing me too. I kidded my friends that the short skirt and frilly knickers were embarrassing to wear, but I knew I'd never been so happy in my life before as I was parading around half-naked to the world in this socially accepted outfit.

Being a club rule 'not to touch the merchandise' did please me at first, but I soon noticed the other girls let the customers touch their thighs and pinch their bums and things, when they knew they'd get a bigger tip. Pretty soon I found myself getting the urge to be patted and pinched – not that I needed the extra cash – but this whole situation was bringing out all kinds of new sexual sensations for me.

So I chose my admirers on my way round the tables. I would sidle up to them at the appropriate times, when I thought no one was looking, and lean over at a convenient distance, to allow them to fondle my bottom while serving their soup course, and pretend to be surprised. I would give a little jump, making sure his or her partner had not seen anything and follow this with a twinkling smile – to reflect my pleasure. This being the first course it gave them plenty of time and I gave them the opportunity to repeat their admiring appreciation of my legs and tempting behind.

I had never ever enjoyed myself so much and the satisfaction at being so widely admired by so many made me wiggle around and bend over lower than I ever had before.

Even the other restaurant staff seemed to be more friendly and passed some quite rude remarks when I dropped some cutlery one day. So I made the most of that too, and made a habit of dropping things or brushing past the other staff closer than necessary. I was enjoying myself, and look at all those people I was pleasing, and I did it all so discreetly.

But I was making one big mistake – while I was being so careful not to let other customers see my well-planned enjoyments – there was one person I had forgotten to hide from, the one person I should have played up to all along – the head waiter.

While I was lapping up all this attention, I hadn't realised he was watching me and wanting to touch me too. But he chose his moment to let me know.

* * * *

It was a quiet night just after Christmas so he let half the waitresses leave early, knowing full well I'd volunteer to stay late. He called me over to give me the new menus, as he'd decided to cut out some dishes. So I went with him to his office to collect them.

'After YOU,' he stood back and let me pass in front of him and suddenly I was landed with such a slap on my bottom. Well, that was nice I thought, but said: 'Ouch,' and spun round to see whether his face was pleased with his gesture or was I going to get a telling off? He actually giggled. 'Bit harder than usual was it?' he was obviously pleased with himself.

'I don't know what you mean,' I said, wondering just how much he'd seen.

'Well it's only the customer/staff rule this "look but don't touch" you know. No rules between staff, I've made sure of that.'

'Oh, I wasn't complaining, you just took me by surprise.' I thought I'd better not cross him, and anyway I had enjoyed it.

'That's good,' he smiled and gave me a gentle push on my bum to get me into the office. Once inside he shut the door.

'I have never inspected you properly, have I?'

'Inspected?' I wondered what he meant exactly.

'Your uniform – for size and appearance I mean, stand over there and turn round slowly.'

This was bliss, individual and complete attention, and he wasn't a bad looking guy either. I tried to look shy and appealing, I had no ambitions of being a beauty queen type – they've got that 'untouchable' look!

'Mmm, it looks different when you're standing still, walk around a bit.'

So I walked round his desk, then when I got to his waste-paper bin, he said: 'Stop! Pick the bin up for me.'

Then I realised what he wanted – I bent right over and then he walked up to me: 'Stay down there where you are. My, no wonder all those customers have such a good time. Do you know the restaurant is more profitable on your nights on than the rest of the week? Everybody seems to eat more when you're serving, or at least order more courses, and no wonder. Has anyone ever told you what a lovely bum you have?'

'Well, no, not in so many words.' This was true, nobody had actually talked about it before!

'It's unfortunate you have to go back right now, but I can't really spare you.' As he said this both his hands landed softly one on each of my cheeks and squeezed them with the fullness of his hands very firmly and warmly. The sensation was different and sent tingles up my spine. Then he fondled my thighs, still with both hands. Then the stinging smack on the bottom. I shot up with a start.

'I don't like you girls flaunting yourselves in front of the customers like you do. But in the circumstances, you do have quite a number of regular customers so it's worth keeping you on.'

I was bewildered by this new superior attitude. He'd seemed so friendly at first, enjoying me like the rest. Then I realised he was probably testing me to see if I resisted. When you think about it, if the other girls just let the customers touch them for the tip afterwards, it's likely they didn't enjoy it as much as me. I suppose in that case, if Mr Carey, the Head Waiter, had approached the others as he had me, they might have slapped his face or something. Perhaps it was a nice surprise for him that I was so good. Anyway, it had been a nice surprise for me, and that was all that was important at the time.

'I don't want to leave Sir, but you can't be rude to the customers you know.'

'It doesn't pay to ignore your head waiter either. Well take these menus before someone starts screaming for them. We'll have to continue your inspection later.'

I patted my hair to be sure it looked tidy when I left, and smiled my twinkling smile, well rehearsed by now.

'Of course,' I said, 'I hadn't ignored you, you know. But I don't encourage the customers. With these uniforms they can't resist trying to touch us, you must have noticed?'

'Well, I have eyes too! Go on, hurry back and I'll expect to see you in here before you go home.'

Another shove on my behind, this time he made sure my skirt was up, so his hand felt quite solid, with just my cotton knickers between his palm and my wobbly flesh.

I felt quite flushed when I got back onto the restaurant floor and had to hurry round with the new menus as the new set of customers arrived. It took me a little time before I regained my usual rhythm and I was preoccupied the rest of the night with my newfound admirer. I was disappointed that he didn't appear at all, as I was really looking forward to the knowledge that his eyes would be on me all the time. So when the last of my customers had left and I had cleared everything, I made my way to the staff room to change before going to see Mr Carey.

'This way please, Mandy.' I heard his voice from behind me. I looked round to make certain no one else could see where I was going and as though walking on air, I followed him to his room again.

Had he been watching me without me knowing? I wondered. He must have, or how would he have known when I was coming? Somehow I knew this would be a new kind of experience. I was quite excited. I remembered his hands squeezing my bum and the tingles of pleasure when he touched my thighs. Before, when the customers touched me and the staff said rude things, it was always in a crowded place, but now I was ready for the next step.

* * * *

I wouldn't say that I was sore after my spanking, but it really did sting, and it must have been very red. I wondered if there were any hand marks on my bottom. I could hardly wait to go and look in the mirror.

I was still on my knees and now Mr Carey lifted his arm from my back so that I could get to my feet. He sat back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk. He looked me up and down as though undressing me slowly with his eyes.

'I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did,' he said very knowingly.

I suppose anybody else would have been annoyed to get such a smacking without any other reason except: 'You've got a lovely bum.' I wasn't sure exactly how to react to his remark. I didn't want to appear too easy, but on the other hand I didn't want to discourage him!

'Was I supposed to enjoy it?' I heard myself saying.

'Well, it would surprise me if you didn't. Come on, pull them down, let's see the result.'

Tingles ran down my spine again. Here was someone who really turned me on. I had my back towards him, slipped a hand under my skirt and yanked the elastic down over my cheeks to the top of my thighs and bent over a little.

'You're a good girl. I ought to reward you more often.'

'Thank you sir,' I said smilingly and with a bob-curtsy.

I heard him spin on his chair and his feet hit the floor as his hands grabbed me round the waist. I was pulled round and over his lap.

WHACK!! One cracking palm stung me on my bare bottom, before I had time to realise what he was doing.

'Ouch! – What's going...'

'Mandy, you're too irresistable. We can't have you going home with the job only half done!'

With one hand between me and his legs, squeezing my breasts and tickling my ribs with his finger-tips, and the other patting me gently between the loud smacks, I could have got up at any time. But I had no desire but to lie there bouncing up and down in pure enjoyment.

His hand slipped down my top and his fingers wriggled about my tits, pinching my nipples and prodding the flesh in rhythm with the patting the other end.

I could tell that he knew I was wallowing in absolute pleasure. My bottom jogged up and down obediently with the slapping of his big, firm hand.

'Ow!' and 'Oh!' slipped out when the smacks made their mark on my bare buttocks. My breasts were kneaded and squeezed, pinched and fondled. My whole body wriggled with excitement.

I felt completely relaxed and exhilerated with this experience.

'You've got a lovely bottom,' he would say when another sharp slap stung my reddening cheeks. Then patted and stroked them, coaxing me to wriggle with the anticipation of another series of playful smacks.

My knickers were still tight under my cheeks until, with the next SMACK! I lurched forward then backwards with the shove of his other hand. Now, with a palm pressed tightly under one breast, the other gently eased my knickers down my legs. I kicked off my shoes as he slithered the cotton pants down my legs and his fingers tickled my thighs. He said: 'Down they come, down, down, down, down!' I worked them off my ankles and they were kicked away as another series of cracking slaps hit my unprepared bum with more force than before.

A strange new fieryness had gripped him – his slapping was stronger and his other hand was now holding me firmly with both my wrists pulled down towards the floor.

The fondling and patting had stopped, and the next ten minutes or so was his enjoyment. I found it physically exhausting and my bottom and thighs were getting more and more sore. Each slap hurt more than the last. I wriggled then pulled, then jumped up and down, and side to side, trying to avoid his stinging palm. My pleas and objections didn't have any effect.

I bounced off his lap completely twice. The first time, he shot his slapping hand under my belly, picked me off the carpet, bottom upwards, and placed me back on his legs without saying a thing.

The second time, he knelt down, pinning my legs down to the ground with one of his knees. He grabbed a ruler from the desk and struck my left cheek with such a BANG! that I tried to jump up, but had no option but to lay there, writhing on the floor under his heavy grasp, taking several WHACKS! and CRACKS! with the pain penetrating my sore, sore bottom.

'Oh no!' WHACK! 'Owwww!'

'Don't – no more, no, no.' CRACK! 'Ahhh.'

Then he spoke: 'One more for luck.'

At that I cried out again. 'Stop please, PLEASE, I can't take any more.' Tears filled my eyes as I buried my face into the carpet.

SWACK!

The last blow hit my burning cheeks with a resounding sting. He let my hands go, and I encircled my head with my arm, trying to stifle the sobs.

My bum was numb but my thighs were burning. My body collapsed with utter fatigue. I lay there for some time half dazed.

'Oh Mandy, Mandy, you're marvellous.' His voice entered my weary stupor. Somehow he eased my aching body from the floor and he stood there with his arms clasped gently round my waist. He cupped my bum cheeks in his large, strong hands. He rubbed me fondly, pressing himself closely to me, my breasts sinking into his chest so softly. I was nearly tempted to respond to this invitation, but knew I had to give him something to look forward to. And anyway, I was pretty tired. I gave him a peck on his cheek. 'I feel better now, thank you.'

He smiled, as though understanding my gesture. He let me go. 'You'd better get ready to go home, now you've recovered my dear.' He spoke softly and then stroked my bottom gently. It still felt numb – but I began to feel myself again, with a certain glow about me.

As I dressed, he half-busied himself in the office, putting things away, but still glancing at me periodically.

'Well, how d'you feel then?' he asked as I was putting my jeans on with some difficulty.

'Strange,' I said, 'I feel strange. You could say I'm glowing all over.'

I eased the seat of my jeans over my injured behind, but decided not to try and do them up just yet.

'Hmmm, good description!' he smiled, putting on his overcoat.

'You were very fierce, I mean I wasn't expecting a real pasting you know?'

'It's for your own good dear.'

'But I thought you said I was a good girl?' I had to stand up, even though the chair looked so inviting.

'Yes, that's the point.'

I looked up at him quizically, still holding on to the waist of my jeans to keep them from falling down.

'Well, you're such a good girl, one day someone's going to take advantage of you.'

'I may be good, but I'm also careful.' I tried to sound reassuring.

'Yes, but our customers are no saints, and some day you're going to be temped by one of them.'

'Me? Oh no!'

'Well, you've had plenty of invitations I'm sure. You don't have to answer that. I didn't have you here to chastise you.' He walked over and patted my poor bottom again. 'It's too pretty a bum to be mistreated.' I was still puzzled but didn't want to appear stupid.

'Come on, I'll take you home and explain properly in the car.' He waved me out of the door, and I carried my uniform to the Staff Room. 'If you put your coat on, you won't have to do your jeans up yet.' He sounded as if this wasn't the first time he'd hurt a poor girl's bottom.

I was astounded with his cold calculated reasoning. I had been right, he had had trouble with the other girls, although he didn't say so in so many words.

'When you're out for all you can get from the customers, you know the ones who can afford to take liberties,' was the way he told me the other waitresses played it. But in my case, he said, I doubled their pleasure by actually enjoying it, so pretty soon, he reasoned, I would feel the necessity to extend that enjoyment, and to discover a more fulfilling experience.

'Some girls need putting down a peg or two when they're working under me, if you see what I mean,' he said with a smile. I thought I saw! 'But you'll find it a pleasure, after tonight, I know you will!'

Had I not gained this valuable and rewarding experience from him, I might never have appreciated the extent of the possibilities open to me. He made it quite clear that I would not find it necessary to go elsewhere for my satisfaction. For himself, he would enjoy it all the more, watching others trying to lure me away, knowing that all the while he would be the one to administer the fulfilling experience.

And so it was, Little Miss Mandy would be getting her sexual emotions stirred up by his customers, ready for the eventual satisfaction waiting for her in the Head Waiter's room. The plan certainly did have a happy ending!