Saturday, 12 May 2012

Wednesday Practice

Story from Uniform Girls 21.

Wednesday Practice

High in the church tower the bell tolls out the hours: One... Two... Three... Nine O'Clock. An owl hoots in accompaniement: a warning to small creatures to lie low, stay close to their nests. As we may assume most human inhabitants of the village are staying close to theirs. The telly of course; the lives of most of them nowadays will revolve around the telly. The Nine O'Clock News. Some others will naturally be in the pub, The Cock Pheasant, but for those individuals, most of them, this will be their normal evening habitat. But one or two are not at home or in the Pheasant.

Delia Greenaway for one.

In spite of her spouse's protests. 'Your choir night's Mondays. Why every Wednesday as well?'

The Greenaways, Delia and Raymond, 21 and 23 respectively, have been joined in holy wedlock for less than a year. It is perhaps little wonder therefore that Raymond, no chorister himself, feels some annoyance at this loss of connubial evenings. He complains but of course he knows the answer.

'You know why, Raymond. I need the practice. You know Mr Plummer says I've got talent and it needs developing. I wish you wouldn't try to make me feel guilty all the time.'

The talents of Delia which interest Raymond lie in another direction: though if he says something along these lines he will be accused of being crude and never thinking of anything else. 'And anyway...'

Anyway those talents are displayed, practised, in the Greenaways solid double bed and Delia is not reluctant in that respect. It is only that Raymond does like to refer to it in a way Delia finds embarrassing, and does seem always to be thinking about it. There are other things to be thinking about. The choir, singing, for instance.

So on this Wednesday evening Delia is not at home, Summertime Cottage, where a disgruntled Raymond is glowering alone at the Nine O'Clock News presenter. Delia is at Mr Plummer's. Mr Plummer, Oswald, is choir-master at St. Margaret's.

They are in the cosy sitting room. Just Delia and Mr Plummer. It is of course a private lesson. Others in the choir are not deemed to need this extra tuition. But then others do not look like Delia. Not at all. Stunningly yellow-blonde, violet-blue eyed, with handsome, firmly chiselled features. And of course the rest of her. A stunning figure too, mouth-watering, which no doubt at this moment, were she at home at Summertime Cottage, Raymond the insatiable spouse would be grappling to get at even though it is only nine o'clock and what he wants is not proper for the lounge sofa (even, such is Raymond's depravity, the lounge floor) at nine o'clock in the evening.

This stunning form is not clothed as when Delia left home this evening. No, it is not in that neat blouse and skirt she was wearing when saying goodbye to irate Raymond ('I won't be late.') It is not actually an outfit Raymond has seen. Raymond, Delia is quite sure, would not understand. It is... well, it is just a little thing between chorister and choirmaster. A jokey little thing you could say. Well, a sort of joke. Mr Plummer said it was his little joke when he first produced it. Because it is a sort of variant of the normal chorister's robe — but this particular variant is not one a young lady chorister would think to wear in church. Or anywhere else in public. For the skirt of the robe is extremely short. The hem mid-thigh high. To show off sexy white, lacy-patterned stockings. Proper stockings, not tights, their tops fastened to the slim straps of a white suspender belt. The skirt of the chorister's robe is sufficiently short that these suspender straps, and bare thigh, can be seen in any slight bending movement Delia makes.

Not that Delia is bending at this moment. She is standing at Mr Plummer's side, in the white high-heeled courts which are also part of this outfit, while Mr Plummer discusses something: one of the works they are to practise. As Mr Plummer speaks...

One hesitates to say this, especially when one is mindful of Raymond Greenaway back at their home morosely watching the news. But still, he is not likely to find out and what the eye does not see, etc. Mr Plummer, then, has his hand up Delia's skirt. Up the back of that short skirt and it is fondling Delia's bottom which is clad — more accurately partially clad — in a vestigal pair of cobwebby white knickers. (These knickers are part of Mr Plummer's special outfit too.) The hand is fondling Delia's partially bare bottom and she is not struggling to get away; she is standing there accepting it.

All of this — Mr Plummer's groping hand and Delia's apparently meek acceptance of it, and also her special chorister's outfit — is quite a surprise. It would certainly be a surprise to Raymond Greenaway or to any of the young Greenaways' acquaintances who know Delia as a somewhat prim and proper young woman. Hands up skirts? How can this be? How can Oswald Plummer have managed to get to this stage — and indeed he has got further. If the evening progresses as most recent Wednesday evenings have we shall see him go further. How...?

It is all to do with the singing lessons. And with a certain gullibility on Delia's part. She has fallen first of all for Mr Plummer's line that she has a gem of a voice, an un-cut diamond which he can cut and polish if Delia will only place herself in his hands. In fact Delia Greenaway's voice is nothing special. Pleasant enough but it can only become special if you consider the rest of her: the face, the dazzling hair, and of course that womanly shape. (For Oswald Plummer it is Delia's bottom that is of especial interest — as evidenced by the fact that his hand is at present handling it — but we will come to that.)

So gullibility and credulity get Delia to Mr Plummer's house on Wednesday evenings and once there he works even further on her credulity. Oswald Plummer might be an ordinary looking gentleman but he has a persuasive way with him. Persuading Delia to accept... well, first of all this outfit. 'Of course you won't wear it anywhere else, Delia dear. Only here at our private lessons. It is merely my little joke. I'm sure you won't begrudge an old gentleman his little joke.'

No, not when this old gentleman is telling her she has what is basically one of the most marvellous voices he has ever heard. It lacks only work and training. Mr Plummer incidentally is not that old. In his 50s. Old enough, though, and sufficiently innocuous seeming for Raymond Greenaway easily to dismiss any thoughts he might harbour that there could be an ulterior motive in the Wednesday singing lessons.

Once Delia has accepted this unexpected outfit which Mr Plummer produces the choirmaster's next move is not that difficult. His hand up the back of the short skirt. Delia has unfortunately shown that she is gullible. And that she can't, or won't, oppose his will.

'Stand quite still, my dear. I want you to show you can concentrate. Put other distractions out of your mind. All the great singers have the ability to concentrate.'

It is of course awful for Delia. Her mind knows that Mr Plummer is doing an outrageous thing. His hand stroking the bare flesh high up on her thighs. It is the sort of thing that Delia's straight-laced mind utterly rejects. Mr Plummer is feeling her up in a particularly disgusting manner. Her mind screams that at her. In any other circumstances... but now... well, it is Mr Plummer. Who has got himself into this very special position. Her private singing instructor. She can't object. She can't slap his face, spit out that he's a dirty old man. As she did when old Mr Merrydrew, another village worthy who has eyed Delia, attempted the same sort of thing one evening in a corner of the Cock Pleasant. No...

So for several Wednesday evenings now, at least, that hand of Mr Plummer's... lessons in concentration. He does not necessarily make her sing whilst he is doing it, though. He mostly does it while he is talking. So really that business about learning to concentrate on her singing... No, Delia knows really that Mr Plummer simply likes doing it. As Mr Merrydrew would like doing it if he got half a chance. This totally abhorrent thing. It makes her perspire to think about it. When she is at home with Raymond for instance. Delia can scarcely believe she can do this: stand here and let Mr Plummer do it. But she can, she does. And this is not all. Oh no. There is the rest of it.

Unbelievable but there is more. Which is even worse. In fact very shortly now... Mr Plummer will say... he will take his hand away from Delia's bottom, which is something, but it is only a temporary respite, and he will say...

'Let me see then, Delia dear. Lift up.'

Yes. Today is no different.

At home, reliving this awful business in her mind, Delia tells herself that next time she won't. She will speak simply but firmly to Mr Plummer, not getting excited... 'Look. Please Mr Plummer. I really don't think this is necessary. I can practise concentration and discipline in some other way. This doesn't help me, it simply makes me nervous, so that I can't sing properly.' And Mr Plummer will say, 'Yes, you're probably right. OK. We'll stop all that business.'

But today, as on those other days, Delia cannot make herself say this. Even if she could she knows that Mr Plummer would probably take no notice and make her anyway. So she doesn't speak. Trembling from that hand at her bottom Delia meekly does what she has to. It is another test: supposedly self-discipline rather than concentration this time. She must raise her skirt, up round her waist. Standing quite still and straight, high heels together, she must lift the short skirt up to her waist and thereby display what is underneath. Which is only that suspender belt plus the brief web-like knickers.

Could Raymond or Delia's friends imagine this?

How many times has she broken out in little beads of perspiration at the very thought!

It is dreadful — but there is more. For these last three Wednesdays there has been more, diabolically so, and there is to be tonight. Delia's bottom, which from the very start Mr Plummer showed an especial interest in. Those delectable rear divisions which he has had his hand on up her skirt. Yes...

'Very good, my dear. And now we will do the other. After that you can try the first piece.'

Yes, any actual singing on these evenings takes second place to these other exercises. Correction; discipline, etc. This final exercise is also in the interests of disciplinary training according to our choirmaster. It is nothing less than a hard and stinging spanking of Delia's bare bottom.

Over his lap. Chorister's robe pulled high over her back. Brief little knickers slid down to the region of her knees. (Mr Plummer sometimes requires his pupil to reach behind her when she is in place on his lap and take them down herself). Legs extended, knees kept straight. And then... but perhaps we should pass over the final desperate, humiliating business in silence.

Not that Oswald Plummer's sitting room, curtains drawn against the soft and vibrant evening world, is silent. The sounds are of flesh sharply meeting flesh. And consequent feminine yelps and half-muffled cries. Well, a girl does her best not to cry out.

Delia is not late back. Not later than normal, certainly. Her lesson with Mr Plummer occupies two hours, which has come to be the norm. Part of this time has been spent in singing. 'Making excellent progress,' is the verdict of Delia's mentor.

It is of course time for bed when Delia gets back. A cup of cocoa first and then bed. Bed at least takes the edge off of Raymond's acute annoyance. And as it happens Delia is more responsive than usual after an evening with Mr Plummer. Thinking of it, the enormity of it, that she can allow herself to be party to such a thing, and moreover the heart-stopping possibility that perhaps Raymond might find out... All of this does tend to make a young woman more active and responsive in the marital bed. Sex is a release, a relief, after all.

Friday, 11 May 2012

Under The Cane

Story from Swish Vol.7 No.1

Under The Cane

LAST MONTH in Stern Stepsister, Fiona made her first acquaintance with the secretarial college that her stepsister, Marjory, has recently opened on the South coast. Having secretly watched one of the girls being caned on her bare bottom by Marjory, life is taking quite a new turn for Fiona...

* * *

"Here we are, then", Marjory announced as she led Fiona into the lounge of the new house that she and her husband, Terry, had bought recently. It was lavishly furnished, as Fiona expected it might be. "Terry won't be home for an hour yet. I'll make a cup of tea and then we can talk", Marjory went on. In the way of young women, Fiona followed her out into the kitchen. She had so many questions to ask about what she had just witnessed in Marjory's study at the college, but didn't know where to begin. It was her twenty-six-year-old stepsister who answered one of them for her – though in an indirect way.

"Did you like seeing Semantha get caned? You see, I do treat my girls strictly", Marjory said, plugging the kettle in. – "So I saw. I wonder how they stand for it", Fiona answered curiously, Marjory smiled and turned about to face her. "It's in the rules, darling; they know what they're going to get if they misbehave, and so do their parents. I'm quite explicit, you know, about what I intend to do, and it's accepted. Those who don't accept it don't get a place at the college".

"But the cane, of all things. It must hurt so!", protested Fiona wonderingly. – "You only say that because the nearest you ever came to getting a hot bottom, darling, was when I used to spank you, or hold you over to be spanked. Semantha, now – the girl I caned today – has had a score of bottom-treatments from me, AND she gets her knicks peeled down during vacation time, I know. I insist on no backsliding just because they are temporarily out of my control. I tell you, Fiona, sales of canes and tawses in this area have leapt up since I opened the college. Some very respectable, bowler-hatted gentlemen have been buying them, as I happen to know."

Fiona flushed as Marjory turned back to switch off the kettle and fill the teapot. – "You mean, Semantha gets caned at home now as well?", she asked, bringing a silvery laugh from her sister-in-law. Stepping across to Fiona, who was two inches shorter than herself, she embraced her lovingly and so pressed Fiona against the door. – "Honestly, Fiona, you're so sweetly naive, but I think you'll make a good assistant for me at the college, if you care for the idea. I teach my girls the sweetest kind of discipline – severe but nice. Sure, they fret and whimper a lot at first, but they learn to take it.... across their bottom cheeks and, er, right up under. You saw that Semantha came into my study without her panties on – the good girl. You watched her bend over my desk, you watched me sting her bottom with the cane, but you never heard her scream – right?"

", but it was AWFUL! I mean, that cane really bit into her bottom! I mean, I saw the awful pink streaks and how she weaved her hips around trying to escape it and how she clenched her fingers every time you...." – "Shush, darling, and listen", Marjory interrupted her, "You're thinking of it as a sort of school punishment, which it is not. Semantha is of age, as all my girls are. They are all upper middle class, as we used to say. They are a select band. I refuse more girls than I accept, I can tell you. Semantha was a little rebel when she first arrived. Every time she had been spanked, apparently, she kicked and howled and tried to pull her knicks back up. We can't have that, can we? The cleft orb of a girl's naked bottom, well-striped and heated and wriggling divinely, is a treat for a male or a female. I bring them to a state of obedience".

"What?" gulped Fiona, feeling her sister-in-law's tits against her own. Marjory had always got the better of her – it wasn't fair. She could feel Marjory's fingertips groping down to the front of her skirt and drawing it up. "Hey what are you doing?", she gasped and tried in vain to wriggle away. – "Just seeing what colour knicks you have on pet. Black, I hope", rejoined Marjory whose hands proved so persistent that despite Fiona's wriggles she succeeded in baring first her stocking tops and then the crotch of her pale blue panties, puffed out by the bunching of hairs beneath.

"St...stop it, Marjory, I don't want to know!", Fiona blurted when, to her horror, the door was pushed strongly into her back by someone from the dining room. At the same moment, Marjory clasped her young sister-in-law's waist and held her around her waist with both arms, holding the back of the girl's skirt up at the same time to reveal to the 'visitor' the half bare cheeks of her bottom bulging palely from out of the backstrap.

"What's going on?", a voice asked, and to Fiona's frozen horror she recognised it as Terry's. – "Darling, I'm just trying to indoctrinate her", Marjory replied, whereat – ashamed of her exposure before her brother-in-law, Fiona began beating with her fists against Marjory's shoulders. "Hey, that's naughty, Fiona; we can't have this", Terry exclaimed as – most adroitly – he and his wife exchanged arms, as it were, as his own ringed Fiona's slender waist from behind and he lifted her off her feet, retreating backwards out of the kitchen and carrying her – despite her kicks and howls – across the hall and into the living room, with Marjory following swiftly in his rear.

"Stop it! What are you doing! NO!", screeched Fiona as she found herself swung around and then unceremoniously hoisted face down over the back of an armchair with her elbows resting on the cushioned seat and the tips of her toes just making contact with the floor.

"Darling, she was always difficult; she was the same at home", Marjory sighed as a horror-stricken Fiona saw her taking a whippy cane out of the sideboard. – "Terry, you hold her over and I'll get her knicks down", Marjory added, advancing back to the chair while Fiona made frantic attempts to lever herself up, but all in vain, for Terry moved swiftly round the chair – still pressing her down – and then perched sideways on the front of the seat and took a firm hold on Fiona's shoulders.

"NO, Marjory NO!", screeched Fiona then as Marjory came behind the chair and thumbed Fiona's panties swiftly down to her ankles, tucking her skirt right up as an afterthought so that the girl's hips and peachlike bottom were totally exposed.

"I was about to tell her how the girls are trained, but she wouldn't listen, would you, Fiona?", Marjory asked with assumed sadness as her sister-in-law's stockinged legs twisted wildly, her toes scraping the floor. "I was telling her how Semantha – and others, of course – get caned during the vacations.... like this", Marjory went on. Even as she spoke the cane arced silently up and then.... HOOOT-ITTT!", cut a clean path exactly across the twin hemispheres, bringing a long-howling "NEEE-AAAARGH!" from Fiona who had never felt such awful fire before.

"Of course, Semantha, Karen, Nikki, Susan and the others simply don't make this silly noise", Marjory said as she watched the divine quivering and contracting of Fiona's cheeks while she allowed her to absorb the deep sting. Marjory expected no reply from her husband who was as much under her thumb as her pupils. In line with his wife's expert 'teachings now', he laid one hand on the nape of Fiona's neck and with the other cupped her chin, so holding her head from twisting about as the girl blubbered and sobbed. It was a good hold, as Terry recognised. It was impossible for the girl to slither back and gain purchase with her feet fully on the floor.

"A silly noise", repeated Marjory more sternly. Raising the cane again, she brought it searingly across Fiona's cleft derriere, exactly an inch below the first strike. – "GOOO-OW!", came a heartfelt cry from the girl as now, long tongues of flame licked everywhere over, beneath and between the cheeks of her bottom. But this time, Marjory gave her no time to recover. – WEEE-HIPPPP! sounded the cane once more and this time Fiona's shrill cry bounced as surely off of the ceiling as did the supple cane from her springy cheeks.

"NO-NO-NO-NO-NO!", came Fiona's sobbing plea as her hips rolled and jerked on the very top of the chair-back. – "YES, darling – preliminary training is VERY strict, and there are all sorts of good reasons why it has to be. Keep her head still; a good posture is the first thing she has to learn", Marjory breathed heavily as she surveyed the three pink streaks that seemed to almost encompass the delicious tight moon that Fiona was being made to offer up.

"DON'T, Please! DON'T, PLEASE! I can't t...t...take.... NEEE-HAAAR-OOOH!", screamed Fiona, her words cut off in mid-flight by a fourth scorching stroke that skinned the straining, hot flesh of her bum.

"You will be surprised what you will learn to take UNTIL you are OBEDIENT, darling", Marjory told her. "This, my pet, is called the five-bar gate – four parallel and once across. Funny thing, though, it doesn't close the entrance". Marjory said in a crisp, authoritative – though with hidden laughter in her voice – tone, and then altered the angle of her wrist to lay that fifth and even more biting and searing one at a forty-five degree angle, as she had said.

"THEEE-EEEH-EEEEH!", gritted Fiona through her teeth. Her shapely legs opened, closed, and then dangled limp some four inches apart. Not quite wide enough for after-treatment – Marjory thought – but not bad. There was unconscious receptance here by Fiona of what she was being caned for. – "OH-WOH-WOH-WOH!", Fiona sobbed brokenly and in great gulps.

"All right, Terry – let her go", Marjory murmured and stepped back, still holding the cane. As Terry released his dual hold on her, Fiona's fingers scrabbled desperately into the twisted cushion which sprang into her hands as he got up. Marjory was waiting to see how and if Fiona would move. At first she made as if to slide down right over the back of the seat, but seemed to realise what intimate exposure she would be offering to Terry if she did so and so started to slide backwards and to collapse, as she hoped, on the carpet behind the chair. Even as the soles of her high heels lowered themselves tentatively, and with her hips writhing wildly, she received a SMACK! from Marjory's palm, bringing a blubbering howl as Fiona felt the impact full against her tender bottom.

"NO! STAY, girl, STAY!", barked Marjory who remembered well enough what a handful Fiona had been a few years before at home when it was spanking time for her. Another heartfelt screech from Fiona, and she hung limp again, her bottom cheeks squeezing frantically.

"All right, Terry, you can start getting the dinner ready. I'll see to her", Marjory uttered, bringing a look of resentment to his face, though he dared not disobey for his wife was quite capable of bringing the cane across his own bottom, and often did. Scouting past the chair where Fiona hung sobbing, he glanced back over his shoulder – Marjory moving aside deliberately to let him view the "miscreant", as she was fond of calling her learner-pupils. Heavens, what a bottom Fiona had! Apple-round, tight and redhot, globing above two pearly, lovely thighs, and all the bewitching slimness of her legs beneath. Then the view was gone from him as he reluctantly closed the door.

"Get up now!" Marjory was saying quite roughly to Fiona whose tear-streaked face had moistened the cushion. With the departure of Terry, she seemed to want to hang helpless – seeking attention. It was the way that Marjory eventually wanted her to be, though she could not herself provide the sort of 'attention' a hot-bottomed female ought to receive after a caning. That would come later when Fiona had learned deportment, stripping, displaying, and so on.

"UP!", Marjory repeated and hauled Fiona back so that she slumped against her with Marjory's would-be calming and cupping palms feeling the delicious weight of Fiona's bottom which squirmed madly at the contact. – "I'll tell Mummy, I'll tell Daddy!", Fiona blubbered babyishly, referring to her own mother and to her stepfather who was sire to Marjory. – "So? You'll tell them", Marjory replied curtly and stayed Fiona's hands from pulling down the back of her skirt. She knew very well that Fiona wouldn't, and that it would do her no good, anyway. It might encourage Marjory's Dad to get his own cane out, the one that had made both his second wife's AND Marjory's bottom writhe often enough when Fiona had been out.

"Now – stand in the corner, skirt up!", she commanded Fiona now and gave her a push. "Won't! I won't I... YEEEECH!", squealed Fiona as again a hefty, full-palmed smack met her blazing nether cheeks and sent her stumbling forward. In but a moment she stood head bowed miserably her shoulders shaking, and her back to the room, her cherry-red botty properly displayed where Marjory deftly wreathed her skirt up tightly again at her hips.

"I'm g...g...going home and I'll tell....", sobbed Fiona, bringing a laugh from Marjory who laid the slender cane warningly against her seared bum. – "Darling, I promise you that if you do you'll end up with quite a sparky bottom by bedtime from father's cane, which you haven't even tasted yet! Ankles neatly together and hands behind your back now – come on!"

"I hay-hay-hate you!", Fiona sobbed but nevertheless, with the cane laid warningly against her heat-blaring cheeks, she obeyed, bringing a gentle, pleased sigh from her sister-in-law.

Fiona half closed her eyes, surreptitiously squeezing her nether cheeks still. She knew about her stepfather's cane all right. He had recently begun making jokes about 'giving her bottom a treat', but Fiona knew it wasn't only joking. Once, years ago in her bedroom, after Marjory had held her for a spanking and then put her into bed, Marjory had whipped up her own skirt and turned about and Fiona – to her amazement – had seen that she had no panties on and that there were six precise-placed red stripes across her plump bottom.

"My medals!", Marjory had laughed, and Fiona had known then that it was true and that Marjory must have been caned just before she herself got in that night. Quivering and with her shoulders hunched, Fiona felt the cane caressing up and down the backs of her thighs where her stocking tops bit into her flesh.

"A good girl is still after her bottom has been seen to, Fiona. Remember that. Oh, I know it takes a lot of effort – especially when you are bent over or kneeling up on a bed – but eventually you will take pride in being able to do it. You will rarely be able to quell the wriggling of your hips, of course, but that is not important. To the contrary, it looks very feminine, very pretty – AND most enticing. Now – I was telling you about Semantha and the others, wasn't I. WASN'T I!" Marjory repeated sharply, giving Fiona a little tap across the backs of her thighs.

"YEH-ES-ESSS!", whimpered Fiona who sensed that this was a private talk and that Terry would not reappear for quite a while.

"Good. Now listen carefully. I'm putting you on a crash course, darling, because I know you have it in you," – or are going to have, soon enough, Marjory thought mischievously. "Semantha, Karen, Nikki – and several others – have had three terms with me, but they still came back for a fourth. Ask me why? Go on!"

"Wh...wh....why?", gritted Fiona as the cane pressed into her hot bulb again, at a full right angle across it.

"Because they admire me, and they admire themselves. They take pride in having overcome a silly and unnecessary pride that once caused them to wriggle and squeal if their bottoms were so much as gently fondled. They have learned to offer up and to hold themselves in a disciplined way when their bottoms are stripped naked. They walk properly after they have been seen to, for they know also that they are admired for it, even cosseted and spoiled occasionally. They may grit their teeth occasionally when and if the cane bites deep, but they ride through it, proud. Their punishment – though it is not the most appropriate word – is for the naughtiness they seek. Is that a conundrum to you. Well? Is it?"

"D...d..dunno", mumbled Fiona. She hated herself for standing bare bottomed in a corner in front of Marjory, and yet deep within her something was stirring. Did she feel 'proud', in some strange way, to have been so horridly caned? Did she feel 'proud' – both conquered and yet not – in standing displayed like this?

"You DO know, darling, but you won't let yourself understand that you do. We all like to succumb sometimes – all of us. It gives a rare salt to life. To be made to bare your bottom in otherwise unthinkable circumstances is delicious. It helps to unfold your most secret dreams. After you had been spanked, I used to slip in bed with you and make you come so easily – didn't I? EH?"

"WEEE-OW!" squealed Fiona as, failing to answer, she received a stinging stroke across her bulbing orb that made her reach up on her toes. It was true, and Marjory knew it was true, but she wasn't going to say.

"You don't have to answer, darling. Silent consent is sufficient. Take Semantha now. After a term and a half with me, Semantha entered a new phase. Under crisp, stern commands she would strip daintily to her stockings and high heels. She has a lovely pubic bush, and I had taught her not to hide it by fluttering her hands about. Then she would walk slowly and proudly to the back of a chair – just like this one – and glide gracefully over it until her head and shoulders were concealed and just her lovely tight bottom and long, stockinged legs showed. Shall I go on? Yes, your silence bids me to – an obedient silence – so I shall.

"A little twitch of the cane would ensure that Semantha's legs were planted apart, her toes straining a little on the floor. Nothing would be said. She knew all that she was showing at last, and what she was going to receive for it – a sixer, or a full dozen. All in silence, Fiona. The silence of acceptance".

"WHAH!", blurted Fiona then, for as Marjory spoke so her hand came up cupping right up Fiona's bottom, and so far beneath that her forefinger twiddled the girl's puffy lovelips.

"Be quiet and keep UP on your toes. Miss!", Marjory barked while Fiona blushed, sniffled and felt her fleshy-firm bottom held the tighter from beneath and urged up another inch. "Let me warn you, Fiona, that you are going to be caned again after dinner. Whether it will be a sixer or a dozen will depend on your responses to me NOW, and your total obedience. Listen carefully. It will bode well for your future. Being so positioned, and entirely of her own volition, Semantha gripped the forward edge of the seat beneath her and waited for the first bite of the cane. I know that she did, for I was secretly present, and watching".

"At the first hissing sweep of the cane, she uttered a little bleat, but no more than that. Her hips rolled once and then were still. Her adorable nether cheeks twitched and tightened, as one expects them to. High-slung as she was – and as you have just been – one could see the very pretty peeping of her lovelips, all hazed with curls. Ten seconds passed and then the cane hissed up right under her cleft globe. That time, a long sob escaped her and she rolled her hips more violently on top of the chairback, but then at last mastered herself. She was almost in profile to me, in my hiding place. I watched her lips part almost in wonderment and a slightly strained look come over her pretty face as she commanded herself to remain over.

"Oh, I admired her for that! My training held, you see. Deep within herself she desired the discipline to which she was being put in every way. The silence was quite awesome. I adored her for her submissive attitude – she who but eight months before that had fought like a little she-cat when she was to be spanked. She was displaying herself in all her naughtiness. It did not need to be spoken of. I saw how hard her nipples became when the cane swished in again. She screwed up her eyes and uttered a little animal-like cry. I could almost feel the stinging, demanding heat in her tight cheeks. She knew what she was going to have at last, after the last searing stroke took her bulb. As you will – tonight – with Terry. I'm not jealous, Fiona, you see''.

"WHOOO!", quivered Fiona, for at that Marjory moved to the side of her and cupped her pubic bush fully. Her eyes rolled, her head flopped sideways onto Marjory's shoulder.

"I am going to smack your bottom now, darling. As I do, rub your lovelips on my palm", Fiona heard and then uttered a sound midway between a moan and a squeal as SMACK! came sharply to her bulbing, hot cheeks causing her quim to squirm and rub its pouting lips over Marjory's palm. Half swooning, caught between the wicked stinging and a delirium of desire, she caught only a few of her stepsister's words as their mouths hovered close together.

"Afterwards.... carried her upstairs, legs limp, her bottom rolling on his palm.... Her creamy tits bobbed, her nipples like thorns. I heard her moaning no, but it was a no that meant yes. I heard a bedroom door kicked open and the bedsprings sing. For a moment she grappled beneath him, rolling her bottom tempestuously, but then the big knob of his cock slipped up into her, and I could hear only her moans of pleasure and..."

"Mmmmmm....!, whimpered Fiona. She was falling, falling, and Marjory was falling with her until the carpet received them and she was blindly groping up under Marjory's skirt. "I want to!", Fiona heard herself whimpering helplessly. Marjory soothed her hot forehead, mashing her lips into hers. – "I know you do, darling, and tonight is just a start. After you've taken Terry's cock, there's another cane waiting for you and it'll be a real biter".

"I know, I know", Fiona moaned, her fingers under the crotch of Marjory's knickers. It was going to sting and burn her like mad, but it would serve her right for being so naughty afterwards...

Thursday, 10 May 2012

The Scourging of Sonia

Story from Janus 17.

The Scourging of Sonia
by Andrew Grantham

AFTER a tour of her new school, Sonia said goodbye to her father and carried her belongings to the room she knew she would share with three other girls. The long-legged raven haired beauty had been a pupil at several schools, but al 17 years of age this would be her last.

The door was ajar and she could hear the sound of sobbing from within. She poked her head inside and her eyes opened wide at the sight in front of her. A bare bottom was sticking up in the air. Its owner was kneeling on the bed, her face buried in the bedclothes. Her shoulders heaved with little sobs.

It was easy to see just why the girl was sobbing – her bottom was a mass of fiery, criss-crossing weals!

Two other girls were also present. One was comforting the sobbing girl by patting her on the bare shoulders. The other girl was smoothing cream into the ravaged buttocks.

The girl with the cream, a small-boned attractive brunette looked up and smiled. 'You must be Sonia, our new room-mate.'

'Yes.' Sonia forced a smile in reply.

'Come on in! I'm Beverley. You don't mind if I don't shake hands, do you? I've got them full of cream at the moment.'

The girl comforting the beaten victim turned around and greeted Sonia. She was a tall, leggy blonde. 'Hi!' she smiled. 'I'm Nicola.' Indicating her stricken friend she said, This is Janine.'

Sonia noticed that the girl with the damaged bottom was a redhead, with beautiful short copper curls. She dumped her belongings on the empty bed. 'What happened?' she asked, horrified that such treatment could be inflicted upon young female flesh.

'Janine got a School Punishment,' Beverley informed her as she gently smeared the cream over the redhead's bottom. Janine clenched her bum-cheeks.

'A School Punishment!' echoed Sonia. 'What exactly is that?'

Beverley continued to rub cream into the raised tramlines as she replied to the question: 'It's the worst of all the punishments.'

'Don't talk about it!' pleaded Janine, her voice muffled by the bedclothes. 'I don't want to be reminded!'

The other girls obeyed her wishes.

Sonia moved her belongings into her lockers, assisted by the helpful Nicola.

Beverley continued her tender ministrations with the cream. Once or twice, her fingers inadvertently went a bit too far. It had the effect of turning Janine's sobs into little giggles.

'I'll give you 24 hours to stop,' said the redhead, raising her face from the bedclothes.

Beverley reprimanded her by finding an undamaged area of bottom and giving her a slap.

Janine, her sobbing now subsided, raised herself up and greeted Sonia, 'I suppose it's a bit unusual to see someone's bum before seeing their face,' she chuckled.

All the girls joined in the laughter and Sonia knew that she was going to enjoy pleasant company for the couple of terms remaining before she started at University.

Although it was called a 'mixed' school, the young males and the young females were kept very much apart. Just about the only time they were allowed to meet the opposite sex, officially, was at the twice-daily school assemblies.

The older students naturally had ways of beating the system. Varied were the ruses devised for boy to meet girl. Indeed, the plans put into effect would have done great credit to the wartime inmates of Colditz Castle.

Very soon Sonia had made friends on both sides of the 'barrier' between male and female. Some of the staff she liked and some she loathed. One of the latter was Miss Leathers, the School Matron. She was a great deal younger than most people's conception of School Matrons, being only a few years older than the senior girls themselves.

It appeared that Nicola and Beverley had accidentally tripped her up during a friendly game of hockey and she had never forgiven the two girls over the incident. Because Janine and Sonia were room-mates of the other two, they found themselves being treated in the same way by the young and not unattractive Matron.

'She should have stopped my beating!' complained Janine as the four girls sat around one night discussing the staff in general and Matron in particular. 'That's why she is present at House and School Punishments. It's her job to intervene when we've had enough!'

'What's the difference between a House Punishment and a School Punishment?' Sonia asked again.

There was a silence as the other three girls ail looked at each other. It was Janine who eventually spoke. 'A House Punishment is really terrible, but a School Punishment...!'

Here, the freckled redhead put her face in her hands and scurried to the washroom. Somebody changed the topic of conversation and all talk of punishments ended.

Yet it was not to be very long before Sonia found out exactly what a House Punishment was. Her room-mate, Nicola, was unfortunate enough to be caught in an 'out of bounds' area and was sentenced accordingly by the House Master, Mr Prime.

All the girls sympathised with the luckless blonde, but they knew that all they could do was to offer comfort and soothing cream.

'Miss Leathers will take great delight in this!' fumed Beverley as she accompanied Sonia and Janine to the large School Hall. A little earlier Nicola had made the same but tearful journey on her own, carrying her gym kit under one arm.

When Sonia and Janine reached the Hall, they found they were amongst the first to arrive. Attendance was compulsory, Sonia learned. The girls' names were ticked off on a list by a House Prefect upon their arrival.

It was customary for the friends of the victim to obtain the best positions in front of the stage. This was done purely to deny anyone who did not like the recipient of the punishment, a good view of their discomfort.

Nicola sat alone on the stage in her gym kit, a disconsolate figure as the unwilling spectators trooped in to witness the chastisement.

The sight and sounds of a cane being laid across bare flesh was supposed to act as a deterrent to would-be wrongdoers. But for some of the pupils, and certainly for most of the staff, it caused some considerable pleasure.

Nicola forced a smile for her friends and repeatedly crossed one long leg over the other as the numbers in the Hall began to swell.

Members of the staff started to arrive and they sat, grim-faced, in a semi-circle on the stage.

There was a low murmur around the Hall as everyone waited for the punishment to commence. Sonia's heart went out to her likeable friend and she wondered what was going through Nicola's mind at that moment. The agony of waiting must surely be just as terrible as the pain that would be inflicted.

Miss Leathers appeared on the stage and sat down right next to Nicola. The young Matron, a green-eyed honey blonde had a smug smile on her face. She looked at Nicola who immediately turned and looked the other way.

Beverley nudged Sonia and when she had the tall girl's attention, she whispered to her. 'Mr Prime has been seen coming out of Matron's room late at night!'

Sonia pulled a wry face. 'Had he now? It's a pity he can't be punished for being 'out of bounds',' she hissed in reply.

The low murmur subsided into a still silence as Mr Prime appeared. He was a tall, athletic young man and very good-looking, too. Nicola, who had a crush on him, paled visibly when he appeared. She stopped crossing one leg over the other.

Sonia noticed for the first time that Mr Prime was carrying a long thin wand of rattan. The lovely blue eyes of the trembling blonde on the stage were instantly drawn to the rod that was going to slash into her flesh and cause her acute pain and discomfort.

She dutifully rose to her feet as Mr Prime mounted the steps. Miss Leathers rose, too. She quickly turned around the chair on which Nicola had been sitting so that its back was now to the assembly.

'Nicola Lee!' Mr Prime spoke out in a loud, clear voice. 'In contravention of school rules you deliberately entered an 'out of bounds' area, namely the Senior Boys' Accommodation Block!'

Nicola hung her head at the implication. She had tried to explain that she had gone there to get help with her prep for next day. Mr Prime, however, refused to believe her story, preferring instead to believe that she had been there for some sinful purpose.

The House Master cleared his throat and continued. 'You will receive nine strokes of the cane for your misconduct!'

The shock of the announcement reverberated around the large Hall. Nicola's mouth dropped open. She went to say something but thought better of it. Her shoulders sagged wearily.

Janine was furious and she hissed to Sonia, 'I'll bet that bitch, Miss Leathers had something to do with the three extra strokes.'

Mr Prime flicked the cane with his wrist. Nicola jumped. 'Bend over, Miss Lee!' he ordered.

Nicola turned around and put her hands on the back of the chair so that her long legs were at a 90 degree angle to her horizontal body. Then Miss Leathers stepped forward and rolled up the girl's gym vest to just below her tiny, pointed breasts.

'She's getting it on the bare?' Sonia could hardly believe what she was seeing. Janine did not reply. She bit her lip and Sonia knew that she was re-living a horrible experience she had herself been through not so very long ago.

Miss Leathers grasped hold of Nicola's gym shorts and yanked them down to her ankles, exposing for all to see, long, lean but shapely thighs below slim and un-marked buttocks. All the male members of the staff leaned forward to obtain a better view of the derriere they had not seen before. Nicola kept her legs tight together to protect her privacy.

'This is awful!' breathed Sonia. Those around her silently agreed.

Mr Prime took up his position, laying the cane across the target area first of all before starting his swing, so that he could get the range.



All the girls in the assembly winced as the cane hit flesh. Nicola did not cry out, but the force of the blow buckled her knees.

Mr Prime waited before delivering his next blow. Expert that he was, he wanted the young backside to glow in agony before inflicting further punishment.

Sonia's heart continued to thump as she saw the imprint of the cane springing up instantly on the taut skin of her friend's bottom.

Two of the male staff put their heads together, whispered, grinned and then nodded approvingly. They obviously appreciated Nicola's curving, girlish hips, her narrow waist, her slender, creamy-skinned torso as well as the tight bottom that waited for another dose of the springy cane.

Sensing that the pain from the first blow was now receding, the House Master delivered another cut.


This time Nicola did cry out and her knees buckled once more. Again the imprint of the rattan showed up on Nicola's tender globes. As the blonde girl waited for the next stroke she sought to obtain some relief from her agony by clenching and unclenching her bum cheeks.



'Ay yee!' shrieked Nicola. Her back arched and she threw back her head.

Sonia looked at Miss Leathers. She was breathing heavily and licking her lips.

Nicola raised one ankle in the air and waggled her bottom from side to side. She began to sob.

'She's cracking up already,' whispered Janine urgently to Sonia. 'I don't see how she can possibly take another six!'

The fourth stroke made the stricken blonde jerk bolt upright. She let out a piercing yell.

'He's really laying into her,' whispered Janine. 'I'll bet that awful Miss Leathers told him to give her a good thrashing!'

Mr Prime tapped Nicola's stinging bottom with the tip of the cane. His clean-cut features expressed keen concentration, even some pleasure. 'Bend over!' he reminded her.

The fifth bite into the already scored flesh caused Nicola the most distress of all the cuts she had received so far. Her legs sagged and an 'ooh' went up from the shocked spectators. The wand had whipped diagonally across the first three horizontal marks. Nicola buried her face in her hands.

'Get up, Miss Lee,' ordered the House Master.

'I can't!' wailed the distressed Nicola.

Mr Prime bent down and whispered something to the Matron. She shook her head.

'Bitch!' hissed Janine, knowing that Mr Prime had asked her if he should stop.

Somehow Nicola struggled to her feet and bent over the chair. She was no longer concerned with trying to protect her privacy and she spread her legs wide apart.



'Oh ... oh ... oh ...!' Again Nicola slumped to the floor and she clutched her blazing buttocks, rubbing them fiercely with the palms of her hands.

'Up, Miss Lee!' ordered Mr Prime.

Sobbing bitterly, Nicola made no move.

'Come on, Nick!' urged Janine quietly. 'Only three more and it's all over.'

The House Master spoke to the two young teachers who had earlier given approving nods at the sight of the semi-naked girl stretched over the back of the chair. Instantly, they jumped to their feet and made for Nicola. They pulled her to her feet, first taking a good look at her thighs and golden bush as they did so.

The tall blonde was stretched by the two men so that only the tips of her toes were touching the floor. Her hands were secured in the two masters' vice-like grips.

There was a thud as a young member of the school fainted and hit the floor. Several of her friends hurried to her aid to remove her, and thankfully to remove themselves, from the sight of the popular blonde sixth former being beaten and humiliated.

'This is horrible.' murmured Sonia.

Nicola's slim and tender buttocks were now a criss-cross map of suffering, but Mr Prime lined up the cane for a further infliction of agony.


'Yaroo!' screeched Nicola, her legs threshing wildly. Her bottom being so slim, the target area was therefore relatively small and the latter cuts were now landing in the already hurt places of earlier ones.

Sonia thought it a good job that it was an all-female audience in front of the stage, the way Nicola was now revealing herself. The disclosure of her intimate parts was the least of the distraught girl's worries.

Mr Prime waited until the long legs had stopped moving and the girl's toes were again touching the floor. He again raised the thin wand and almost every single onlooker tensed as they waited for the blow and the anguished reaction. Only Miss Leathers seemed to be not affected by the canework of her friend on the bared, crimson arse.


Nicola's scream was the worst yet. Many of the girls who had covered their eyes before this stroke opened them wide in horror. The distraught girl continued to yell long after the fresh weal appeared. The two men who were holding her wrists had their work cut out to keep her bent double over the back of the chair.

Still Mr Prime waited for the pain to climax and start to ebb before delivering the final cut. This time the House Master caught her on one of the worst of the weals. Nicola let out a long, low moan and dropped to her knees again as she was released by the two men. Crying bitterly however, the beaten blonde struggled to her feet and again presented her buttocks for further punishment.

'Poor kid!' breathed Janine. 'She doesn't realise it's over!'

Miss Leathers got up from her chair and pulled up Nicola's gym shorts.

The audience filed out and the three room-mates climbed on to the stage to comfort the victim. Somehow they got the dazed Nicola back to their room where they laid her on her tummy and again pulled down her shorts.

'Oh God! Look at those marks!' wailed Beverley.

'It's horrible!' choked Sonia.

'Matron shouldn't have allowed it,' complained Janine. The whole of Nicola's bottom was suffused an angry sullen red, against which the darker lines of individual cane marks stood out evilly.

The girls gently tended her wounds but it was some time before the blonde moved so much as a muscle. Eventually, her bottom caked with cream, she was covered up. Clutching her teddy bear for comfort, Nicola sobbed herself to sleep.

Beverley, Janine and Sonia sat disconsolately on the bed discussing their friend's terrible ordeal.

'A School Punishment is even worse than that!' groaned Janine.

'Will somebody please tell me what a School Punishment is?' asked Sonia.

Beverley looked at Janine. The memory of her own suffering still fresh in her mind, the redhead became tight-lipped and shook her head, signifying that she did not want to upset herself by even talking about the dreaded punishment.

Next morning's talk in the refectory was all about Nicola, who did not herself put in an appearance until just before lesson time. She then walked in, head bowed and stiff-legged before gingerly resting her battered bottom on the hard wooden bench. The blonde then leaned across the table and whispered in confidence to her friends, 'Miss Leathers had Mr Prime in her room all last night.'

The girls 'oohed' and 'aahed'. 'I wish somebody would teach that bitch a lesson,' someone remarked.

Sonia looked thoughtful. Then her lovely eyes gleamed. 'I have an idea,' she smiled.

Her audience giggled as they listened to Sonia.

'It's very risky!' cautioned Janine.

'No, it isn't!' protested Sonia. 'As long as you all keep a good look out.'

At tea time a full jar of mayonnaise disappeared from one of the tables!

Once it was dark, the girls crept towards the out of bounds staff quarters. The ground floor window of Miss Leathers' room was open and the room was in darkness. Sonia clambered inside, armed with the jar of mayonnaise. She made straight for the bed, turned back the sheets and emptied the contents of the jar before replacing the sheets.

'Hee hee!' she chuckled. 'Miss Leathers and Mr Prime will get a nasty shock when they tumble into bed tonight. That will dampen their ardour!'

Suddenly the room was flooded with light and Miss Leathers appeared from nowhere. Sonia had forgotten about the adjoining bathroom. The young Matron had been in there the whole time! Sonia dropped the empty jar and she heard her friends outside the window scurrying away to safety.

* * * * *

Sonia stood before the Headmaster, Mr Whipp, and heard herself sentenced to the dreaded 'School Punishment'.

'I will call a special assembly in fifteen minutes to deal with the girl,' he informed Mr Prime. He had heard Sonia's 'confession' along with the Head Girl, a tall sturdy pupil called Carolyn. Carolyn was a girl who thrived on punishments. Sonia saw her grinning from ear to ear as the dire sentence was pronounced. Also smiling was Miss Leathers, who had given her evidence in floods of tears, thereby convincing the Headmaster that drastic punishment was necessary to safeguard the disciplinary standards of the school.

Mr Whipp addressed Carolyn and indicated the ashen-faced brunette. 'Get her ready!'

'Yes sir,' Carolyn responded eagerly. She pulled Sonia away by the arm.

Poor Sonia had lain awake all night fearful lest she be given a 'House Punishment' and now here she was, only fifteen minutes away from what was something infinitely worse. Her three friends had tried to comfort her. But the sight of Nicola's bum, still a glowing sunset of fiery red, had done nothing to relieve her mental torment.

In a daze, Sonia stepped into Matron's room – only a short way from the large Hall, where just a few days earlier she had witnessed Nicola's punishment.

Carolyn stood before her, hands on hips. 'Strip off!' she ordered.

Sonia's mouth dropped open in horror. 'Strip off?' she repeated.

'That's right,' smirked the Head Girl. 'I have to be naked for this?' gasped Sonia disbelievingly.

'Practically,' giggled Carolyn. 'Now hurry up!'

Mechanically, Sonia unbuttoned her crisp, white blouse. Then she took it off and slid out of her skirt. Forcing back the sobs, she raised first one leg and then the other, to peel off the sheer nylon stocking from her smooth, shapely legs.

'The boys will see my boobs,' she complained.

Carolyn nodded, an evil smile on her face. 'They'll see your bare arse as well,' she reminded her brusquely.

Sonia took a deep breath and reached behind to unhitch her brassiere. She handed the garment to Carolyn who looked approvingly at Sonia's milky-white, cherry-tipped breasts. Breasts that would soon be seen by everybody in the school.

She hesitated for a moment before starting to remove her panties. However they were soon on the floor and Carolyn's gaze was fixed on the naked girl's thick, dark bush.

The door opened and Miss Leathers walked in. The Matron pressed something into her hand. 'Put this on!' she ordered.

Sonia looked at the tiny, black G-string. 'What's this for?' she asked.

'What do you think it's for?' snapped Miss Leathers. 'It's to conceal your private part without covering up your bottom!'

With the willing assistance of the Head Girl, Sonia put on the tiny thong. Her black hair spilled out from all around it! Both Carolyn and Miss Leathers shook their heads.

'Take it off!' ordered the Matron. She produced a pair of scissors and sat on a chair in front of Sonia.

There was a knock on the door. 'Come in!' called out Matron.

Sonia gasped and one arm moved to cover her breasts whilst a hand covered her black 'vee'. The newcomer was the Head Boy, an attractive youth called Clive.

'Take your hand away!' snapped Miss Leathers. Sonia did as she was told and the Head Boy leched at her lovely, nubile body. She felt a thrill run through her and her tongue flicked over her dry lips.

Snip, snip, snip went the scissors and a dismayed Sonia watched as the outside of her pubic thatch was cut away. The scissors were cold on her warm flesh.

Both Carolyn and Clive walked around to the back of Sonia and they stared hard at her bare bottom. Somehow, despite her fear, she enjoyed the almost prickling sensation of their eyes on her flesh.

'Is everything ready?' asked Carolyn of Clive as she watched the crinkly hairs fall to the floor.

'Yes. It's all ready for her,' smiled Clive.

He held out the G-string. This time the tiny scrap of material covered what was now left of her pubic mat.

Clive leered at Sonia. 'You've the nicest backside I've seen for a long time. It's a pity it will look pretty horrible before much longer!'

The floodgates opened. Tears coursed down Sonia's beautiful features. Any further reminder she may have needed of her plight was given to her by the sound of a multitude of footsteps in the corridor as the entire school assembled for the flogging.

'You can save your tears for later!' hissed Miss Leathers.

The footsteps died away as the Hall was filled. Sonia's heart gave a lurch. It was almost time!

Without warning the door was thrown open and both Mr Whipp and Mr Prime entered. Their eyes drank in the sight of the bare-breasted girl who seemed to be somehow proud of showing off her gorgeous body to them. The Housemaster carried a bundle of four canes and Sonia wondered why one wasn't enough.

The mutterings and whisperings in the Hall died away as the small procession entered. It was led by the two teachers, each carrying a cane over one shoulder. The near-naked Sonia walked behind them and the small parade was made up of the Head Boy and the Head Girl each carrying a cane in the same way as the teachers.

Sonia kept her head high, knowing that her body was the centre of attention, particularly among the boys of the Upper School. Each step gave a sensual flounce to her breasts. She was almost enjoying the occasion. It was such a powerful drama, all centred on her, and the atmosphere was sheerly electric.

At the end of the Hall, on a raised dais, were two horizontal rails. Sonia knew what they were for!

Carolyn pushed her forward through the throng of pupils and staff who were to witness the beating. Sonia stumbled towards the tiny stage, a strange pang of excitement coursing through her vaulting stomach.

She then recalled that Janine had been through this experience and she looked for her. There she was, along with Beverley and the recently thrashed Nicola where she knew they would be – as near to her as possible, as a token of their friendship and affection for her. The audience packed around the place of punishment in a tight horseshoe. For some reason, a lot of the boys were huddled close to the sides of the dais.

Sonia stood proudly for the school's inspection – she would not have minded if she had been totally naked! She was still frightened about what was going to happen but at the same time she was secretly pleased with being put on show. She aspired to becoming an actress when she left school, but all the same she was shocked by the intensity of her mixed feelings.

Mr Whipp made a short speech and then Sonia was instructed to lean over the first bar and to grasp hold of the second bar. She did as she was told. Now she was in a complete right-angle position.

'Wow – Ouch!' she yelped. Sonia had not expected the stroke so soon and she had not prepared herself to receive the pain. It had been worse than she had expected it to be. She looked over her shoulder. It was Carolyn who had delivered the blow. She knew then the reason for the four canes. She was to be punished by no less than four different people!

'Oh please!' she gasped unthinkingly, seeing Carolyn raise the rod high into the air. The Head Girl was obviously enjoying herself. Sonia turned her head away and waited.

'Erhh!' She stifled a cry, being somewhat prepared this time. The hurt however was awful. And this was only the beginning!

Sonia clenched her bum-cheeks and waited for the next one. It came – and with it, another dose of stinging pain like nothing she had ever experienced before.

Hardly had the hurt died away than Carolyn struck again – harder than ever! Sonia heard a yell and then realised it was herself crying out.

Her hurt flesh was throbbing and pulsating. Grimly she waited for the next cut. She took a quick glance behind her. Carolyn had now made way for Clive. Four strokes of each cane? Another twelve to go! What shape would she be in after it was over? She had seen the aftermath of her friends' beatings. Would she cope as well as they had?

Sonia forced herself to watch as the Head Boy prepared to administer his first stroke. The rod whirred and whipped through the air to land on a previously unhit part of her bottom. She choked back a cry and frenziedly shook her posterior.


She heard the second one coming,



Her cry tailed off and she slumped over the rail. Sonia had hoped that the Head Boy might take it easy on her. After all, they had fondled and petted on several occasions. Not so. It was as if the sight of her breathtaking nudity inspired him to greater effort.

Sonia fairly screeched when he struck her for the third time. She now knew why a lot of the younger lads had positioned themselves in front of her. Hanging under her, Sonia's breasts wobbled and swung as she squirmed under the goading cane! This was further humiliation for the elegant, beautiful girl. At least, her G-string prevented those who desired it a view of her most intimate, personal part.


The fourth and most vicious cut of all caused her to shriek louder than ever. She clutched hold of the bar. Tears flooded down her face.

To her surprise, Miss Leathers appeared in front of her and motioned her to stand up. Panting, Sonia did so. Her backside felt as if she had sat down in a cauldron of fire. She smiled gratefully at the Matron for calling a halt. It was none too soon. Miss Leathers offered her a glass of water and Sonia grabbed it with trembling hands. In fact, she was shaking so much that as she raised the glass to her lips most of it spilled out and cascaded down her breasts, much to the delight of the droolers at the front.

Matron took the empty glass from her and, to her horror, told her to lean forward again. Her ordeal was not over after all! Once again, her glowing, striped and pained buttocks were to be offered as a sacrifice to the wicked rattan wands that waited to slice into her young, tender flesh. She sensed the erotic atmosphere in the Hall heightening even further as she resumed her position.

Mr Prime took a practice swing before lifting the cane above his head. The fierce stroke knocked the breath out of Sonia's body. Her face became a mask of pain and every muscle in her body tightened in reaction.




Her breath came in long, noisy gasps. A lot of the girls had their faces in their hands. Janine buried hers in Nicola's shoulder. Beverley wiped away tears from her eyes. The members of the opposite sex, however, seemed to be revelling in the spectacle.




Sonia's bottom bounced and quivered. Without the support of the bar she would surely have slumped to the floor.

The pain from one stroke now merged into pain from the next.

The Matron leaned forward to get a better view of Sonia's backside. The young blonde woman marvelled at the sorry derriere that until so recently had been a splendid example of how a female bum should look – fleshy, creamy and nicely curved.

Mr Prime's final stroke hit a previously unmarked spot. Sonia yelped like an anguished puppy as the fire coursed through her body.

There was a brief respite whilst Mr Whipp changed places with Mr Prime. Sonia thought back to the interview in his study on her first day. Her father had had no hesitation in signing the punishment consent form. If only he could see her now! Closing her eyes and nearly at the end of her resistance to the suffering, she waited for another onslaught.

The rod whistled, cracked and bit across the already weal-striped rump. Sonia did not have the strength to cry out; she merely moaned as more pain was injected into her body.


Mr Whipp's second stroke caught her across the tops of her thighs, just below the rounded buttock.


This time Sonia did not utter a sound but her whole body quivered. Her breasts swayed from side to side.

Sagging wearily, Sonia waited for the last cut of all. She would soon be free to go!


'Oh...oh...oh...!' The relief sounded in Sonia's long drawn-out moan. The stroke itself was not a particularly severe one but it landed exactly on one of her weals, just as if the fiery swollen line had been a pathfinder for the rod.

Sonia's face was dripping with tears and her lovely thick curls were now tousled and untidy. She waited to be freed. However her ordeal was not yet over! The punishment had mercifully ended, but there was further humiliation in store for the wretched girl. One by one, every member of the school was made to pass close by her and to gaze at the inferno of criss-crossed tramlines that was now Sonia's bottom. To a lot of the pupils this was the highlight of the whole affair. Several inconsiderate members touched her battered rump and trailed their fingers along the weals. Sonia squirmed and yelped.

Eventually the last pupil passed by and Sonia delivered her weary, agonised body to her friends. All evening the faithful three room-mates tended to her needs.

Eventually, next day, she was able to get up and make her way slowly and painfully to the refectory. With her head downcast and reluctant to speak to anyone, Sonia started on her meal.

She responded to a tap on her shoulder. Miss Leathers peered down at her, a grin on her face. She pressed something into her hand.

'Have some mayonnaise, my dear,' she said cruelly.

Sonia screamed, dropped the jar and buried her face in her hands.

Wednesday, 9 May 2012

A Tutor's Tale

Story from Roue 08.

A Tutor's Tale


The thing which struck me most forcibly when I started my private tutoring some twenty five years ago was that inevitably I found myself dealing with parents who were more than usually concerned about the standard of education of their child. This may seem obvious, but since I started my sideline as a result of financial necessity, I am bound to admit that I saw myself initially as some cap-in-hand fellow hoping to convince prospective clients that I did indeed have something to offer, and, my attitude was one more of the supplicant than of the authoritative professional man.

I realised very quickly however that many of those parents who had decided that their child had need of extra tuition, had often done so very much as a last resort, having despaired of their child's education being adequately catered for by their present school alone. This is not to say that either the schools or the children were particularly at fault; more often it was the parents who were pushing their children along perhaps faster than could reasonably be expected of them, and having ambitions for their offspring which resulted in anxiety when expectations failed to materialise.

End-of-term reports were my most eloquent advocate, and I had more applications for places resulting from disappointing school reports than anything else. Not all parents were of this kind of course, but a substantial majority were. Once I had grasped this fact I was able to see myself in an entirely different light.

Springing from this anxiety on the part of the parents there naturally arose a certain willingness to believe that private and professional attention to their child's needs was the one and only thing that might work — thus the tutor was unwittingly endowed with quasi-magical powers and the gift of turning a dull or lazy child into a winner of scholarships. A good report at the end of term, after a series of private lessons, confirmed this rather naive point of view and guaranteed at least another term or two of continued lessons in the hope of further improvement.

The tutor's opinions were then listened to with yet more attentiveness, and even a subsequent bad report made little difference; the lessons had worked before — if the child was no longer progressing so well it obviously was not the fault of the tutor. It must be the child.

More girls than I can actually remember must have first felt the smack of a ruler across their knickers as a result of this illogical reasoning on the part of their parents. And as a result also, of course, of a discreet suggestion on my part.

Even if progress were maintained, eventually there would be an adverse report from the school, or one which failed to satisfy expectations. Trusted thus far with the girls' education, the tutor's suggestion that the odd smack on the bottom might not go amiss would be accepted without too much trauma. Some parents did not go along with the idea of course, but far more than one might have expected did.

Mothers were the easiest to convince, fathers less so. Uncles, on the other hand, almost inevitably raised no objections, while aunts were hardly more of a problem. I would not wish you to suppose that every one of my pupils were punished — of course not. But I think it would be fair to say that about a third of the girls who were at one time or another members of my 'practice' were disciplined and some quite vigorously. I have to admit, and no doubt you will have realised, that I was anxious to conclude such arrangements out of motives other than professionalism, but I must still say that smacking a girls' bottom never did her schoolwork any harm, and for some it was definitely beneficial.

One last point: I do not regard the parents of these girls as being unusually gullible. One only has to think of the automatic weight which most people attach to the professional advice of a doctor to understand why the advice of a tutor should be accepted so readily. The aura surrounding the two professions is sometimes not very different, certainly in the circumstances in which my pupils were delivered to me by over-anxious parents.


Leaving aside the matter of corporal punishment for the moment, I always tried to win the trust and confidence of pupils, the better to understand their needs, for you should remember that I was running a business; it wasn't simply a matter of seeing how many bottoms I could smack in a week. Winning the confidence of my pupils paid dividends, and also led to some surprising results. Having been sent to me in an effort to improve her maths, one girl confessed that it was simply her inability to see the writing on the blackboard that had inhibited her learning — she hadn't wanted to be made to wear glasses, so she had simply kept quiet and fallen behind in consequence.

I also found that being able to discuss problems with someone not actually connected with their school led many of my pupils to regard me in a more friendly way than they would otherwise have done. This is not to say that I was lax or too easy-going; I was never that, but respect for my authority was tempered with an agreeable feeling of approachability — at least I like to think so.


I always used a set of rules which I expected my pupils to follow, and which I am certain established the relationship between myself and my pupils which might later lead to the acceptance of classroom punishments in an atmosphere of proper authority.

Standing up whenever I entered the room was one rule — calling me sir was another — it was surprising, even then, how many children were not expected to behave in this way at school. Standing up whenever they were called upon to speak was another thing I insisted upon. These apparently minor things were, I am sure, conducive to the proper atmosphere in the classroom.


When I had been in 'private practice' for some time, and having discovered after some six months that it was not beyond the bounds of possibility to turn a young lady over my lap and smack her on her knickers and get away with it, the next step seemed to be both desirable and at the same time fraught with peril; that of taking the girl's pants down and spanking her on her bare bottom.

I pondered the wisdom of this move at length, and at last convinced myself that I might, with caution, try a little experiment.

My current favourite was a girl named Penelope, whom I had coaxed across my knee, albeit at first rather uncertainly despite her mother's permission, on several occasions. She was about seventeen and quite a 'big girl'. She filled out her school presuming that Penny herself had been told of this authorisation by her mother, was somewhat taken aback when Penny's mum arrived with her daughter one day to pay the monthly fees and remarked to me that it was a tribute to my expertise that I had managed Penny's recent advances in scholarship without the need to resort to physical chastisement.

I questioned Penny closely about it when her mother had gone. It transpired that not only had Penny not told her mother that she'd been getting her pants taken down, she hadn't even admitted that she'd been spanked at all. Asked why she'd been so reluctant to mention this aspect of her education to her mother Penny said tearfully that she was too embarrassed, even though her knickers more than adequately and was a delight to spank because of her wonderfully firm bottom and her way of bleating plaintively with every smack. Truth to tell she was also, at that time, the only one of my pupils whom I had parental permission to chastise.

Approaching the matter of bare-bottom spanking by a roundabout route, I took to easing the elastic legs of her knickers into the middle while I spanked her, which gave me a goodly amount of bare buttock to smack while preserving her modesty. Having accustomed her to expect this semi-denudation, I eventually took my courage, and Penny's knickers, in both hands and whisked them down to her knees one afternoon. Her reaction was not particularly adverse, her bottom having already been pretty well smacked thus giving her more to think about than what was happening to her knickers.

I awaited developments, my arguments ready on my tongue for when Penny's mother arrived to protest, but nothing happened.

I repeated the experiment several times without any unhappy results, and then began to take Penny's knickerless spankings for granted, though Penny was understandably less than enthusiastic about her punishments. For several months this continued, and I, knowing that Penny's mother had authorised the disciplining of her daughter and mum had told her that it was going to happen.

I found this most instructive, and on many subsequent occasions with other girls discovered this same reluctance to admit such things to their parents. As for Penny, since I had said nothing to her mother she continued to get her bare-bottom spankings in camera.

Incidentally I overcame this problem of knickers-down punishment with other girls simply by not making an issue of it. Instead of saying "Your daughter might benefit from the occasional spanking" I would say "Perhaps your daughter needs her pants taken down and her bottom smacked." It seemed to cause very little concern when put that way.


I have read here and there that to be effective, a punishment should result in tears. If this is true, and I admit that a few tears do indicate a certain degree of contrition on the part of the punishee, then the logical conclusion would seem to be that the more painful the punishment, thus the more tearful the wretched girl, then the more effective the chastisement is likely to be. Logically then, something like a cane, soundly applied to the tender backside of a girl in her teens, would seem to provide the best results with the least likelihood of failure. Well possibly it would. I must say however that I am not, in general, in favour of caning girls.

This is not to say that I have never caned a girl. I have caned dozens, particularly in the few years after I first started my private lessons, but my views on this have changed as I have grown older. (Mellowed, perhaps).

I suppose that my lack of conscience regarding the caning of my earlier pupils stemmed from my full-time occupation as a teacher in a boys-only grammar school. At this school the cane was used indiscriminately it is not surprising then that I saw nothing very wrong in caning girls if they deserved it. I was, after all, quite used to the 'Thwack!' of a cane across grey flannel trousers; at first girls didn't seem so different to boys and I assumed they needed the same kind of discipline.

I now consider this to have been a mistaken point of view. If tears are to be considered evidence of an effective punishment, then I must point out that I have come across very few girls who have been able to bear even a moderate spanking without bursting into tears. Certainly a couple of dozen good strokes with a substantial ruler will reduce even the most determined girl to hysterical weeping. On the other hand I have to admit that not very many boys will let themselves down by crying even when caned. Perhaps then there is a case for the caning of boys. I no longer think this to be true for girls however.

In the interests of accuracy I shall deal briefly with the matter of caning girls, but would add that in the last five years of my private lessons I didn't use the cane at all.

To frame the proper perspective I should say that though I was used to punishing boys at my school I was not particularly expert at it, by which I mean I had never thought about corporal punishment except in terms of a couple of good swats across someone's trousers, in the full expectation that the recipient would be back for more on some subsequent occasion. Caning in boys schools, at least so far as I was concerned, was simply a matter of vengeance; I don't think any of my contemporaries ever thought of caning as being constructive, nor indeed particularly likely to deter. Boys did wrong, got whacked, then went out and did wrong again; that's all there was to it.

This being so, and not having any appreciation of the subtleties of corporal punishment, my approach to punishing my private pupils was not very different, except that they were girls and were more interesting sexually. (Possibly you will have noticed that I have not mentioned any boys amongst my private practice. This is no accident. I did not take on boys, except very occasionally, mostly because I had enough of them all day at school. This is my excuse anyway.) When combined with a rather uneasy approach to chastising girls, an awkwardness which I suppose I must attribute to my conscience which constantly reminded me that I was smacking the girls' bottoms purely for my own gratification rather than for any actual professional reason, my inexperience tended in the early days to make me rush at things, rather than take them slowly as I later learned to do.

Because of this, I think, my spanking of girls' bottoms, while satisfying for me, was perhaps not so effective as I eventually learned to make it. As with the boys at school it was all rather peremptory, being a case of pants down, (or not, as the case might be) a short sharp spanking and back to work. Had I been more expert I would probably not have had to use the cane at all. However, to get on with the matter of caning.

The first time I caned a girl it was the result of one very determined pupil's efforts to avoid doing the extra homework which I set her. Sensing the possibility of an 'arrangement' I duly mentioned the matter of discipline to the girl's mother. Permission was given, and the young lady's bottom suffered in consequence. Regrettably no improvement in the matter of homework was forthcoming, though I spanked the girl every time she failed to deliver the necessary work, which probably meant about twice a week, though I don't recall exactly. The girl's mother having become involved, and these regular spankings having no effect, it was only a little surprising that eventually the woman suggested 'stronger measures'. There was only one 'stronger measure' that I could think of; the cane!

Fortunately for me, although the girl was disobedient when it came to doing her homework, she was fairly well-disciplined in class. With her mother present, I had the girl bend over my desk, skirt up but with her pants on in deference to Mum's presence. As I recall I gave her four good strokes. I well remember how she yelled, but mother was more determined than I and the girl was made to lie still till all four strokes had been stingingly applied across the seat of her school knickers. She wept piteously, and I was glad that her mother had been present, or else I supposed I might have been in an awkward position.

This first experience of caning a girl convinced me of two things. Firstly that, unlike boys, girls made a terrible fuss! I resolved that henceforth I would always insist upon a witness being present, and on the witness being the girl's parent or guardian. Secondly, because at once the girl's homework started to arrive on my desk on time, I became convinced of the efficacy of caning vis-a-vis naughty girls!

Now obviously I cannot argue that caning doesn't work, but I do still say that with girls it isn't necessary; however, I will explain later.

Having caned my first girl, when the occasion arose I wasn't slow to suggest caning as a remedy for other girls' serious misbehaviour. I hasten to add that caning was not a very regular occurrence in my little classroom, although the instances when it was employed differed from the first girl's caning in that whereas in her case the stick was used only when less dramatic methods had failed, I now kept a cane in the classroom and sought permission to use it when a girl had done (or not done) something particularly deserving of punishment. Thus, as with the boys at school, I sought to use the cane less as a deterrent than as a means of revenge, although I doubt that I would have seen it in that light at the time.

Having established the principle, with some of my pupil's parents, that physical chastisement was not an unsuitable method of maintaining my authority, the suggestion that a cane be used on their daughters' bottoms did not come as too great a shock.

These canings were carried out with the parent present, and ranged from two to four strokes, usually across the girl's knickers. Doubtless the presence of their parent assisted me in keeping the girl in the right frame of mind to take her dose of the stick. If I caned more than two girls in a month it was unusual, although with certain of my pupils this average increased dramatically.

As I think I have mentioned elsewhere, mothers were the most readily convinced of the need for discipline, and a few girls were sufficiently ill-behaved at home for their mothers to ask for my assistance. Thus a girl, once caned by me in the course of her lessons, would sometimes find herself 'sentenced' to a caning by her mother for something unconnected to my tuition of her. I was used as a 'bogeyman' with whom naughty girls were threatened by exasperated mums. This suited me very well, thank you, and there were thus several young bottoms which got to know the feel of the cane more than most.

Having found that a girl, once caned, lost her ability to concentrate on her work, these 'parental request' canings were administered at the end of a lesson, and with due ceremony. The girl's mother having arrived, I would give her daughter a brief lecture on respect for her elders etc., and she would then be told to bend over my desk. Her knickers would perhaps be taken down, and she would then be given her two, three, or four strokes, hard enough to make her yell with each one. These punishments were somewhat more severe than those suggested by me, mostly because mum would insist upon it being "good and hard" or some such phrase.

For a number of years then, I used the cane more or less often, and I can certainly say that I rarely had to cane a girl a second time for the same offence. Tears there were in plenty, and I should suppose therefore that the canings which I administered would be ajudged 'effective' by those who say that tears provide evidence of a punishment well applied.


On the matter of tears then, let me now elucidate my present, and updated, attitude to corporal punishment.

If tears are to mean anything at all useful, then I would suppose that they should indicate more than just a temporary sensation of pain. If pain alone were the object of physical chastisement, then the aim might as easily be achieved by, for example, slamming the lid of a desk down on a girl's fingers. Pain there certainly would be, and tears. But discipline — I think not. Hate, fear — these would be the results. I have introduced my comments upon caning as — 'The cane, a blunt instrument'. Certainly in the way that I first used the cane it was not dissimilar to a desk lid.

During these past years however, I have realised that unlike boys, girls do not look upon spankings and canings as chiefly physical punishments, but rather as emotional ordeals. This realisation has led me to an appreciation of the psychological subtleties of chastisement, and away from the 'blunt instrument' cul-de-sac. I now employ nothing more brutal than a springy eighteen-inch ruler, and more usually my hand, and I achieve the desired object, punishment, along with fringe benefits which include a genuine desire to please and, as I like to think, respect.

Punishments in my classroom in latter years tended to follow the pattern which I shall set out below, with variations as the whim, and circumstances, allowed.

I adhered to the usual 'over the knee' spanking position for minor chastisements. I found it much more intimate than other methods and considerably more rewarding from an erotic point of view. I also think that such a punishment, with the closeness of physical contact and the 'submissive' position necessarily adopted by the girl, leads her to view her spanking in a more paternal and thus less authoritarian light, and is less likely to alienate her feelings than 'discipline' pure and simple.

I prefaced such spankings with a short lecture, allowing as much time as was convenient between this lecture and the girl's actual spanking as possible to give her, and myself, time to think about it.

According to the degree of 'disciplinarianism,' desired, I would either take the girls pants down once across my lap, take them down for her prior to putting her over my knee, or have her take them down herself. The two latter alternatives I found most useful in producing the desired emotional effect, particularly on the older, thus more sensitive, girls. Combined with a lecture, and the wait of perhaps half an hour beforehand, telling a girl to take her knickers down, or to 'come here' and doing it myself, has produced tears of embarrassment and contrition as often as has the actual smart of a well-smacked bottom.

Knickers having been taken down, (and I learned that 'bare-bottom' was invariably to be preferred to 'knickers on'), I would proceed with the girl's spanking, never too hard, but prolonging the punishment for increased severity rather than spanking harder. I discovered that the effects of a girl getting her bottom spanked are cumulative, which is to say that the spanks, though no harder, seemed to have considerably more effect as the punishment went on. Tears, if not in evidence at the 'taking down of knickers' stage, would usually appear after a few minutes. By spanking moderately I found that, though the girl might begin to cry, her struggles and protests were likely to be less violent than in the case of a 'sound spanking'.

I would talk to the girl continuously, and indeed have had a few proper conversations while a girlish bottom has bounced about on my lap, (I found your 'Tutor's' insistence that his pupil recite a rhyme while being spanked quite amusing). When I considered the punishment to be adequately administered I would then send the girl off to a corner to dry her eyes, bottom on display. This, I felt, 'rounded off the psychological aspects of a smacked bottom perfectly.

If I needed to be more authoritarian, I would punish the girl with the ruler which I mentioned, and then always bent across my desk. Again, the actual spanking would not be too hard, but might comprise twenty, thirty, or more fairly stingy smacks, well spaced out and with each spank preceded by some suitable comment from me. A teenage bottom thus punished would take on a very rosy hue, but even as little as an hour later would exhibit few signs of punishment save a little blotchiness here and there.

These fairly simple methods I found to be the most effective, and indeed the most rewarding. Caning I found to be less so, unless that is my conscience clouding my recollections of the unfortunate girls whose bared bottoms swerved around across my desk some years ago.

Tuesday, 8 May 2012

Moments in C.P. History. Numbers I-III

Moments in C.P. History
A Series by Paul Melrose

"Back in 1999, when I was writing spanking stories for 'Februs', Paula Meadows and I thought of an idea to add a bit of variety to the diet of photographs and spanking fiction, and that was to do a short series on true life historical spankings and whippings. It was a task I thoroughly enjoyed for I did the historical research and Paula, of course, drew the pictures (well what else? :) We did try to make the history as accurate as we could, though I will confess that where details were not comprehensive, the spanko in me did some 'best scenario' embellishments. But they're not that far off the mark and the aim was to appeal to spankos after all :)"

(Alex's foreword to this series)

Number I. Catherine Cadiere

Catherine Cadiere was born in Toulon in 1709, the daughter of a merchant. Her father died when she was only three years old and left his widow with three sons, a daughter (Catherine) and considerable wealth. The girl was part of a deeply devout and loving Catholic family, her mother believing that a church scholarship was the best option to secure the girls future. She was thus schooled by a number of priests for twelve years with considerable academic success. When she was eighteen years of age and still undergoing tuition, Father John Baptist Gerard, a Jesuit priest, arrived in Toulon as Rector to the Royal Seminary.

Fatefully Catherine was placed under Father Gerard's direction for two and a half years, but after the first year nothing unusual had transpired, though Gerard was noticed by many to be inquisitive about Catherine's family background and her circumstances. He often told her that 'God had great designs for her' and that she should 'offer herself to God through her confessor'.

One day, when Catherine was taken mildly ill, Gerard came to visit her room and gently reproached her for not sending for him, then kissed her very gently on the mouth. Apparently the girl nearly fainted from the pleasure of the experience, as she later wrote to a confidante, and from that moment was under Father Gerard's spell. She began to obey his every command, taking the Sacrament every day in different churches as directed by Gerard who ordered her to give him an account of her emotional state after each of her spiritual visits. Catherine began to have visions and hallucinations, Gerard inciting her to more and more imaginative spiritual sensations until the excited girl passed out. When coming round, Catherine frequently found herself alone but 'in indecent postures with my undergarments disturbed'.

Eventually the cunning Gerard achieved his objective of introducing Catherine to a sound whipping by means of a challenge to her faith which played on the young girl's by now wafer thin emotional stability. He told her that she must prove her faith by an ascent into the air, a simple feat of levitation for one who truly loved God. He left her alone telling her he wanted a full report of the test of her faith. The frightened girl prayed for success and somehow convinced herself she was rising from the ground. Suddenly frightened, she grabbed a chair and held on until the sensation passed off.

Stricken with guilt by her lack of courage, Catherine immediately sought out Gerard in the confessional and told him of her cowardice. He feigned great anger telling her she had committed the enormous sin of doubting the Lord and that she would be punished in her bedroom the very next day. Dutifully Gerard arrived at Catherine's bedroom the next day armed with a leather scourge of the type common in monasteries. He told the tearful girl that 'since you have refused to be clothed in God's gifts, then likewise you must receive his punishment quite naked'.

The young Catherine, brought up so modestly, was shocked and ashamed by the order but too in awe of her confessor to disobey. She took off all her clothes in front of the priest's eager eyes before clambering up on her bed on all fours as Gerard ordered, then the priest put cushions beneath her to raise her bottom. Gerard then dealt the poor girl a series of hard blows with the scourge which caused her to cry out pitifully. When she was well reddened and severely bruised, Gerard first kissed the girl's bruised buttocks then 'the places betwixt and between' before getting onto the bed and 'passionately embracing' her.

His domination of the young woman became so great that he became enraged if she arranged family visits without his prior knowledge. Far from resenting such power, it would appear from both her actions and confidential letters later read out in court, to the vulnerable Catherine his behaviour was a heady aphrodisiac. Indeed, after the first frightening and shameful experience, Catherine began to relish her appointments with Gerard's whip and found them a source of great sexual stimulus.

Gerard's visits and consequent scourgings increased in number from about December 1729 when Catherine would be whipped naked at least twice a week, sexual activity being presumed to follow. Not surprisingly, before too long Catherine complained of fever and pains and her periods stopped. Rightly recognising the symptoms, Gerard flew into a panic and told the girl 'her blood was afire', persuading the young innocent to drink 'a porringer of water with a refreshing powder in it' every day. The girl obeyed without question and after eight days the powder did its work, the poor terrified girl miscarrying the baby of which she had been unaware.

The cunning priest then persuaded the girl's devoted mother that Catherine had suffered merely an 'infectious fever' but was being well cared for but should not be visited, thus the woman was kept in ignorance of her daughter's condition. Gerard then began to think about his own position, realising he had placed himself in considerable danger were news of this relationship to get out thus he had Catherine moved to a convent at Ollioules as soon as she was fit to travel.

Catherine was still obsessed with her mentor despite his abuse of her, letters passing between them for three months. Gerard continued to find reasons to visit the convent despite his better judgement until the Abbess became suspicious of his motives. She forbade personal visits to the girl's cell but allowed Gerard to talk to her alone only through a grille in the cell wall. Although the grille was only two feet square, Gerard was able to persuade Catherine to first press her face to the mesh to be kissed. Then, incredibly considering the risk, Gerard persuaded her to climb up on a wooden table so that she might press her bare bottom against the grille mesh, Gerard exacting due satisfaction for them both with his trusty scourge.

Gerard was now aware how dangerous was his obsession and resolved to use his influence to send Catherine away to Lyons, well away from wagging tongues. However his plan was thwarted by the Bishop of Toulon who appears to have taken a personal interest in the girl at the request of her mother and who, instead, moved Catherine to his own private country house. On hearing this, and knowing all his damning personal letters were in her trunk, Gerard sent one of his other 'pupils' to see Catherine and persuade her to release them. The 'pupil' instead of obeying, took from the priest's private desk the letters Catherine had sent to Gerard and returned them to her.

Still she was obsessed with Gerard and on three occasions tried to climb out of the window of her new abode to meet him in Toulon but each time was apprehended and sent back to bed. The Bishop, on hearing of this, became angry and confronted Catherine demanding to know the whole truth. Faced with such ecclesiastical power and anger the poor girl broke down and confessed everything in minute detail, handing over all the personal letters and begging that her shame be spared and the matter dropped. Despite her pleas, the Bishop of Toulon indicted Father Gerard on 10th November 1730 and Catherine Cadiere was told she must testify, the girl then claiming 'enchantment' to excuse her own culpability in the scandal.

When the final ecclesiastical examination of Gerard took place in 1731 the options appeared grim indeed. The prosecutor announced that when the ecclesiastical parliament at Aix-en-Provence pronounced sentence one of the parties would be executed. If the charges against Father Gerard were proved he would be burnt alive at the stake but if the charges proved groundless, making the young penitent a liar and seducer, then Catherine would be hanged.

In the event, the outcome could be called a 'happy ending' because the religious court at Aix was evenly divided. Twelve clerics thought Gerard guilty and twelve thought him innocent thus he was discharged as case 'not proven'. Because, however, there was such a weight of opinion behind Catherine's claims, she too was discharged into the custody of her loving mother never to be involved with Gerard again.

Number 2. Comtesse Jeanne de la Motte

Jeanne de la Motte Valois was, reportedly, a beautiful woman born in 1756 of reasonably noble stock, though the family had fallen on hard times. She married young, to a Count Marie Antoine de la Motte, but the marriage drifted and, by 1784 when this story unfolds, she found herself living an impoverished existence on the fringes of Parisian society. She was resourceful and sly, qualities which did not endear her to King Louis XVI who distrusted her instinctively.

Although Jeanne de la Motte is the focal point of this story and judicial victim, the real victim in the long term has to be the tragic Marie Antoinette. When she had married the then Dauphin Louis, Marie Antoinette was derided by French society for her "Austrian manners" for she had no appetite for the boring table chat which dominated royal occasions. She was fun loving and generous natured, journeying in disguise from Versailles to Paris on many an occasion both as Princess and Queen to follow up requests for money and assistance. She tried desperately to live up to her royal status but only succeeded in drawing the sneers of the French establishment for her spendthrift ways, many stories being concocted about her so-called lovers and her profligacy, most of which were totally untrue. By the time she became Queen to Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette was lonely and sad not knowing who to trust and it was in this context that Jeanne de la Motte came into her life.

The Comtesse had petitioned the royal court for money and Marie Antoinette visited her in secret, promising that something would be done to relieve her situation. As a result, and to the King's displeasure, Jeanne de la Motte became a favourite at court with the ear of the Queen and privy to much court tittle tattle. Gossip abounded that Marie Antoinette had been offered first opportunity to buy a diamond necklace from the Paris jewellers of Bohmer and Bassenge valued at over one and a half million livres. Tempted by its beauty, but aware of her reputation for profligacy, the Queen turned it down publicly stating that it was better that the exchequer had the money to buy ships for the navy.

Into the picture then stepped one Cardinal Rohan-Guemene, a cleric of lofty political ambition, who had attempted many times through flattery to become a confidante of the Queen. She, however, treated the Cardinal with ill disguised contempt for offensive remarks he had made years before about her mother, Marie Therese, in an attempt to persuade Louis to marry a French noblewoman. Desperate to gain Marie Antoinette's favour he approached Jeanne de la Motte for advice on how to rectify his situation and suddenly the sly Comtesse saw an answer to all her financial problems.

She told Rohan-Guemene that the Queen would forgive all past slights if he showed his devotion by purchasing the diamond necklace on the Queen's behalf and presenting it to her as a gift. She reassured the flustered Cardinal, who could not afford that sort of price, that the Queen would pay for the necklace in instalments, but it could not be seen that she had purchased it herself for obvious political reasons. Rohan-Guemene, though besotted with the idea of finding favour, was still unsure and Jeanne de la Motte realised she needed some impetus to push him the rest of the way.

Her good fortune came on a visit into Paris one day in 1784 when, at a public exhibition, Jeanne saw a woman step down from a carriage and could not believe her eyes. What was the Queen doing travelling in such low estate and wearing such shabby clothes? She put the thought aside until cheering announced the arrival of a much more stately carriage from which the real Queen emerged. Suddenly, realising that Marie Antoinette had an incredible double, Jeanne followed the trail until she found the girl whose likeness to the Queen was so uncanny. The girl's name turned out to be Marie Lejay, rechristened by Jeanne for the purposes of confidential letters Baronne Gay d'Olivas, (an anagram of Valois which was a cheeky touch) and she was soon persuaded that in order to play a joke on a friend, she would accompany Jeanne to a late night tryst and impersonate the Queen.

Accordingly, Jeanne de la Motte went back to Cardinal Rohan and told him an assignation had been arranged where he would meet the Queen in secret at night in woodland just outside Versailles. The Cardinal was completely duped and accordingly, in the company of Jeanne de la Motte, he met, in poor light, the heavily veiled Queen, who promised him both prompt repayment and sexual favours if he were to purchase the necklace for her. Cardinal Rohan, a man of normally sound judgement, was swept off his feet by this unexpected promise of pleasure and agreed to every request, including one that Jeanne de la Motte was to be the link to both parties.

Jeanne then proceeded to acquire the necklace from the jewellers with one genuine document from the Cardinal, a forged note from the Queen and other forged documents which led the jewellers to believe that payment would be made over a certain period and that the Queen's own signature guaranteed it. For some weeks, Jeanne de la Motte managed to prevent all parties meeting, secreting the necklace in a hiding place from where she could flee the country with it when the time was right. Unfortunately for Jeanne, the jewellers grew suspicious and demanded an audience with Marie Antoinette who, of course, knew nothing of the affair. Cardinal Rohan thought the necklace to be in the Queen's possession and at first suspected Marie Antoinette to be lying.

Eventually the truth came out, all fingers pointing to the attractive Comtesse as the central villain in all this and she was arrested and locked in the Bastille along with Marie Lejay, the Cardinal and other minor figures implicated in the scam. At Louis XVTs demand, in order to completely absolve his Queen, a public trial of all the parties involved was held with great publicity. This trial was the worst thing that could have happened to the Queen for Marie Antoinette could not, in her position, testify and the consequent press coverage tended toward the scurrilous, suggesting that she had indeed conspired to acquire the necklace and was placing the blame on others. Most historians feel this to be complete nonsense but the mud stuck.

On the day of judgement, 31st May 1786, the accused were not brought into court, but the news was brought to their cells. Jeanne de la Motte was told in her cell that all her co-defendants had been acquitted, raising her hopes that she too would be freed or at worst she would suffer banishment to England. These hopes were dashed when two officers of the court came into her cell and ordered her to kneel before them, a humiliating instruction given only before a humiliating sentence. Jeanne protested this outrage, citing her noble birth, but she was forcibly dragged to her knees and the sentence read out. When she heard the decision, she screamed in shock and fear, for she was told that she would be taken from the Court immediately to a scaffold erected in the Cours de Justice, then tied there to a whipping post before being stripped naked and whipped before a huge crowd.

Struggling and crying the beautiful, dark haired young Comtesse found herself dragged forcibly from the prison and onto the huge concourse on which the scaffold was erected. She made desperate pleas for mercy before being dragged up the steps, tied to the whipping post and completely stripped before being soundly whipped on her back and buttocks. When the whipping was finished and she was slumped sobbing with pain and shame in her bonds, the whipper heated a hot iron in coals and she was branded with a small V, for Voleur, on her shoulder. She fainted from the pain and was carried back to the Bastille before transportation to Saltpetriere Gaol, the whores' prison, which was a further indignity.

Jeanne de la Motte became a milestone in CP history as the last woman ever to be publicly flogged in France. The punishment of the Comtesse was grossly humiliating, yet she survived, escaped from prison to England and became quite rich by writing her memoirs, which included very virulent attacks on Marie Antoinette. The unfortunate Queen, in contrast, had to suffer slanderous attacks until the end of her reign. Three years after the diamond necklace court case, the French Revolution consumed the nation and, four years after that, on October 16th 1793, four months after her husband King Louis XVI met a similar fate, the tragic and misjudged Marie Antoinette mounted the scaffold of the guillotine on her final journey.

Number 3. Jane Digby

All through her life, and particularly as a child, Jane needed to feel loved. For all her basic goodness, she was a typical only daughter, spoilt, sometimes rebellious and headstrong yet always immediately deeply sorry for any hurt she caused her family by her acts of wilful misbehaviour. Although a deeply loving family, the Coke Digby's were very clear about the results of misbehaviour by their children and Jane had frequently felt the sting of a good maternal spanking whenever her behaviour had gone beyond tolerable limits. It would appear that she coped well with the spankings just as long as that meant she was forgiven.

How could her loving mother do other than forgive the little girl who would write letters to her at the age of eight after being punished saying 'Dear Mama. I will never leave my food again. Please forgive me and send your reply via the bearer!' Such poignant resourcefulness would melt any mother's fury!

The educational path taken by Jane Digby was unusual for a young woman of her time, for her parents decided she would receive the same education as her brothers and thus, by the age of sixteen, she emerged from her schooling with a grounding in French, German and Italian plus a thorough education in classical languages, the arts and ancient and modern history. Thus this was no dumb little rich girl who emerged into the society world of 1824, but a highly intelligent and gifted young woman who was extremely beautiful and, as would be revealed, with a voracious sexual appetite.

Much of the credit for Jane's upbringing must go to a very strict and forbidding governess named Margaret Steele, appointed when Jane was ten to hone the behavioural skills of a young lady of breeding and who taught the young girl music, needlework, religion and social deportment. Margaret Steele was aptly named for she would stand no nonsense from the mischievous and wilful young student. Right from the beginning, Miss Steele had insisted on the right to discipline the girl when necessary and such assent had been readily given for Lady Andover knew only too well the nature of her capricious child.

Thus, very early on in life, Jane learned not only the basics of social behaviour but the consequences of breaching it as she knelt sobbing over a chair with skirts raised and her drawers down for several meaty strokes of Miss Steele's righteous strap. Jane never resented her punishments and despite, or perhaps because of, Margaret Steele's firmness the two developed an intense affection which would last many years until Margaret Steele died, at news of which Jane was inconsolable. At the age of fifteen, it was felt that Jane's education could be best finished off at a seminary in Tunbridge Wells where she spent one year. By the time she was sixteen and had returned home to Holkham, Jane was not only a beautiful young woman but a hive of repressed and frustrated sexual desire which would soon find its emergence in dramatic form making her one of the most notorious women of the age.

For nearly twelve months before being presented at court, the young Jane, now just seventeen, completed her education at home under the tutelage of a former public school tutor named Mardon (whose first name mysteriously never appears anywhere) and it is at his hands that a hitherto unexplored sexual awakening took place. She was already in love with her cousin George Anson who never took any notice of her and there were rumours that her first sexual initiation had already occurred at the hands of one of the Holkham grooms. It is clear that Jane's thoughts were on anything but school work and her angry tutor sought an audience with her mother suggesting that the girl had become unmanageable. Lady Andover, already disturbed by the stories of her daughter's impropriety, reluctantly decided strong action was required and told the young tutor that he was to take whatever disciplinary steps he considered necessary to get the headstrong young girl back on track. Thus, after several warnings, the seventeen year old Jane Digby found herself summoned to the study where her tutor waited along with, to Jane's surprise, one of the maidservants. On the study table lay a birch rod and Jane was informed to her shame and horror that she was to be birched for her behaviour, a punishment which, in view of its intimate nature, required a female witness. Jane was more horrified by the presence of the maid than the prospect of such humiliating punishment and begged for the girl to be removed but to no avail. She was ordered to remove her dress, petticoats and drawers and to bend down holding her calves. Jane later confessed in letters that 'Though my cheeks were burning bright with shame, I shuddered with excitement at the thought of taking off my drawers in front of a man.'

With her chemise raised to the shoulders, Jane was quite naked as she obeyed the shameful order, the maid holding the girl's raised garment in place as the birch began to do its work on Jane's bare bottom. As the birching continued, Jane became sexually excited by the punishment which ended prematurely when her visible arousal became apparent. Perhaps her love of corporal punishment had been present since her childhood spankings but from that day on Jane admitted to a love of the rod which would last until her dying day.

Within a few months of that incident, Jane Digby was presented at Court in 1824 where she met Lord Ellenborough, a well known womaniser and rake, to whom she was married within six months. The marriage was a disaster, though she bore him a child, and Jane then began a series of affairs and relationships which made her the talk of the land, culminating in a whole series of exotic foreign relationships abandoned for the life of an Albanian bandit chiefs mistress living in a squalid cave. Finally, in her middle age, Jane married an Arab sheikh young enough to be her son and lived out the remainder of her days as a princess, one of a bevy of his wives subject to the well known strictures of Arab discipline which Jane took to with relish. She died in 1881 at the age of 74 and was buried in Damascus, shunned by her family and friends after a life of adulterous notoriety, but the ever headstrong hedonist died happy having done it all 'her way'.