The Old Hand Takes Command

Story from Phoenix 14.

The Old Hand Takes Command

The headmistress looked across at Commander Relton RN (ret.), and the understanding flashed between them. "This school was founded for the daughters of ladies and gentlemen, Commander," she explained. "They come here for the acme in correction. It is here that they learn the meaning of obedience to the very last letter. We spare no trouble at all to correct the disobedient streak you find in all children, and that is why, when I read of your dismissal from your last teaching post that I wrote to you."

The Commander had certainly received a startling letter from the straight-backed woman sitting before him now.

Dear Commander,

Please pardon the liberty that I am exercising in writing to you, but I read with anger of your dismissal from Gordons Boys School. I read the report that you were inclined to thrash harshly and that because of complaints you were forced to tender an early resignation.

I am headmistress of a Girls School and we run it on a Very Strict Curriculum. We have a post vacant at the time of writing and I have discussed this matter with other members of my Staff. We have agreed that a person of your qualifications would fit in here. We will endeavour to persuade you that this is a School of the type which you were obviously trying to implement at Gordons. Should you think the post appeals to you, I would be pleased to grant you an interview at your earliest convenience. Then I shall be pleased to explain our aims and intentions with our young ladies.

Yours faithfully,
Diana Goodchild.

The Commander had read and re-read the heaven sent opportunity and had immediately telephoned; thus the reason for him sitting there, sipping tea which had been served by a bright schoolgirl of about sixteen. He had tried not to notice the swelling calf that swept down from a short gymslip, and he was inwardly pleased at the spotless white starch blouse that had covered the peeping buds of breasts. Dianna Goodchild also liked what she saw. A tall man of forty five, broad and sun burned, his blonde hair clipped close to his large but not ugly head. His steel blue eyes were the perfect harshness that she required, and she liked his bearing. Royal Navy. He knew something of discipline and he had accepted her offer of full time employment. He had covered his surprise with extreme camouflage, as the data that she had given him would make the hair bristle on any neck. The girl who delivered the tea curtsied to her Headmistress and then to him. Whilst she stood still, her rigid attitude of standing to attention pleased him. Yes... this school was one after his own heart.

"You see Commander," she continued when the girl had left, "we encourage the utmost obedience from these daughters of the gentry. The mode of punishment is left entirely to the teacher and it cannot be too severe. We try to install a certain amount of humiliation into the girl who is to be flogged. I find the pulling down of her knickers whilst she is touching her toes helps to install the right amount of discomfort, and when this is done in front of the whole school, then all the better. Sometimes you will desire to flog a girl in privacy of your own room. I find the best time is when she is prepared for bed; a nightie pulled well above her waist and up to her neck usually has her in the proper frame of mind, especially the older girls." The retired Naval Commander felt himself stiffen; it was just what he was looking for. A pupil that could be thrashed, humiliated and would have to do as she was told... yes, decidedly, this was the place.

"Do the parents complain?" he ventured. "Indeed no. We explain this form of correction and discipline in our school curriculum and the parents accept or leave it, entirely up to them. I have a waiting list as long as your arm, so I do not get over bothered. But you would be surprised at the number of parents that accept the position.... in fact we have a mother who insisted on being present whilst her blooming daughter received a public thrashing, and the woman came all the way from Northern Rhodesia to observe it." The Commander was shaken by the Headmistress's self assurance. She was a good looking woman, with bristling breasts and a straight back, her legs were shapely and except for the tweed, she would have been a stunner. She felt him appraising her and crimsoned with heat under her dress. She had never wanted another man since her fiance had died two years ago, but this man almost old enough to be her father had her squirming. This school had been started by her father, and she herself had been brought up in it; no favours had been shown to her as a pupil, and now that her father had died, she was left the business and became Headmistress. Twenty five years old and the owner of this flourishing school. She explained all this to him. He had been surprised to see such a young woman in charge but that her life had got off to a disciplined start was evident in her manner and bearing. "I'll introduce you to the staff," she said, rising from the desk. He opened the door for her and she sighed inwardly at the manliness of this strong handsome ex-sailor. The other teachers were from her father's days and they looked just what they were, spinsters who had missed the boat at an early age and were now prepared to take it out on school girls with rod and birch. He first met the girls at evening meals and as he walked in, a very undisguised gasp went through the dining room, but it was hushed as Dianna Goodchild snapped her fingers at them.

All the girls rose from their seats like at a Military Parade; not a seat scraped, not another sound was heard. He ran his eyes over them expertly. By great Jehosaphat, there was some talent here and no mistake... some of those arses were going to sting before the term was over. The tables were in a very large U and in the centre of the U about fourteen girls sat, separated from the others and the Commander guessed that they were older and probably prefects. At the head of the Senior table, a golden haired beauty sat, her head held high and the way in which she stared ahead of her, Relton had her down as the head girl. Dianna Goodchild explained to him that the centre table was indeed reserved for Prefects and that their mode of conduct was more severely watched. Instead of it being a privilege it meant that they really had to watch themselves.

"Marion is Head Girl; she has not had a thrashing now for twelve months... hasn't deserved one in fact." Dianna Goodchild sounded almost sorry, but the Commander let it pass.

"All the girls are between fifteen and nineteen years of age. Marion is only seventeen and even though there are older girls, she is better suited to the job. The school uniform... white blouses, gym skirts and the knickers are coloured according to their status. For instance, a naughty nineteen year old girl would be reduced to wearing blue knickers. It is easy to ascertain a girl's previous behaviour by the colour of her knickers." She showed him the rest of the school and then took him to a room at the very end of a corridor.

"This is the punishment room and when and if you think you should use it Commander, in here," she opened the door "you will find a thorough selection of punishment rods, canes, small whips and strapped frames. It is absolutely sound proofed. If you see the red light on outside please do not enter as it means that a teacher is in here, with a pupil, and it is a golden rule amongst the staff that we don't enter whilst the red light is on. If you have occasion to come here with a pupil, please switch this down like this... and you'll be assured that you will never be disturbed. My fiance and I used to court here," she said blushing furiously. The Commander smiled and his flashing white teeth caused her a tremor of wonder through her lower regions. She was a very beautiful woman, he decided, and if he won her to his side, then he could really go to town with some ideas of his own for the punishment of school girls.

* * *

The first morning in a classroom he eyed his class with a practised eye. She had given him this room on purpose. The girls were indoctrinated, yet they could still be a nuisance to the disciplined regularity of the school. They were blue knicker girls, and that meant their behaviour needed watching. There were three girls of fifteen, several more of sixteen, most of them seventeen and one of them nineteen. He'd have to read their reports later. He told them the piece to study in their text books and in one hour he was going to listen to the translations. A girl coughed, and the Commander reading through his notes waited to hear a responding cough. In a boys school this action of a mild cough usually was the signal for the whole class to develop 'whooping cough' silly little snits, he thought. Heaven help them if they thought his good swarthy looks betrayed any softness. He was just itching to get a pair of knickers round one of their ankles... The answering cough came, just slight, but he recognised it for what it was; a signal for the whole room to start a paroxym of coughing. He timed the next one, they were obviously counting, ah yes... fifteen counts and then a cough. He counted to fifteen himself and was as though deeply engrossed in his study. Suddenly he jerked his head up just as a smiling girl coughed. The smile vanished in a fit of horror-struck embarrassment. The whole class was looking at the girl as though expecting it to be her turn. They shot their eyes to the front and saw cold eyes of steel surveying them. As a team, twenty two faces blushed. "Who coughed first?" he asked quietly. Not a response. "Who's idea was it?" His eyes bored into the front row of seats and eyes turned from his. "I want to know who's idea it was and who started the coughing." His voice rose just slightly, but it was like a thunder storm to them. Oh Lord! Twenty two bottoms squirmed uncomfortably. He looked big and strong.

"Come here," he commanded one girl, a pretty fair haired lass of about sixteen. She rose up as soon as his finger pointed to her and walked with grace to the front of the class. He took the two foot ruler from the top of his desk. "I want your back to the class," he told her. With obvious reluctance she obeyed him, and stood there like a statue. "Bend over and touch your toes," he ordered. The upsweep of her skirt pleased him as it uncovered her long swelling thighs. He took her knickers and pulled them down round her legs. Her rounded bottom was a picture of sheer poetry. He slowly lifted her gym skirt to the waist so that her flesh was completely uncovered. "Twenty four strokes," he told her. The enormity of the number numbed the girls into a frigid silence. He raised his hand and the ruler was falling through the air, whistling as it gathered momentum... 'thwack'... a large red mark appeared where the ruler had sunk deeply into the soft fleshy buttocks. "Little... 'thwack'... school girls... 'thwack'... must... not 'thwack'... cough... 'thwack'... as... 'thwack'... a... 'thwack'... collective... 'smack'... body... 'screech... in class." Smack... screech... smack... ooooohh... noooo pleeeeeease... smack... screech... and so on until the girl touching her toes thought her rear was on fire. Twenty four smacks in all and her buttocks were red and sore.

"Stand up," he snapped. She groaned as her skin complained bitterly as she straightened up again. Her skirt hid the belaboured bottom and she was crying without reservation. By Jimminy but what a lovely arse, he thought, absolutely champion. Might just as well have another look at it. "Show the class your bottom," he ordered her. With reluctance she lifted the skirt to her waist and the remainder of the class glued their eyes to the flogged flesh before them. He looked down at her uncovered pubes and was delighted at the shame she showed as she realized his eyes were drinking in the secret that was revealed at the top of her legs.

But he made her stand there for ten minutes whilst he looked at her backside and then round at her front again. She had lovely legs and her hairy triangle fitted into the top of them with perfect symmetry. He looked round the class room and pointed to the oldest girl there, who was about nineteen. She reddened as he ordered her next to the first victim. I wonder what her pubic hair is like, he thought. Now was the time to find out. His hand came down unexpectedly on the first girl's arse and he told her to dress herself and rejoin the group. Her crying was reduced to small sobs now, and as she sat down she mouthed an ooh.

"What is your name?" he asked the second girl.

"Pamela Forsythe Danton, Sir," she answered.

"And were you involved in the eternal 'cough's" he asked sternly.

"I did not organise it Sir."

"Who did?"

"I do not know Sir." The girl was standing to upright attention like a Guardsman on Parade, and this pleased the Commander.

"Were you going to cough as well?"

"Yes Sir." She answered as her face crimsoned in profuse tomato fashion.

"And who were you to follow?" he asked. She remained silent. "Very well then... we must see mustn't we?" He selected a thin hellish cane and the girl swallowed the lump in her throat. "Touch your toes," he told her. She responded immediately in obedience. "Patricia!" he called out. The smallest girl in the class jumped to her feet. "Yes Sir." "Come out here and take Pamela's knickers down." He knew that this would humiliate the older girl, and that was just what he was trying to accomplish. Patricia felt horrible at having a young girl pull the covering knickers from her bent buttocks. "Now lift the skirt above her bottom, let the class see her anatomy ready for punishment." He gloated. It really was a lush pair of buttocks. They were round and perfectly placed. The crevice between was inviting to the eye and the smoothness of the rich silk textured skin was now tight and waiting for his punishment. He looked around and selected the next eldest girl, and by far the strongest looking. "State your name," he said curtly. "Yvonne, Sir.... Yvonne Brantonwaithe." Lord, what names, he thought to himself. "Right, Yvonne you may have the pleasure of caning Pamela's behind and I want to see a stripe for every stroke." Yvonne smiled maliciously, but wiped it from her face immediately. She did not like Pamela very much anyway, and this was too good an opportunity to miss. The girl raised the cane above her head and her other hand was straight down to her side. She looked at the Commander and he, sitting on the front desk, nodded his head. The cane swished down and caught the arse in the tender spot exactly cutting the globes in half. Pamela wheezed out in complaint. Down it came again and this time the bottom wriggled noticeably. The other pupils looked on in animalistic glee. Up went Yvonne's hand and down came the cane like an automated machine. "Aaaaaagh... no more Sir pleeease... swish crack... Ooooooooohhhh noooo... swish crack... pleeeease Sir... oh oh oh... screech... pleeease Sir... screeeech.... oh my bottooooom... screeech!" It was a mystery to the Commander how the girls managed to keep their bottoms bent with such inflicting pain, but the fact that they remained bent pleased him. After twenty four skin tearing and stinging strokes, the girl was allowed to straighten up... Yvonne was sent back to her seat, whilst Pamela remained with her back to the classroom, her whole body shaking furiously and her tits were heaving about like wild things under the starched crispness of her blouse. "Show the class the area of punishment," he insisted. The nineteen year old felt more than naked as she lifted her skirt and showed herself off from the waist down to her ankles. The Commander sitting now at his desk could see that she did indeed have luxuriant pubic hair. Silently the class appraised the charms of the older girl. "Next time I catch you out in a misdemeanor," he promised her, "you shall remove your clothes completely before the whole class and I shall stand you on the stool over there and personally flog your hide!" "Yes Sir," she sobbed. "Return to your place," he said with a wave of dismissal. When the class had settled down again he addressed them. "I am fully conversant with all your stupidities and silly mannerisms, but let me tell you this, if any of you as much as blink against my instructions, I shall bring you to the front and remove every stitch myself, whoever you are, big or small and I promise you that you won't sit down for a month. Now this applies to anything that happens in this class. I say you have half an hour to translate, then half hour it is. Half hour and if you do not know the answers then I'll educate you through your rear ends. Understood?" His eyes swept over them swiftly. He saw the respectful fear in their eyes and that pleased him. "In the ten minutes that we have left, let there be a silence that the dead would fear, and let us have some learning for which your parents pay for... and for goodness sake stop snivelling, Pamela." The girl stopped abruptly.

* * *

In the afternoon, he was to take the prefects and the Head Girl in Art and Nature study. They brought their own plants, flowers and various botanical items to paint onto the papers before then. He was quite a hand at painting himself and so after a preliminary start, he told them to begin. His eyes roved over them and he could not fault one as delightful young ladies. The Head Girl was a striking beauty, and her stiff attitude told him she had been well trained in the business of behaviour. She coveted her position as Head Girl, and to lose it would break her heart. She was no angel and David Relton knew this, but he would be hard put to catch her out. He walked round them on soft gum shoes, and had passed behind them before they were aware that he was there. Then as he came up behind the Head Girl he had the shock of his life. Before her she had a small handful of roses, but on the board before her she had drawn the figure of a nude man with a prick much too big for him. He reached up and took out his pencil. His heart thrilled... caught red handed, those red knickers were going to drop for him after all. "Stay in after the class is dismissed," he wrote on the drawing, and the girl gasped with a loud outburst of breath. Her face reddened profusely and as she started to stand to offer a furtive explanation, he put his forefinger over his lips to silence her. She squirmed about in absolute horror for the rest of the afternoon. So engrossed in her drawing had she been that she had forgotten where she was. Oh Heaven help me, she thought. No other girl was aware of the transaction between the Head Girl and the Commander. The bell rang and it was the end of the day's lessons. "Dismiss," he said curtly. Immediately two girls went round the class collecting their masterpieces, and then took them to him. After that, the class stood as one and fled out silently... that is except for Marion. When the classroom had emptied, she stood red faced and stiffly to attention. "Shut the door... and lock it, Marion," he said with quiet authority. He sat at his desk and watched her buttocks wriggle to the door, then she locked it, and returned to him. "Now what have you to say for yourself?" "Nothing Sir... I'm very sorry," she offered. "Yes, I am sure you are, but what should I do now, Hmm?" She licked her pretty dry lips and her face showed the fear she felt. "I should cane you and then report you to Miss Goodchild," he told her. "Please.... please, Sir, I don't want to loose my position here. I'll take anything in the way of punishment... anything... but please don't jeopardise my prefectship. I'd have to wear blue knickers and sit with the other girls... I'd be laughed at and they tease horribly a girl who has forfeited her position." She was imploring him now with an earnest appeal. "I think you are probably an excellent Head Girl," he told her softly, "but that position must be held by the pupil most befitting to hold it. Now you are obviously a rather twisted girl who deserves to have her bottom caned... hard, and you deserve to be thoroughly shamed. I think I'll suggest a public thrashing after the evening meal. Then we can show the other girls what we do not require in our head girls." She buried her face in her hands and wept bitterly at the idea of a public thrashing. Anything else she did not mind, but to be publicly whipped was the worst form of disgrace. There were so many girls there who would enjoy the spectacle of Marion tied across a table whilst each and every teacher whipped her across her naked buttocks. She could hear the jeers now. "Please, Commander Relton." She sobbed and begged. "Please... I'll take my punishment from you, Sir, any punishment. You can flog me until you skin me but do not take my rank away from me. Do not let them punish me...... It's a man's place to thrash a girl, not other women," she reasoned. Everything was going along nicely, thank you he thought. "Very well," he said as though he had just made the decision. "I shall require you to attend the punishment room and I shall personally punish you and it will not go down in the records."

"Oh thank you, Sir," she cried emphatically, "thank you... thank you very much, Sir. When shall I report?" Her composure was returning quickly with the relief of his pardon. "Tonight, at seven o'clock," he told her. "Yes Sir," she answered. He knew the corridor would be empty at the time and he did not want to be seen entering the room with Marion.

* * *

He entered his daily 'Chastisement Report' up in the book as fully as possible and then signed his name with a flourish and took it to the next tutor. She was a spinster with a massive fifty inch bust and gushed at the Commander when he walked into the Staff room and handed it to her. The teachers had a rotation with the book, and each took it to the next person on the list. He did not know this but the Commander had made quite a hit with the other women, and they were delighted to have such a man on the staff. They knew what kind of a man he was and being strict disciplinarians themselves they not only admired him but secretly envied him. How marvellous some of them were already thinking to be a strong handsome man with the authority to take the cane to those plump girlish bottoms and teach them a well-deserved lesson. Little did they know what a good start he had made and they would have been amazed, though approving, if they had had the slightest inkling of how he intended to continue.

As for the Commander, as he walked away he was feeling very pleased with himself. He knew he had found the right berth. It was like taking command of a new ship, thinking back to his days on active service. He had no doubt that he'd taken the right decision in accepting this job. These little minxes would have to watch their step, though of course he hoped they wouldn't be too well-behaved. By now the whole school would know what a tartar he was and they would soon learn that he intended to continue in the way he had started. They would rue the day they heard of Commander Renton.

Sharing and suffering

Story from Phoenix 44.

Sharing and suffering

Sue and Kate were the closest of close friends, sharing in just about everything they did and whilst Sue, who was nineteen and the younger of the pair was at university, Kate, just a year older, worked as a cashier in a bank. Both girls lived at home for financial reasons.

Sue was a mischievous, blue-eyed, clear complexioned, long legged blonde, with a hint of blossoming femininity; her angelic face, tanned by the early summer sun, was attractive enough, but when coupled with firm, upthrusting breasts, usually bra-less – the effect was devastating, and she knew she could hold the attention of most men with little or no effort. Her pert, but full rounded bottom, which she usually chose to encase in the tightest of denim jeans or micro-minis, caught and held many attentive gazes, and she was aware also that it wasn't only the men who gave her admiring glances!

Kate, by comparison, was a little less stunning, but nevertheless pretty, with dark brown hair, which she usually wore in two bunches, and whilst somewhat taller then Sue, was well proportioned, with a tiny waist set between a slim firm bottom and generous breasts, which like Sue, she usually allowed to go unfettered by a bra. Her nipples were, it seems, nearly always in a state of erection, and certainly presented an attractive sight when she sported her favourite white tee-shirt, which allowed her full breasts to sway gently as she walked. Her legs, slim and firm, were just a fraction longer then Sue's, and could have been designed to wear mini-skirts or shorts; she and Sue often competing with each other as to who could get away with wearing the shortest mini or briefest of shorts.

Both girls were happy-go-lucky individuals who enjoyed the company of the male sex and were keen to play the field. Each had had a 'crush' on numerous men, often the same ones at different times, but these tended not to be too serious or long-lived and there always seemed to be a steady stream of 'hopefuls' asking for a date. Despite such ardent attentions both girls had managed, surprisingly, to preserve their virginity; after a first date they were not averse to allow their respective 'Beau' a certain amount of access to their charms, but drew the line when frustrated youths had wanted to exchange searching fingers for hardening, rampant manhood, and despite allowing those hands to freely fondle their softly yielding, nubile bodies, they had always insisted in keeping on, as a minimum, their panties, even if those same hands, having assisted with the removal of all other items of clothing, did manage to delve under the restrictive elastic of tiny nylon briefs and search out their downy, moist sensitive regions. Sue and Kate were equally responsive in these situations but were not prepared to take the chance of an unwanted pregnancy despite being on the pill, and therefore limited their own pleasures rather than take such risks. Heavy petting was something that quite often left them feeling just as frustrated as their partners although, once or twice, a more experienced and adventurous one might, in his explorations between parted thighs, find the trigger spot that would bring wonderful shudders of delight and ecstasy and leave the grateful girl trembling with spent satisfaction.

John, who was Sue's 'latest' had often provided such welcome relief, and if, on occasion during a heavy petting session, he gave her a playful slap on her panty covered rear, she didn't regard it as something she should get upset about, and if it was several smacks she found the warm afterglow rather pleasant. She would, if the mood prevailed, tease John to the point where he would react even more firmly, when a smacked bottom became an accepted and quite regular part of their private sexual adventures, although John never seemed particularly conscious that Sue was directly turned on by a vigorous spanking. He never graduated to using anything on her pert little bottom other than his firm right hand and quite often Sue idly wondered what it might be like to be more severely chastised, but could never summon up the courage to ask for it outright for fear of making John think that she was in anyway 'peculiar', prefering to retain his friendship than take the chance of losing it.

Sue had often hinted about her feelings regarding haying her bottom spanked to Kate and she raised the subject again whilst they were relaxing at Kate's house listening to some records. Kate expressed mild amusement that Sue should have even considered it strange to enjoy such treatment.

'I can really get turned on by it' she confessed smilingly, 'I think it's exciting to have a boy turn me over his lap and spank my behind until it realty glows. Some are too soft though – I like it hard – Richard is the best so far, although its taken me months to convince him that I really do enjoy it! He knows he can't make love to me fully but if he spanks me properly and thoroughly I let him do just about anything else he likes and then I might give him a 'blow job' to show my appreciation. Once I've got him in the right mood I strip-off down to my 'nicks' which he then usually pulls hard up between my legs so that they slip into my slot at the front and disappear tightly between my bottom cheeks – I love to feel my bottom fully exposed and the sensation between my legs is magic! He then strips right down to his briefs, sits on the bed, and pulls me forcibly across his lap – by this time I can usually feel him as hard as a rock against my tightly encased mound – even more so when he starts slapping me and I have to press down on him to escape the pain as it builds up. I squirm a lot but I insist that he keeps on with the spanking, even when I cry out loud. He carries on until I can't stand it any more and both my bottom cheeks are red and I can feel the fiery glow going right through my body and start a real fire between my legs! I usually come several times but if he complains that his hand is getting sore I let him use whatever he likes on me. In my bedroom I have quite a selection of implements, like hairbrushes, a long plastic ruler, and even a thin bamboo cane, which when it's not being lashed across my behind, holds up a nearly dead ivy plant which stops Mum getting suspicious. He can use all of these things if he likes – the only problem with the cane is that it leaves lines across my poor bottom for days and I have to make sure Mum doesn't catch a rear view of me in the bathroom!

'Last month I embarrassed him terribly in front of some of his mates and later that evening he promised me a proper hiding when he got the chance. I didn't want to lose him over such a silly thing so I agreed to accept whatever punishment he thought I deserved. He said that he was really going to make me suffer by having to wait for it until he was ready – he really rubbed it in by telling me just how painful it was going to be for me, and how even I would beg him to stop. He talked about it every day for a whole week, and as the days passed, I got more and more nervous, because I could tell that he was still very angry with me, and whilst he knew I quite enjoyed his usual spanking games, this was going to be very different, and very, very painful! As the days went by my pleadings became more pitiful but he refused to listen, and instead told me that every time I tried to talk him out of it, he would be adding additional strokes to the punishment. He eventually told me that he had decided it would take place on the following Saturday night, when my mum is always out and he could deal with me properly. As each day passed I got this terrible sinking feeling in my stomach but eventually Saturday came and then I had to wait for Richard to turn up. He's normally there by eight o'clock, but that night he kept me waiting. I watched the clock get right round to half-past eight, and then I heard him at the door. He could tell how I was suffering just by looking at my face when I opened the door, and when I spoke there was a tremble in my voice I couldn't hide.

'He told me to go straight upstairs, without even giving me a kiss, and the look on his face told me he hadn't changed his mind about what he had in store for me! I was then told to strip right down to just my knickers. I had found a pair of really sexy ones – black and lacy, with narrow sides and just enough material to cover part of my bottom – I suppose I had hoped that he might be a bit softer with me by wearing them – but it didn't! Unsmilingly he ordered me to the end of my bed with my hands on my head, telling me that I had upset him and that I deserved a real thrashing, and that was what I was now going to get!'

Sue had said nothing while Kate had related the first part of her tale, but her eyes were glowing as she listened, enraptured by her friend's description of her chastisement, imaging how Kate must have felt waiting for her punishment to continue.

Kate then carried on with her story, ensuring that she missed nothing out, knowing that Sue was hanging onto her every word.

'Richard didn't waste time in deciding what he was going to use on me, and it was that long, slim bamboo that appeared in his hand beside me. The waiting was getting to me even more by now – somehow it was delicious, but in other ways it was sheer murder! Like I said, he never used the cane much in the past, and when he did it was never very hard, but this time I knew it would be different. I felt totally naked and exposed, standing there with my hands on my head like a naughty little girl – and with Richard still fully clothed made my nudity so much the worse, despite the fact that I had been allowed to keep my panties on, but they were so brief at the back that the lower curves of my bottom were fully on view, and it was impossible to stop clenching my cheeks together, knowing what was coming to them shortly. Richard came right up to me, letting me see the cane, which he was flexing in his hands. I was trembling visibly by now – the agony of waiting, longing to get it over with, but at the same time wishing it would somehow never start. My nipples were sticking out like organ stops even before he started to run that wicked looking cane up and down my body, teasing me gently with it. It was cold to the touch as he ran it slowly up the front of my thighs, over my stomach, and right up to my breasts. He then outlined each of my titties in turn, tapping each erect nipple which I thought would burst – they throbbed so much! I was trembling even more by then, with my eyes clenched tight shut and hands still in position on my head, feeling helpless, but knowing that if I wanted to keep Richard I had no option but to submit to whatever he thought I deserved. The feeling of being held there by my own choice made it seem so much worse – if I wanted to I could just walk away, but I knew I wouldn't I just had to stand and wait for that cane to punish me as I deserved, but if only he would hurry up!

That slender length of bamboo was then running slowly up the back of my thighs, brushing especially slowly it seemed over the curve of my bottom cheeks, which I could feel clenching again as it was drawn over my skin. I could feel myself getting damp in my panties, despite the terror I was feeling elsewhere – and then I realised that the cane had stopped! I could sense Richard behind me and then he was reaching forward, pulling my panties suddenly hard up between my legs, harder than he ever had before, almost cutting me in two! The waist band was pulled up high up to my middle, pulling the material into a tight string between cheeks, leaving my backside completely exposed and without even the slightest vestige of protection.

'Ok', he said, 'Bend yourself right over'.

'I bent over the cold brass rail at the end of my bed, feeling the cold, hard metal pressing against the top of my thighs, and as I lent further forward at Richard's command, I could also feel the rail cutting hard across my divided mound, the thin strip of my briefs cutting even harder and deeper into me at the same time. I was allowed to stretch my arms fully out in front of me and grip the bedcovers, and then the horrible waiting began all over again. At least the cool touch of the bedcovers helped soothe the throbbing in my tits, although I still felt totally exposed and accessible, despite the fact that my modesty was now partially restored, if only frontally.'

Sue by now was breathing deeply and irregularly as she listened even more intently to the story Kate was slowly unravelling for her. She wanted to know so much, amazed that her close friend had never mentioned her obvious predilection for corporal punishment before, although clearly this particular episode was far beyond anything that could be described as pleasurable to Sue's ears. She did however now feel much less concerned about those oft felt stirrings within her when John had paid attention to her bottom, and she had made her mind up, even as Kate was still speaking, to find a way of experiencing a taste of bamboo across her own proffered posterior as soon as possible. She did not, however, quite see how she could ever approach John whose ability to understand she was very uncertain about – but yes – she would find someone – somehow!

Kate then continued afresh, describing how her Richard had allowed her to remain waiting passively, her near naked body fully stretched out over the end of her own bed, her buttocks forced high into the air, waiting in fear and dread for her approaching punishment to start.

At last, after what seemed an eternity, she could hear him moving to the side of her prostrate body, feeling next his hand reach out and gently fondle each pert, exposed bottom cheek in turn, feeling the fine texture of her soft, yielding, delicate skin, moving from the gently swelling curve slope of her long slender thighs, up and over each waiting cheek, and then pinching the resiliant flesh, concentrating especially on the full part of her behind, as if testing its ability to take what he knew was in store for it.

And then the caressing had stopped. Richard announcing that he punishment was now to begin.

'I think you deserve at least twenty strokes with my bamboo here' he said at last. 'But first I want you to say you are sorry, which I am sure you are now, and then I want you to beg me to cane you for your atonement'.

Kate was devastated to hear just how many strokes he was expecting her to take, but she hoped that he would, as a consequence, restrict the severity of each cut to compensate for the huge number announced. She was just about able to get the words of apology out; her mouth had gone suddenly dry – the waiting had really got to her, building up her anxiety to intolerable levels.

'Now BEG for your caning' repeated Richard, in an impatient voice. Quickly Kate tried to stumble out the words Richard wanted to hear.

'Pl.. Ple.. Please I Wa.. Want you to cane me, but PLE.. Please do it NOW! Please, please get it over with!'

Richard acknowledged his satisfaction with her trembling request by allowing the tip of the three foot of bamboo to rest on the very centre point of Kate's high arched backside – noticing how she flinched as the cool wood touched her warm delicate flesh, which was now awaiting his attentions. A minute passed – but it seemed far longer to the hapless Kate.

'Ready?' was all he asked, as he broke the intense silence again, and then, as Kate moved her head, almost imperceptively in response, she felt the weight of the cane lift from her bottom. The next instant she could hear the thin stick hiss through the air, and then with a loud THWACK!! the first stroke landed straight across her upturned bottom, causing a ferocious, agonising burst of pain to erupt into her fleshy cheeks. She immediately cried out in disbelief at the agony of this, the first stroke, and as the fleeting seconds passed she could actually feel the liquid pain spread out from the area of impact, deep into her body. Despite the agony within her she was resolved, however, that she was going to take her punishment from Richard as bravely as she could, and with great will-power managed to stay firmly done over the bed-end, biting the bedcover between her teeth, as she waited for the next stroke, which followed almost immediately.

The second explosion of pain came just as little lower than the first cruel stripe, and the combined pain of these 2 initial cuts blended quickly together to produce a surge of blinding pain that she never thought she could have bourne. But bear it she must!

Her teeth bit harder into the bedspread, and her clenched fists gripped tightly onto the fabric far beyond her head. To add to her torment and discomfort, the unyielding brass rail over which she lay draped, was digging hard into her sensitive mound at the apex of her thighs, where she was already being cruelly divided by the tautly stretched fabric of her tugged up panties. At each stroke she found herself pressing this tender portion of her body harshly down against the metal bar, seeking vainly to lessen the impact of each cutting lash.

And then the third stroke landed, just as hard as its predecessors, and again, just a fraction lower and with it came even more unbearable agony to her tortured nates.

How she held on she did not know, as Richard slowly and methodically raised weal after devastating weal fully across both submissively presented cheeks: Kate's cries of agony were almost blotted out by the bed covers, but her squeals and sobs were still audible, and told Richard that Kate was truly paying for her misdeed. And so it continued, her bottom, previously pale and unblemished, now bore angry red lines, etched deeply into her soft flesh – each line showing the initial, double-edged furrow of impact, from which spread out a deep red blush along its full length, each individual furrow then gradually forming a weal as its centre pulled out, with raised edges laid along both outer limits like tram lines. She lost count after the first dozen or so stripes, aware only that the evil cane, hissing through the air, was still biting into burning flesh; each stroke finding a fresh path upon which to inflict its cruel kiss, each one moving lower and lower, until the very under-curve of her swelling bottom was receiving its full share of the chastisement. And then Richard announced that she had just 3 more strokes to take before her punishment was complete. Kate was by now almost beside herself from the unbelievable agonies burning onto her poor backside, and quite how she had endured those 17 lashes she just did not know – but now, mercifully, she just had to endure the last 3 and it would all be over – at last.

Richard then laid on two lashes in quick succession, as severely as those he had already dealt out, the first being aimed at the very centre of the raised, waiting bottom, but this time, letting the thin switch cut a fresh path, angled diagonally across all its predecessors – the second stroke, just seconds later cutting diagonally across the other way – Kate screamed out loud, despite the cloth still held firmly in her clenched mouth, feeling the heat and pain of those particularly cruel two lashes, landing right across so many previously delivered weals. But again she fought to hold on, and had only a few seconds respite before the twentyth, and final stroke landed – this time right across the sensitive crease between the very tops of her tapering thighs and lacerated bottom cheeks. Her scream this time was ear-splitting, gradually subsiding to a pitiful groaning, she then realising that she had at last suffered the final cut, her body lay limply over the end of her bed, totally exhausted, her eyes red with tears, the sobs of painful anguish escaping from her parted lips. After a few moments during which time Richard allowed her to regain her composure, she managed to ease her near naked frame over the rail, dropping then down onto her knees on the bedroom floor. Richard then helped her to her feet, and at Kate's sobbing request, searched out a bottle of soothing Witch Hazel from the medicine-chest in the adjoining bathroom, after giving her a tender hug in recognition of his forgiveness for her offence which could now be forgotten.

Upon his return to her bedroom he found her laying face down on the top of her rumpled bed, her hands clasped to her lacerated bottom, whilst at the same time trying to hold back more tears. Where Richard could still observe uncovered skin, he could see that her bottom was now a blazing mass of weals and scarlet lines; each bringing its own burning torment, whilst the collective effect was that of having been stung by a million wasps, as wave after wave of pain coursed its way deep into her body and soul. Even the front of her lovely body had not escaped damage, Kate being aware that her soft, proud mons had become bruised harshly as she had crushed her mid-regions against the bed-rail at the impact of each stroke.

Richard, however, gently applied the lotion to the ravaged globes, having persuaded Kate to remove her protecting hands and allow him access; the initial stinging of the healing Elm extract causing additional torment until at last she could feel the balm starting to work its soothing magic on the wealed flesh.

It was probably an hour before Kate could raise herself painfully from the bed, and attempt to cover her near nudity with her dressing-gown, wincing even when that filmy garment brushed her tender nether regions. Richard comforted and hugged the red-eyed Kate, who murmured her feelings of relief at having got her punishment over with at last, and her happiness, that by having submitted herself to his cane, had managed to retain his love and respect. Gradually she regained sufficient composure to enable her to get to the bathroom and wash her face, removing streaked make-up along with the redness from her tears and then allowed Richard to renew his anointment, carefully, to her still smarting bottom, with the healing liquid. There was no doubt that she had, and would continue to suffer, a good deal of pain – far more than Richard had intended to inflict, but she had willingly taken every cutting stroke to prove her love. The evidence of what she had endured would remain on her for a long, long time, she knew.

Finally, after many hugs and kisses, Richard assured her that their relationship would now be better than ever, and that his love for her had in fact deepened. After an emotional, long farewell, Richard left for home, telling Kate that he would phone every day to see how she was, and of course he could not wait for their usual date the next weekend.

As soon as Richard had gone, and before her mum came home, she stood before her dressing-table mirror to examine her ravaged nates. Removing her panties was painful but at last she managed to ease them off, standing then with her back to the large mirror and turning her head to view the scene of her atonement. Despite the intensity of the pain still coursing through her savaged behind she confessed to Sue that she nevertheless soon started to feel a glow of pleasure, growing in intensity between her legs. She blushed slightly, but finally admitted to the still breathless Sue, how she had gradually succumbed to the spreading wave of warmth in her loins, and still regarding her rear-view in the mirror, had, with deft fingers, brought herself to a thrilling climax.

'Do you want to see?' suddenly exclaimed Kate, breaking the spell that she had cast over Sue.

'See? See what?' said Sue, almost in a trance, as she brought herself back from her daydream; a daydream within which she had somehow become Kate and was trying to imagine what pleasure she might expect from such a painful experience... her concentration returned to the present. 'See what?' she repeated.

'My cane marks, idiot' said Kate brightly. 'Quick, before Mum comes back. Up to my room and I'll let you have a peek at my souvenirs'.

With that, Kate turned and was already half-way up the stairs before Sue jumped up to follow her chum. When Sue entered Kate's bedroom she was already in the throes of removing her short skirt, which she threw casually over a nearby chair. Her shoes followed, leaving her clad in just a T-shirt, and black, silky french knickers, cut high to the waist-band at each side. The T-shirt came off next, revealing erect nipples atop of her perfect, full breasts, and allowing her friend to view the full glory of her 17yr old body. Kate explained that the french knickers were a necessity since the punishment she had received from Richard that Saturday night two weeks previously.

'My normal panties were just too tight, and they cut right into me where I'm still a bit sore' she explained, holding her hands to her bottom cheeks as if to emphasise the point. By this time Sue was seated on Kate's dressing table stool, watching her friend undress for her, her, still breathless from listening to Kate's detailed account of her punishment.

'Come on' she said, impatiently, 'Let's see then!'

With that Kate turned her bared back to Sue, and bending slightly forward, inserted her thumbs into the elastic of her knickers, then slowly slid them down over her curvacious hips, and down her slender thighs, dropping the scanty garment finally to the floor and stepping out of the tangled nylon.

Sue gasped at the sight that was now presented fully to her gaze.

Kate's bottom cheeks bore a mass of red lines, many of them still quite vivid looking weals, and whilst many were fully independent of each other, many more crossed in places at which points angry red eruptions could be seen. Her right haunch bore the evidence of the tapering cane-end, which had obviously flicked and cut deeply into her side, as the whippy bamboo had curled round her soft flank. The two final strokes that Kate had described so clearly were fully discernable as a large cross etched diagonally across the other lines cut so harshly into her posteriors, with a single vivid red stripe, as if drawn with a pen and ruler, clearly showing along the very join of her bottom cheeks and tender thigh tops.

Sue remained speechless, and stared intently for what seemed an eternity at the incredible sight. Kate remained bending forward, still and mute, as if aware that Sue would need time to fully appreciate the extent of her suffering.

Finally Kate spoke. 'Well?' she said, softly and inquisitively, 'What do you think of my 'trophies'?'

Sue, by now, had risen from the stool, and was silently kneeling directly behind Kate's forward leaning figure, her face just inches away from the cruelly lacerated surfaces of her bottom cheeks. Again, without speaking, and as if hypnotised, she remained peering intently and silently at the ravaged skin, and then hesitatingly stretched her hand out and delicately touched the damaged surfaces of Kate's behind, feeling gently the indentations and ridges of every weal, as if counting and savouring each one in turn, drawing an occasional sharp intake of breath when she came across a particularly painful looking welt.

The close and intimate inspection undertaken by Sue somehow seemed exciting to Kate, even more so when she became aware that Sue's soft lips were then being gently applied as well as her searching fingers, kissing each weal in turn. She was aware also of a rising heat within her loins, and she began to groan softly, with building pleasure, her hands reaching down to the moist opening between her legs, which she eased apart, and was soon lost in a tremulous, earth shattering orgasm, whilst Sue continued to ply her lip service to her now gyrating twin hemispheres. Kate's eyes closed as the wave of sheer pleasure overtook her, but as her orgasm at last subsided, and her spasms diminished, she re-opened them slowly. She saw that Sue was no longer applying her moist lips to her tender bottom, but, as Kate watched, using the mirrored reflection of her dressing table mirror, had risen from her position of supplication, and was hurriedly stripping off her own clothes, until she was as naked as Kate. As Kate continued to observe the delightful image through the mirror, she saw Sue turn, resolutely towards the end of her bed, where she had so recently undergone her punishment, and with a backward glance to ensure that Kate had seen her, bent her nude body fully over the same brass rail, stretching out her arms, and adopting the exact posture so carefully described to her by Kate. Her toes were just resting on the carpeted floor; and her stark naked, nubile body lay tautly extended in complete submission.

'Please, Kate, please!!' Those huskily spoken words from Sue were all that was required. Kate knew just how her friend was craving to sample the full gamut of pain, and finally, pleasure, that only the cane could provide. She clearly wanted, and needed, to share fully Kate's own experience, fully and completely – it would be no use, Kate knew, just to give her waiting friend a few half-hearted strokes – she would detect that it was not the full taste of the rod. She needed to feel the excruciating, unbearable agony that only the severest application would bring.

'Are you sure?' said Kate, her own breathing still heavy from the aftermath of her intense climax – but she knew she did not need any spoken response to confirm Sue's urgent needs.

'Yes' however came Sue's clear, calm reply, which belied the turmoil raging in her mind. Could she really allow Kate to thrash her as soundly as she knew she would do, but her resolve held firm.

'Pl.. pleas... please, Kate. Please cane me as hard as Richard did you. I want to feel the bite of the cane and to suffer exactly as you had to. I mean it. I want it just as hard as you can give it. I need to feel it properly and as cruelly as you know I want to. But please do it now, before I have a chance to chicken out. Please give me twenty strokes, no less, and what ever you do, don't stop even if I beg you to – I know I will, so you must ignore my pleas and finish what I have asked for.'

Kate understood fully, and without further delay purposefully removed the bamboo cane from its hiding place, and drawing its length through her fingers, felt its cold hardness, remembering how it had been used so harshly on her own poor backside, and shuddered slightly. She now approached the bed, where Sue lay, waiting, with mounting tension coiling tightly in her stomach, knowing that she had set the wheels in motion and there could now be no turning back. She was resigned to her fate, and come what may she would stay over that bed rail, and hoped she had the strength and fortitude to take it as bravely as her friend Kate had done.

'Ready?' said Kate huskily, and saw Sue nod her head slightly, her face hidden by her blonde hair which had fallen over her features, the remainder hidden deep in the bed covers.

Measuring the first stroke, she laid the tip of the cane at the raised centre crown of Sue's waiting posterior, Kate now appreciating for the first time just how her own submissive form must have looked to Richard. She was thankful though that she had been allowed to keep her panties on, albeit they had been pulled up into such a narrow strip, noting how clearly she could observe Sue's sexuality, despite the fact that Sue had her legs tightly closed together, for the moment at least. The deep cleft between her bottom widened at the base of her cheeks and revealed, between wisps of blonde pubic curls, the full outer lips of her vagina, and would, Kate thought, provide a most attractive view to most men.

The cane then rose and with grim determination Kate brought it down, with all her might, allowing its full force to bite deeply into Sue's passively waiting bottom with a loud CRACK!

Sue's legs shot up into the air with the initial shock, and from her hidden lips came a garbled yell, smothered to a degree by the bedclothes, but still audible. A deep furrow soon appeared, its pale central valley quickly turning deep red, a blushing glow then emanating sideways along its length, revealing the path of the obvious pain and heat outwards into Sue's delicate, fleshy globes. Kate watched, fascinated at the reaction on her friends body, which she waited to subside before attempting the second stroke. As she waited she allowed her hand to reach out and gently touch the weal she had raised on her friends bottom, feeling her nates contract as her fingers gently traced the path of the weal fully across both cheeks. Her hand then gently stroked each nate in turn, as if to comfort her friend before proceeding with her punishment. Taking aim again, she quickly laid the second and third strokes above and below the first line, in rapid succession, using every ounce of strength she could muster, and ensuring that the thin whippy stick landed fully across the full width of its target area, so delightfully presented before her.

Sue yelled again and her body bucked under the double assault, but bravely fought her instincts to raise herself from the bedrail, as Kate slowly raised the long slender cane yet again, steeling herself to blot out Sue's sobs and groans from her ears. Two more severe strokes were then applied to the fuller, lower curves of Sue's backside. Kate thinking that Sue would not be enjoying the initial, searing pain that would be scorching into her soft, unprotected flesh. Indeed Sue's legs kicked wildly into the air, as she yelled for mercy, allowing Kate to see her fully exposed lush pubis, but even at this early stage of her torment she could see Sue's wispy pubic locks becoming damp, clinging to her inner thighs, as the musky aroma invading her nostrils confirmed that Sue was becoming aroused by the caning she was receiving, which also was affecting Kate's own animal senses.

Kate then proceeded to lash the cruel cane relentlessly down across the slim, defenceless target laid so passively before her, ignoring, as she had promised, Sue's plaintive cries and pleas for her to stop, knowing that she had to continue the full, painful sentence she had asked for at the start.

Kate was now entering her own state of arousal, conscious of her own nudity as she carried out the harsh punishment that her dear friend had craved so much for. Her full, jutting breasts rising and falling with each stroke she administered, their often violent gyrations unrestricted by any garments, and her flint hard nipples throbbing with strange, compelling desires.

The cane continued to rise and fall with a methodical rhythm, its hissing path announcing to the waiting victim that another agonising stroke was going to cut its remorseless way into tautly proffered bottom, and that she would have to endure so many more of them. It was as though she was shackled to the bed by invisible bonds; indeed it would have been so much easier for her had they actually existed, but as it was, only her own supreme will-power kept her somehow firmly in place over the bed rail, as the flogging continued. A loud CRACK!! followed each descending SWISH!! and at the point of each impact Sue's bottom jumped and bucked, trying in vain to escape or absorb the fearful pain but without success. Her legs kicked back and forth wildly, ensuring that her total weight was borne by just the hard, brass bed-rail, causing her to suffer further waves of pain directly into her sensitive mound, at which point Kate could observe Sue's toes seeking to find the floor and ease the pressure, only to then suffer yet another burning stroke that would drive her legs back into the air once more. The cane was laid, stroke by stroke all over the entire area of Sue's uplifted rounded bottom, Kate only pausing when she had counted seventeen burning lashes.

'Now' she said in the same husky tone, 'These are the final three, you know where they are going to land, don't you?'

If Sue had been able to muster a reply she would have agreed that she knew only too well where they were likely to be delivered!! But she did not utter a word, frightened that she might delay the end of her punishment, or worse, cause Kate to abandon it before its agonising, but so desired completion, was reached.

Kate did not however hesitate for one moment, and raising herself up onto the balls of her feet to gain extra height and weight, laid first one resounding stroke diagonally across the furrows already ploughed into Sue's soft flesh, and then another diagonally across that in turn, leaving Sue to absorb and suffer the unbearable torment of the overlaid 'kiss' which had now been cut so perfectly into her already ravaged cheeks.

Sue's high-pitched scream was barely able to escape her lips, before Kate laid the final stroke, with equal precision, into the waiting crease atop Sue's thighs, just below the stretched under-curve of her slim nates. As soon as that last, devastating stroke had found its waiting target, Sue bucked and yelled in pure anguish, and quickly pulled her hands around to find her rear cheeks, pulling herself painfully up from the bed-rail, tottering slightly as her legs weakened and buckled in the aftermath of her ordeal.

Sue almost fell against Kate's naked, perspiring body, tears of pain and relief welling in her clear blue eyes, and intermittent sobs escaping from her parted lips. Kate quickly clasped Sue closely to her, aware that her own full, naked breasts were crushing against Sue's firm benippled bosom, giving to each other the mutual comfort they both needed. Sue's hands, however, remained clasped to her agonised cheeks, allowing Kate to hold her steady as the agony of her painful initiation continued to sweep through her. After a few moments, Kate led her friend gently to the side of her bed and tenderly helped Sue to lay, face down on the soft covers, reluctantly allowing Kate to remove her hands, and so permit her to apply generous quantities of soothing lotion to the damaged areas. Kate gently soothed the healing balm into her raw cheeks, noting how, after the initial, smarting reaction Sue had relaxed her clenched bottom to allow Kate to work the cool fluid into her yielding flesh with her finger tips. Gradually, as Kate continued her ministrations, Sue's shallow, irregular sobs turned to deeper, more passive moans which told Kate, if she was not already fully aware, that she was now experiencing growing surges of pleasure, which they both had hoped would be the reward that Sue would receive as a result of her willing submission to the cruel kiss of Kate's bamboo cane. Kate's nimble fingers continued to apply the cream to Sue's twin orbs gradually allowing them to delve deeper and deeper between them, seeking out that lush, central valley hidden between Sue's long, slim legs. As she worked her searching fingers deeper still, Sue started to part her tapering thighs until they were spread fully open, in a direct and unmistakeable invitation for Kate to go further in her explorations. Soon Kate was insinuating her fingers directly into Sue's downy covered, wet, and slippery love-nest, urging her into a series of violent, contracting orgasms, each far beyond Sue's wildest dreams and expectations, expelling, for a time at least, must of the pain from her mind.

Moments passed, during which Kate allowed Sue's reclining body to gradually subside into a deep and peaceful sleep, she then laying her own naked body down along-side in the narrow bed, allowing Sue's hot bottom cheeks to snuggle into her own body shape, her hand gently caressing Sue's curvaceous, nubile figure, and allowing her own desires to overtake her, dropping her hand then to find her own, much needed release, knowing that she and Sue would, no doubt, find many further opportunities to pursue and share their newly discovered pleasures, sharing equally as all good friends do.

Teddy's Narrative

Story from Phoenix 44.

Teddy's Narrative

A girl's Teddy Bear normally keeps a strict code of silence. But Miss Jennifer was so naughty the story has to be told.

It is pitch-dark in the bedroom and the hands of the Micky Mouse clock point to five-past-midnight. Miss Jennifer lies in the big bed; she wears no pyjamas and she is crying. She lies on her tummy because her bottom is throbbing with bruised heat. She has been bitterly caned and big silver tears roll down her soft cheeks and soak into my fur. I'm a very wet Teddy Bear.

All the toys in the nursery saw the caning. The tin soldier stood very stiff all the time it was happening. The abacus counted the strokes, and the musical-box thought of Handel's Water Music. Most of the toys felt sorry for Miss Jennifer who screamed and wept as Father caned. But I know what caused it all, and I think she deserved it.

About three moths ago Miss Jennifer took me to bed. "Oh Teddy," she said, nuzzling up to me, "Today I met the man that Mummy and Daddy want me to marry. And Teddy (a tiny tear came into her eye and she pouted her lips) I'm afraid I don't like him. She said a lot more which I won't bore you with, but I didn't like the sound of it. I said to myself: it doesn't matter if you like this boy or not Miss Jennifer. If the old Duke wants you to marry him... you'll marry him.

A few weeks later Miss Jennifer came home at five o'clock in the morning. She'd been to a big, society Ball. "Oh Teddy," she said. "That horrid man took me to the Ball tonight and afterwards kissed and kissed me. He wanted to go further but I didn't let him because I still don't like him."

That sounds like trouble I thought. The Duke and Duchess favour this young whipper-snapper, but Miss Jennifer still says 'No'.

And so matters went on for about a couple of months. Then one night the Duchess came into the bedroom for a serious, heart-to-heart with Miss Jennifer. The Duchess said the young man came from a very good family. It appears he has a title. He was also good looking, rich and sensible; a most suitable groom-to-be. Miss Jennifer must learn to like him. The Duchess didn't mince matters and finally Miss Jennifer dissolved in tears. Later, in bed, she asked me what to do.

I kept my mouth shut. It's more than a Bruin's job is worth to say anything. But I thought to myself: you'd better change your mind Miss Jennifer, or that cane behind the bedroom door will be in action. The Duke and Duchess are not to be disobeyed. Although Miss Jennifer is over the age of consent she would still be subject to the Duke's strict discipline.

To cut a long story short, about eight o'clock tonight Miss Jennifer came into the bedroom looking very shocked. "Oh Teddy," she said weepily, "Daddy had sent me upstairs; and you know what that means." Of course I knew what it meant and so did all the other toys. One of the younger dolls started sucking her thumb, the twin book-ends looked at each other and slowly shook their heads.

Miss Jennifer perched on the side of the bed and kicked her shoes off petulantly. She has dainty ankles and pretty feet. She raised one side of her skirt, unclipped a suspender and rolled one silky stocking down her shapely leg.

Mary-Anne, the big china doll noticed Miss Jennifer was gnawing her lip anxiously; obviously she was thinking of what was to come. She unclipped the other suspender and, with a heavy sigh, her other stocking came off. Miss Jennifer then sat with her skirt high over her thighs and her small hands gripped her knees which had begun to tremble slightly. Because the Duke was very angry and she felt very frightened.

If Mary-Anne the china-doll had had the least sip of water at this point she would have disgraced herself terribly, because Miss Jennifer looked so soft and loveable, so diminutive and helpless that the doll longed to tell her how sorry she was about Miss Jennifer's plight.

Miss Jennifer gave another sad sigh, and swallowed with some difficulty and her hands went to the waist-belt of her skirt. Then she stood up and unclipped the buckle. The dark material fell gently to the ground and Miss Jennifer stepped free of it. Now all the toys could see her lovely long legs, dimpled knees and smooth, slender thighs. Jack-in-the-Box looked straight at Miss Jennifer's soft, white, skimpy knickers which hardly covered a quarter of her precious bottom, and Jack-in-the-Box was no longer in the box.

Then Miss Jennifer stretched behind her to undo her bra, and as the hooks loosened she eased a delectable breast out of each bra-cup, then hung the lacy garment over the back of a chair. Gollywog's hair stood high on end because the bra seemed to have confined Miss Jennifer's breasts very slightly and as it came off they fell back into their natural shape, which is oval and not very big, but very soft and creamy.

I'm a lucky Teddy Bear because of all the toys, I'm the one who is hugged to Miss Jennifer's breasts as she whispers secrets to me in the dark. Sometimes – like right this minute – her breasts heave and tremble as she squeezes me against them because of the nasty, burning, pulsing pain in her punished bottom. At times like this my head gets very wet because Miss Jennifer uses my big fluffy ears to wipe her streaming eyes. As she dabs me to her, she moans softly and gives little whimpers through parted lips.

"Oh Teddy. Oh Teddy – darling – if only you knew how my bottom hurts just now. So do my thighs; I daren't move my legs because of the cane. Did you see how hard Daddy caned me? I just know the pain is going to go on all night. Even if I do manage to fall asleep, I'll wake up again, because I ache so much, and that part of me twitches and I can't do anything about it. I try to stop it but it's the result of Daddy hitting really badly."

"Oh Teddy... do you think the pain will ever go away?"

Now I know the pain will go away – eventually – because it always does. Miss Jennifer's bottom will get back to normal and those deep red marks will disappear. But it's no good saying anything because the old Duke has laid-in some master-strokes – inwards and upwards, undercutting the buttocks where they swell out. I had to admire his style. But it's no good telling Miss Jennifer not to cry, so I say nothing.

Anyway, let me get back to describing what happened earlier. You'll remember I was saying how Miss Jennifer was undressing.

Miss Jennifer stood by the bed in nothing but those wispy knickers and if Humpty Dumpty hadn't been just a poster on the wall, he would have fallen and smashed into a hundred pieces.

The fact is, I've know Miss Jennifer since she was born. I was put in the nursery even before she arrived. I've seen her grow up. She was a pretty child and she developed into one of the most desirable girls, certainly in our district, and maybe even in the County. I've loved her for 21 years: I even celebrated her 21st Birthday in bed with her – I'm not saying how!

Anyway, I knew what was going on in Miss Jennifer's mind. She was thinking she wouldn't take her knickers off. She simply wouldn't. She positively refused to because at 21 she was far-too-old to be caned; she had her rights and Daddy shouldn't bend her over when she was totally naked. It wasn't fair; she hated it; it made her feel so small. Worst of all it brought back memories of her teenage years when Daddy was dreadfully strict. In those days she never seemed to be away from the cane.

But then the big stuffed-owl on the mantle-piece caught her eye, who is always so knowing and wise. Then she thought about how furious Daddy was and if she didn't do exactly as she was told, when he came upstairs he'd probably double the number of strokes he was going to give her. So Miss Jennifer decided discretion was the better part; slowly, painfully and miserably she began to take her knickers off.

Her thighs parted just a little bit because the knicker-fabric had slipped tightly into somewhere. It does that quite often and I don't think Miss Jennifer really minds. She sucked-in her tummy, gave her hips a fabulous little wiggle (it's so sexy when she does that) and down came the knickers. I could see Miss Jennifer resented her nakedness and defencelessness and placed a delicate hand in front of her. I can't speak for Jack-in-the-Box, but none of the other toys looked at that place because we all felt sorry for her.

Miss Jennifer didn't have a stitch on. The only sound in the Nursery was the tick of the Micky Mouse clock and that seemed to be as loud as Big Ben. The toys held their breath: Miss Jennifer looked so lovely, slender, demure and afraid and they wished they knew how to help her.

I've watched the scene a thousand times, especially when Miss Jennifer was a teenager and I know there's absolutely nothing any of us can do. Miss Jennifer is going to be caned. She's going to yell and screech and wiggle about hopelessly. I can see the cane behind the nursery door. It hangs on a hook so easy for Daddy to reach when he comes – red-faced and angry – into the room. Nobody in the whole world would dare to move that cane; Daddy has said it must never be touched except by him. But he makes sure it hangs where Miss Jennifer can see it as she lies in bed.

Then there was a long wait during which Miss Jennifer became more tense and afraid because she couldn't help imagining what was going to happen.

Pained and miserable you might feel Miss Jennifer, this old Bruin said to himself, but not half so pained and miserable as you'll feel when the old Duke has done with you. His Grace made Miss Jennifer wait for about three-quarters-of-an-hour contemplating her nakedness and wondering if any girl alive could feel more wretched.

Then there were the inevitable footsteps on the stairs. Miss Jennifer went all tense and whimpered softly. The door opened, a hand reached out and that terrible, thin venomous cane came down from the peg and zipped and whistled through the bedroom air. The old Duke certainly had a head-of-steam on; I'd not seen him swing that arm so broadly for years. He swung round on Miss Jennifer, who crouched back down onto the bed in a hopeless attempt to getaway, and instead of pulling her up (as I thought he would) he pushed her downwards flat on her back.

Then he grabbed both her ankles in one huge hand, and hoisted them upwards, and pushed her legs right back over her head until one dainty little foot rested beside each ear. She was bent over double and her back was pressing into the mattress; needless to say her bottom-cheeks were totally exposed. Not a nice position to be caned in – but then what position is?

I could only guess the Old Duke was tired of arguing with Miss Jennifer over whether or not she was willing to accept that boy. And sure enough, that was the trouble, because – as he lifted the cane in the air – the old Duke said: "If you won't accept my choice of husband for you the easy way, then – by God – you'll marry him the hard way."

With those words, it began: Wallop! Wallop! Wallop! Down came the cane on that bare, white-skinned, adorable bottom and Miss Jennifer screamed as if she'd been touched with a red-hot iron and shouted: "No Daddy! No Daddy! Pleeeeese... noooooh!"

Miss Jennifer began to struggle, she tried to kick her legs free of the old Duke's grip but he pushed down on her hard, bending her back again into position so her bottom was fully and rudely presented. It was a good job it was only her Father who could see her like that.

I've seen Miss Jennifer caned at almost every age since the old Duke began to discipline her, but I can't think when I've seen her bottom jive so desperately as it did then. It swung to the right, the left, and back to the right again. It bounced upwards, boobed downwards, writhed, wriggled and jiggled in a dozen different angles, in a wild struggle to get away from the cane. The more it jiggled about the harder the old Duke pressed down; the force of the pushing made Miss Jennifer's cleft part slightly but the slash of the cane made her cheeks squeeze as tight as the spring in the wind-up song-bird, against the searing pain.

The toys were horrified. They thought it was the harshest whipping, the cruelest show, the most pitiful bouncing back-and-forth fight to escape they could remember. Wallop! Wallop! Wallop! That trusty old stick – which I've seen in action so often – continued its work, but never so fiercely as the Duke used it then. Even Lion, bravest of all the toys, drew his tongue over his lips.

Six terrible strokes Miss Jennifer got and the old Duke hurled the cane onto the duvet and stormed out of the room. Miss Jennifer rolled onto her tummy and curled into a tight ball. She squeezed and clenched and unclenched her cheeks, gasping, gulping, struggling hopelessly against the agonising pain.

Then – like she always does – she grabbed hold of me and I knew I was in for a soaking because she was howling and weeping and her tears would soon be all over me. Which is just how it turned out.

Right now Miss Jennifer is in a state half-way between sleeping and wakefulness. She's still flat on her tummy but instead of not daring to move, her body is slowly beginning to press itself into the mattress. She's putting most of the pressure on her lower parts which are starting to move in a gentle, rhythmic, sensuous way.

She snuggles her soft lips into my face and the last thing she whispers is: "Teddy Darling... will you please come on honeymoon with me." Then there are heavier breaths and bouncier movements and little squeaks of satisfaction before Miss Jennifer at last falls into fitful sleep.

The Bottom Line

Story from Phoenix 50.

The Bottom Line

The credit card statement dropped through the letter-box. Jane picked it up with some trepidation. When George saw it he would know that she had spent a lot of money over the limit he'd set for her. She hoped against hope that he would not notice... but he would! "An act of gross disobedience!" he'd call it. She remembered the last time he'd said that. How she remembered!

"You must learn to do as you are told! I've spoken to you before, but it doesn't seem to do any good. Now I'll have to give you something to help you remember that you don't disobey me. Go and get the cane! I won't tolerate such gross disobedience!"

She knew where the cane was kept... in his wardrobe. He'd showed it to her before they got married, and he'd said that she would feel it across her bottom, but of course she'd not believed him. Women of twenty-three didn't get caned... it was all a joke. Of course she knew that he was a 'bottom' man, a man who loved playing with women's bottoms. Just after she'd got the job in the typing pool, one of the other girls had told her that George liked bottoms, and as she'd long ago decided that she was going to marry a rich man, she'd bought that very tight skirt so that her bottom cheeks were on display. That skirt had done the trick! He'd soon had her in his office as his private secretary, and the very first day he'd come up behind her and cupped her two cheeks in his hands, and stroked and caressed them. As she'd not objected... he was very rich and very masterful, he'd gone further the next day, then further, until it was his practice to have her standing in front of him, and then sliding his hands up her skirt, and playing with her bottom! She'd worn tinier and tinier knickers until they had virtually disappeared. He'd shown his appreciation by the rises she'd received. One day he'd asked her to stay late, to do something confidential! ...and when everybody was out of the office, he beckoned her over to him, pulled her down over his knees, and slid her skirt and slip right up, so that her bottom was completely exposed! He pulled the vestigial knickers up and up until the slender gusset had disappeared into the valley between her cheeks, and he'd stroked her globes. It was really quite exciting. Then he started to pat, then spank, the lovely targets. It didn't hurt, it was so gentle. But the caning four weeks ago was anything but gentle!

She'd brought the cane to him, and he'd told her to bend over the table, holding tight to the other end. He laid the cane down beside her, and peeled back her skirt and slip. She was wearing French knickers, and impatiently, he pulled them down as far as he could. He stroked her bottom apparently in appreciation. "That cane is just a joke", she thought, but then he picked it up and swished it through the air. It gave a sinister 'hiss'... "He won't use it... he's trying to scare me!". But then there was another 'hiss', which ended abruptly in a violent 'crack', as the cane struck the creamy flesh of the bottom offered to it. Jane screamed in agony, and let go of the table to get up.

"Get back where you were told. This is your first time, so there will be only another five. But I don't want to hear all that noise. Much more noise like that, and you'll get another half dozen".

Jane collapsed on the table and the cane cut her again. It was AWFUL! She couldn't bear it. The pain was fantastic... just as if a red hot poker had been laid across her so tender bottom. Once more she tried to get up, but he held her down on the table.

"I've told you once, I don't like that noise. Any more and you will regret it. This is your last warning. Do you understand?"

Jane didn't... couldn't, reply. He slapped her bottom with his open hand.

"Well, did you understand?"

Feebly she said, "Yes, Sir".

Why she added 'Sir', she didn't know, but somehow it seemed appropriate. The cane bit hard into her fleshy bottom four times more, seeming to wrap itself right round the fleshy nates. Somehow, Jane managed to suppress her screams of pain, so that only stifled grunts could be heard. When the sixth stroke had fallen, she lay there supine, wondering if more was to come. It was not! Her punishment was over, though George stroked the scarlet-turning-purple flesh, in appreciation.

"Get up now! You may go and lie down... but you will be down here, properly dressed, in time to get our dinner. Just make sure that you do as you are told in the future. I shan't let you off so lightly again!"

All that was four weeks ago, and the marks of the cane had long faded. (She used to look at her bottom in the mirror when George had gone to the office.) Oddly enough, the memory of the terrible pain and indignity had faded too, and though she was not looking forward to another session of bending over and being caned, she thought that after all, it had not been so bad... and perhaps she did deserve it. It was a small price to pay to be married to a man as rich as George. Still, it might be a good idea to hide the tell-tale document. Where to put it? The obvious place was the file in which it would be kept, and then tell George that it had not arrived. After a few days he would forget it, and perhaps never check on it. So that was what Jane did... foolish girl!

George arrived home at his usual time, and after kissing her, he asked her if any post had arrived. "No, nothing today!" Jane said brightly. "That's odd. The credit card statement usually arrives on this date. I'll get on to the bank and give them hell tomorrow. They're trying to catch me out with late payment, and they'll charge me a devil of an interest!" Jane was in a quandary. If she kept quiet and he found out from the bank that the statement had, in fact, arrived on time, he would be furious about her trivial action, as well as furious about her spending. She decided that a confession was the best thing to do.

"Oh, the bank statement!" she said chirpily, "I didn't think you meant that. It did arrive today, but I filed it right away. I know you like things neat and tidy, and I didn't think you would want to be troubled by it!"

This silly statement caused George's eyebrows to rise in astonishment. After all, he would have to pay the demand.

"Well, just get it out and let me see it. I'll write a cheque right away, and that will be done!"

Jane handed him the file, and held her breath. She prayed that he would miss her extravagance, but it was not to be:

"What's this... you've overspent by £105. What on earth do you mean by it? You know your limit!"

"I've bought myself some new undies and a lovely shorty nighty! They're silk, and I know you'll love them. I was going to put the nighty on tonight when we go to bed, to surprise you".

"You've certainly surprised me! You have not only disobeyed me, you've tried to deceive me. There's only one thing for it. Go and get the cane!". "But..."

"Don't argue! Go and get the cane! And white you're upstairs strip off completely. I don't want to see a stitch on you when you come down! Now, be quick!"

Sullenly, Jane went up to the bedroom, undressed, and then took the cane downstairs. She handed it to George.

"Over the table!"

He swished the cane experimentally. Jane flinched, but tried to relax all her bottom muscles, to reduce the pain. She had found that, if she tensed up, the cane seemed to hurt even more. Six strokes followed one another, in a slow stately fashion. Like last time, it was agony, her arse feeling on fire. George paused. "That was all!" thought Jane, hopefully, and began to get up.

"How dare you move, 'til I tell you! Just stay there".

George balanced the cane across the burning buttocks, and left it there.

"Now, I'm just going to make a 'phone call. You will stay there, and that cane must be in the same position when I come back. If it's fallen to the floor, it will be all the worse for you!"

He went out, leaving a suffering wife, wondering if she could stay still long enough. Her poor bottom was on fire! She had to move! It was agony to stay still... but she feared the consequences. He'd probably give her another hiding. She desperately wanted to stroke her poor bum, to relieve the terrible pain, but she knew that if she did, she would almost certainly dislodge the cane, and heaven knows what George would do then. It was almost too much to bear, when her mentor returned. He picked up the cane and awarded her another six strokes. Agony piled on agony! Jane could not contain herself – she cried and shrieked:

"OW... OW... Stop... stop... please... please stop! OW... OW... I promise I'll behave... I promise... OW... OW... OW..."

But, to no avail. Her master laid into the reddened bottom harder with each stroke. Eventually, he stopped.

"Right... now I hope that has taught you a lesson which you won't forget. Upstairs, wash yourself, and calm down. Put on the new nighty, and those black high-heeled shoes I like, and come down to get dinner!"

Jane limped upstairs, rubbing her sore bottom, and then washed her face in cold water. She put on the new nighty – it was in silk, but in such fine silk, that it hid nothing. Her secret parts were clearly visible, surrounded by her full bush. It was so very low cut, that her full breasts were barely covered, her nipples being just below the frilly lace at the top. She put the shoes on with difficulty, partly because the heels were so high, but also because she did not feel she could sit down to do up the ankle straps, her bottom was too tender. The shoes made walking difficult. She looked at herself in the long mirror of her wardrobe. When she turned, the state of her rump was clearly visible... the nightdress was so short that any movement caused it to rise up and display the bright red globes, criss-crossed by the twelve weals awarded to her by the punishment which she now realised she had richly deserved.

When she got downstairs, George ordered her to turn round and bend over:

"Splendid... a lovely sight". He stroked her bottom appreciatively. "Now, walk around the room".

The abject woman did as she was told. She was in no state to be disobedient.

"Get your shoulders back! That's it. I want to see your tits".

George feasted his eyes on the delightful sight. His wife's tits stood out proudly, the nipples forcing out the thin silk. Even better, the high-heeled shoes made walking unstable, so that the globes of the bottom he had dealt with, bounced and swayed delightfully, being well displayed by the flimsy nighty, which lifted with every movement.

When George was satisfied with the feast before him, he told her to get dinner. This was easy to prepare... she had got his favourite meal virtually ready before he'd arrived home, hoping to put him in a good mood if he just happened to see the bank statement. She thought that she could eat her dinner while standing up, but George insisted that she sat down, and moreover, he had provided a hard wooden chair for her. Just before the meal was finished, he dropped a bombshell:

"Frank and Mary will be round for drinks in about a quarter of an hour!"

"Oooh. Well, I'll have to go and get properly dressed".

"Oh no! You stay just as you are! You'll open the door when they come, and you'll serve them drinks as any good hostess would!"

"Oh, please let me dress!"

"Is this more disobedience? Perhaps you should go over the table again. Another six? Another twelve?"

"Oh no, no, no, not that! I'll do just as you say!"

"Good... perhaps you are learning. Now, get the meal tidied up – put things in the dishwasher, and get ready for our guests".

It took poor Jane much longer to clear the table and get things away, than it normally would, as she had to move as gently as possible. Nevertheless, she was just ready when the doorbell rang. She looked piteously at George:

"Please, please, please will you go?''

George picked up the cane and flexed it in his hands.

"You've obviously not learned that you must do as you are told. Six more on that bottom? Is that what you want?"

"Oh no..." and Jane could not get to that door quickly enough!

The guests were old friends of George's, whom Jane had met several times. Both were older than she, probably George's age, about forty-five. Frank was a short, dapper, little man, always neat and tidy, whilst Mary was tall. Well-built, some would say statuesque. She carried with her a state of complete calm and control. Jane felt that, in that marriage, it was the wife who was the dominant partner. Neither seemed at all surprised at Jane's exiguous dress, nor the state of her rear when they sat down to the drinks which Jane distributed. However, they both looked with interest at the well-punished bottom, so amply displayed, as Jane played the perfect hostess. After some idle chit-chat about the weather, and the state of the country, Frank astonished Jane by addressing George directly:

"You've had to discipline Jane, I see. A bit severe weren't you? What did you give her? A dozen strokes?"

"Exactly right. She was not only disobedient, she tried to deceive me as well".

"Oh well, that'll never do! I take a very strict line about lying. These women will do it! Only the other day I found Mary out in a silly lie, so of course she had to bend over for six of the best on the bare".

Jane could hardly believe her ears. Mary caned! The two men discussing it as if it were a quite usual thing! Perhaps it was! Certainly, Mary offered no contribution to the discussion. Indeed, the men chatted as if the two women were not there – or at best, as if they were of no consequence.

"She'd bought that nighty without my permission..." George was saying, when Jane brought her thoughts back to the conversation. "...mark you, I quite like it. When she walks, it swings quite beautifully. Jane, walk round so that our guests get a good view of your bottom!"

It was a thoroughly obedient Jane who paraded around the room, her nighty swinging freely to display her beaten rump. Frank and George discussed her bottom like sportsmen discussing a particularly interesting golf shot:

"I see you've not gone for the parallel scheme..."

"No... well, it's difficult when you give more than six. Anyway, I think it has more effect if you overlay strokes..."

Jane switched off, not wanting to listen to this conversation. Mary sat mute and calm, though when she caught Jane's eye, she smiled a little smile at her. Drifts of the conversation caught Jane's ear:

"...Prefer a tawse..."

"...Never used one myself. I've always found a good whippy cane very satisfactory".

This last was from George. "Always"... who else had he caned?

The evening wore on, and eventually the guests departed. Jane put the used glasses in the kitchen, and they went up to bed, her behind aching dreadfully. She took off her shoes, and was about to get into bed, when she received another command:

"Bend over at the end of the bed... I want to see that bottom".

"Oh no..." Jane thought, "Not another hiding''. But she did as she was told, standing at the end of the bed, bending over with her hands on the bed itself. To her astonishment, she found that George wanted to stroke her poor bottom, something which he did very gently and soothingly. Of course, the pain did not go, but the feeling was comforting. Jane relaxed, and when pressure from the hands indicated that she should open her legs, she did so very willingly. Skillful hands slid between the cheeks, and a finger reached her love button. She moaned with pleasure at the massage. There was a pause, then she felt him enter her! Surely, he was bigger than ever before! And longer! And the strokes were more powerful, going deeper and deeper! She soon came to a series of shuddering orgasms, the last being reinforced by George's powerful thrusts and stream of ejaculate.

Jane collapsed into bed, tired but unable to sleep, for the thoughts of the events of the day (and the pain in her bottom!) kept her mind active. Should she stay with George and risk frequent punishment, or should she leave him? What were the pros and cons? The benefits were great. A rich husband, a good house, plenty of food, help around the house whenever she wanted it... in essence, security and comfort! The costs were only an occasional caning! There seemed no problem. She would stay. To use a favourite expression of her husband's, she would take the course where the benefits outweighed the costs. That was the bottom line! Exhausted but pleased, she drifted off into sleep.

Competing for the crop

Story from Phoenix 50.

Competing for the crop

Joanne could hardly believe what was happening. The way it had been described to the nineteen year old stable girl, she had pictured nothing like this.

Sybil Baxter, the racehorse trainer for whom the pretty, shapely, dark-haired girl had recently started work, had described it as "a bit of fun".

Draping an arm around the shoulder of the new girl, the blonde, attractive, yet formidable leading lady trainer, had explained what was so unusual about the Colonel Richard Hudson Memorial Steeplechase.

"The late Colonel had been a keen supporter of National Hunt racing, and also the owner of the Carchester racecourse. He had been one for the ladies and, as well as horse racing, he had loved to smack the bottoms of young girls".

Joanne laughed, imagining a be-whiskered, whiskey drinking, old soldier, smacking the upthrust buttocks of a servant girl; but what did Sybil Baxter's revelation have to do with the big race on Saturday?

"He was absolutely delighted when, in recent years, many more girls came into racing. The old boy was particularly fond of stable girls".

Joanne pulled a face, but it was still a pretty one, nevertheless. The Colonel had now passed on, so her bottom couldn't pass through his hands, so to speak.

The two females leaned on a white-painted rail as the trainer continued. "The Authorities have put up a nice trophy and good prize money as a proper memorial to the late Colonel's enthusiasm for racing".

Joanne nodded her obvious approval.

"However", continued Sybil Baxter, "Unofficially, we trainers and owners decided to honour the memory of the old boy in a manner more befitting his other passion".

Joanne's big blue eyes widened, sensing that the bottoms of young stable girls somehow fitted into this tribute.

She was right.

The young girl subconsciously rubbed the palms of her hands over the nicely padded seat of her fawn coloured riding breeches, as she listened to her employer.

"There is always a very good prize for the best turned out horse in the parade ring, so we thought that the person looking after the worst turned out horse should get something as well – a smacked bottom as a fitting memorial to one of racing's great benefactors".

Sybil laughed, her big breasts bobbing up and down. However, Joanne, the proud possessor of decent boobs herself, did not laugh.

"What happens if it's a stable lad who... er... loses?" the young girl wanted to know.

Sybil Baxter started to walk away from the rail, and she smiled at Joanne.

"It's carefully arranged that only stable girls parade horses prior to that particular race".

Joanne somehow knew that her employer was telling her all this for a good reason. Sure enough, Sybil mentioned that one of her particular charges, a chestnut gelding called Half Time, had been entered in the Memorial Chase at Carchester.

"Anyway, it's all a bit of fun really", breezed the blonde woman, sticking her hands in the pockets of her Berber jacket, and setting off for the boxes in the yard. As she walked away, she turned her head and said to Joanne, "I suppose you're game".

It wasn't a question. Joanne knew that she could back out if she wanted to. No employer could possibly insist on any of their staff taking port in such a ritual if they didn't want to. A refusal, however, would not do much for an employee's popularity or promotion prospects.

Sybil Baxter ran a very successful yard. The working conditions were better than in most and, as she sent out a lot of winners, there was always a fair amount of prize money to be divided up amongst the hard-working staff.

Joanne certainly didn't wish to upset her own apple cart. Besides, there was only one girl who could lose, so the odds were pretty good. Furthermore, the popular, pretty-faced new arrival had already won one prize of £20 for turning out a horse at Hexham only the previous day. Little chance, therefore, that she would actually lose.

Anyway, hadn't Sybil said that it was all a bit of fun, really? Joanne liked a bit of fun.

The day of the Colonel Richard Hudson Memorial Steeplechase drew nearer and nearer, until there was only a week to go.

Joanne talked about the event with a good-looking stable lad called Tony. He had a conditional jump jockey's license and he occasionally rode one of the yard's no-hopers in a selling hurdle.

"So you've got your arse on offer at Carchester next Saturday, have you?" he grinned, leaning against the doorway of Half Time's box.

"Guess so", grinned Joanne, dropping a hose into a bucket. "It's big enough, isn't it!"

"I personally think it's a very nice arse, Jo", he smiled, "I was riding out behind you this morning. Those breeches of yours are really tight across the beam, and the way that arse of yours was lifting and offering itself to me as you rode along, got me all hot and bothered".

"Really?" remarked Joanne. She picked up the hose, turned on the tap, and a surprised Tony received a jet of cold water in his crotch. "That should cool you down a bit!" she laughed.

She roared as he danced around, and she followed him with the hosepipe. She could get away with that with Tony. The pair of them had a good, though unconsummated, relationship.

The day of the Carchester races quickly came. Joanne sat up front in the big horse transporter with the Travelling Head Lad who was driving, and with Tony sitting alongside her. As they turned into the main gates, she could not help but wonder how many of the racegoers were aware of the 'bit of fun' involving the stable girls and the big race of the day – the Memorial Chase.

She led Half Time into his stall, confident that she was not going to lose out in the secret competition. Joanne was intrigued by it all, however, and she wanted to watch the event when it took place.

Joanne gave Half Time's coat a final brushing, and checked that all the leather was clean and polished, before saddling him up and leading him out into the parade ring.

As she led her charge round, muttering to him when he nuzzled her neck, she was aware of an unusual fluttering in her tummy. Her view of the other horses was obscured by Half Time, the only other runner visible to her being the one immediately in front.

Joanne recognised the girl leading it as Amanda Raymond. Tall and blonde-haired, she was very attractive. In fact, she worked for a neighbouring stable, and she had chatted to Joanne several times in the village pub.

Joanne looked at Amanda's jean-clad bottom, watching the cheeks rise and fall in the stretched denim, with each stride she took. She had never really noticed anyone's bottom until now. Remembering Tony's remark about her own rear, she smiled, wondering why he wasn't impressed the same with her tits. Joanne knew she had really nice tits.

Amanda's grey horse had its tail plaited, but Joanne didn't think the leggy, blonde-haired girl had made a particularly good job of it.

The loudspeaker crackled to life once again, announcing that the £50 prize for the best turned out horse had been won by Joanne Bradley, who looked after number six, Half Time.

Joanne gave her charge an affectionate pat on the nose. She'd won fifty quid which would go towards a car. More importantly though, it wouldn't be her bottom providing the 'bit of fun' later on.

"Well done Joanne", Amanda congratulated her, as the leading reins were slipped from the bridles, and the horses, with their jockeys aboard, cantered down to post.

"Thank you," beamed Joanne, "That's a weight off my mind – and a weight off my arse as well!"

"We'll find out in a minute who..." began the blonde.

However, she was immediately interrupted by a man calling her over to him. He was handsome, aged around mid-thirties, and was dressed comfortably in a tweed suit. He wore the almost obligatory brown trilby hat. Joanne was to find out later that this was Richard Hudson Jnr, the son of the late Colonel.

He whispered into Amanda's ear, and then walked away.

The blonde remained there, a look of distress on her face, and she burst into tears on the spot.

Joanne now knew who the unlucky girl was going to be!

Half Time ran a poor fourth, but the horse that the dark-haired Tony looked after, romped home by five lengths.

"More prize money to shore", he grinned, as the pair locked the horse box prior to making their way to a large marquee just outside the racecourse, on land owned by the Hudson family.

It was time for the 'bit of fun'.

Joanne could hardly believe her eyes when she got there. The place was packed with people of both sexes and all ages, standing on boxes, tables, and anything else they could find to use as a vantage point.

Suddenly, there was a lot of cheering, especially from the males, in the big tent.

"She's starting to strip off", grinned Tony, grabbing hold of Joanne's hand. "Quickly! Let's get to the front!"

By pushing, shoving, and even crawling, the two of them got to the front of the crowded marquee.

Joanne gasped as she crouched down on the grass, and took in the scene being enacted in front of her.

A small makeshift stage had been erected, and upon it stood Richard Hudson Jnr and Amanda Raymond.

Hudson, now minus trilby, jacket, and tie, stood with hands on hips, accepting items of clothing being removed by the unfortunate stable girl.

Already, he was holding Amanda's black boots, socks, and jeans. There were more cheers as she tugged her white top upwards and showed, first of all, her black-pantie-covered crotch, her flat tummy, and then her black, not very well-filled, bra.

"She hasn't got much tit to swing", complained a middle-aged man alongside Joanne.

"Never mind, dear", consoled his female companion, "Her swinging bottom will more than make up for it when Richard gets to work".

Joanne watched, dry-mourned, as the man on the stage added the white top to his collection.

Then, head bowed, Amanda unclipped the back of her bra, and passed the thin black straps down her arms.

Polite applause broke out as the audience beheld the sight of the bare-breasted stable girl. Her boobs were apple-sized, dainty almost, but were very firm. She made to conceal them with her arms, but Richard Hudson wagged a finger at her.

"The girl last year had tits like melons", sighed Tony, clearly upset that poor Amanda did not compare with her predecessor in the breastworks department.

Joanne wriggled her hand out of his. She really felt for poor Amanda. This whole thing was carrying a bit of fun too far!

"Off! Off! Off!" came the shout from a hundred or so voices. The most vociferous of the callers seemed to be the well-dressed daughters of owners and trainers and the like. It was for all the world like a guillotine scene during the French Revolution.

Amanda hesitated, biting her lip. Then, closing her eyes, she pushed her black briefs down her long slim legs.

There was more applause as she straightened up, embarrassingly revealing her thatch of golden pubic curls.

"I always wondered if she was a natural blonde", roared a coarse male voice.

Joanne recognised it as belonging to the red-faced trainer Amanda herself worked for.

"The girl last year had ginger hair", reminisced Tony, taking hold of Joanne's hand once again.

"Remind me to dye my pubes if I'm ever up there!" scowled Joanne.

Amanda handed her panties to Richard, who held them aloft to the baying crowd. Joanne was horrified when the handsome landowner hurled them into the audience. She was even more horrified when Tony caught them, and gleefully stuffed them info a pocket.

"All good fun", he grinned at his colleague.

He received an icy glare in return.

Richard Hudson put the girl's clothing down onto the wooden flooring. When he straightened up, he was holding a flexible, plaited, riding whip.

A gasp went up from the crowd. Amanda started in horror at the implement. So too, did Joanne. She had expected the 'Memorial' to the late Colonel to take the form of a gentle smacking over the knee. This was awful.

A hush fell on the big marquee as Richard Hudson indicated to Amanda that she was to turn around. As she did so, the silence turned into a murmur and, as the blonde girl revealed her enticing bottom for the first time, there were loud shouts and a round of applause.

"Not a bad arse at all", murmured Tony, his brown eyes shining as he craned his neck further forward to ogle Amanda's ripely-rounded, marble-white, buttocks.

Joanne thought back to the parade ring, remembering how she herself had admired the blonde girl's bottom. She had always thought her own was too big.

Richard Hudson ran a hand through his thick fair hair. Joanne stared at him. He was certainly a good looking bloke, and he seemed so nice. How could he do what he was doing?

He placed his left hand onto Amanda's shoulder, and pressed her down to touch her toes. The action rounded out her bottom nicely, and more murmurs of appreciation ran through the audience.

Joanne noticed how Amanda's long lean thighs were pressed tightly together. Would she be able to preserve what little modesty she had left?

"You might as well show it off now, Amanda!", roared out her boss. "We're going to see it sooner or later!"

The remark caused a great deal of laughter. Joanne opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it.

There was total silence now as Amanda, legs taut, braced herself for her ordeal. Tony gripped Joanne's hand tightly. She herself found that she was completely unable to turn her head away from the awful scene. The blonde girl's superbly sculpted buttocks were like a magnet to her eyes.

Richard Hudson gripped the riding crop and raised it to shoulder height. Then, it came arcing down to land horizontally across the full width of Amanda's seat.

The flesh rippled with the force of the blow. The bent-over girl squealed and tottered. The rapt audience, with one female exception, voiced their approval.

"How many does she get?" croaked Joanne.

"Only six", replied the good looking stable lad, licking his lips. "A pity it's not more".

Already, a line the width of the implement had sprung up across Amanda's derriere. It bisected her crease and gave her behind the appearance of a hot cross bun.

Joanne wondered what it would look like when it was all over.

Richard steadied himself for the next stroke, and delivered it crisply to the straining rump.

THWACK!

The sound of the crop striking the unprotected nubile flesh was immediately followed by a loud shriek.

Amanda's seat waggled from side to side in its acute discomfort. When it eventually came to rest, with another stripe one inch below the first one, her narrow thighs had parted, and hundreds of pairs of eyes gazed upon Amanda's intimate cleft.

''Looks just like the girlfriend", remarked a wag.

Tony gripped Joanne's damp hand. "We might see it twinkling before the six are up", he said excitedly.

"How nice", sniffed the dark-haired girl.

The sarcasm was not noticed by the stable lad. "A couple of years ago", he told his pretty companion, "The girl up there actually came before it was all over!" Tony had obviously relished the poor girl's dreadful humiliation.

Joanne sighed and shook her head. She suddenly realised that she herself was very wet down there. What a good job it wasn't her up on that platform.

Richard raised his arm once more. Joanne took her eyes off her friend's twitching bottom and looked closely at the late Colonel's son. No doubt the father would have been proud of his offspring carrying on the family tradition in this spectacular way. He reminded her of a hero in a romantic story. He had such lovely dark eyes.

Richard had a strong right arm, too. Amanda yelped like a puppy as the crop sliced its painful mark on the undercurve of her rump.

She still maintained her bent-over pose, but her bare feet stamped a tattoo on the rough boards of the mini-stage.

"This is no time for dancing, my dear", laughed the stricken girl's boss.

Richard arched the crop between his hands as he waited for Amanda to brace herself for the fourth swipe. He bent down to peer at the blonde girl's sit-upon. He obviously had a close up view of her most intimate parts.

"I'll bet he's having a good sniff down there", sniggered Tony.

He had Joanne's hand in a vice-like grip.

Joanne preferred to believe that Richard Hudson was inspecting the target area for any signs of damage, so that he would not call her any uncalled-for distress.

The fourth and fifth lashes were delivered swiftly, one after the other. Amanda's posterior went info motion after the first of the double blows had landed, and Richard's crop then hit the moving target with a loud CRACK!

Amanda let out a howl, but no one heard it as the audience erupted with cheers and applause for the landowner's skill with the pain-giving implement.

The blonde girl jerked upright, clasping her scorching rear. She turned round and round in her anguish, further delighting the crowd with her dancing breasts.

"Good fun, isn't it?" breathed Tony, letting go of Joanne's hand and clutching her trim waist instead.

Joanne disagreed with him, although there was something about the affair she found arousing. She couldn't quite figure out exactly what, however.

Up on the stage, Richard Hudson gently persuaded Amanda to remove her hands from her rear. When she did so, Joanne bit her lip as she surveyed her friend's bum. Ridges the width of a little finger corrugated the twin humps.

The man responsible dabbed gently at Amanda's eyes with a big white handkerchief, and then he pressed down her shoulders so that she was posing submissively for the final stroke.

Joanne's nails dug into the palms of her hands as she watched the crop descend for the final time.

It landed on the join between her thighs and bumcheeks, sending her to her knees and lewdly exposing herself more than ever as she sobbed her heart out.

Immediately after Amanda sank to the floor, one of the first to congratulate Richard was Sybil Baxter. She shook him warmly by the hand.

Quite a few owners, trainers, and their wives, made close up inspections of Amanda's wealed backside, before reluctantly leaving the marquee. Joanne thought that it was awful. How could people be like that? She wanted to help her friend in some way, but Tony assured her that she would be "well taken care of".

For the trip back to the yard, he suggested they both ride in the horse box. Joanne knew the reason why, but she wanted to get screwed as much as the stable lad wanted to screw her.

Reluctantly, she had to agree that the whole thing had been a turn on. The gusset of her panties was sticking to her.

The racehorse transporter had an empty stall, and plenty of straw to lie on. By the time the big vehicle had pulled out onto the main road, Tony was already out of his trousers.

Joanne eyed his manhood in awe of its pleasure-giving qualities, before allowing it into the dark-haired warmth of her loins. She cupped her hands around his flanks, and surges of pleasure rippled through her body as they made love in the moving vehicle.

That had all been twelve months ago. During that time, Amanda had come to work for Sybil Baxter, and had immediately moved in with Joanne. The two girls had become inseparable.

As the Memorial Chase fixture neared once more, they discussed the after race event quite often, as two of their particular charges had been entered, and would definitely run.

The day of the race came and, as the horses were paraded around the ring, Joanne heard the loudspeaker announce that the £50 prize for the best turned out horse had been won by Amanda.

Tony, as a conditional jockey, had got the ride on Joanne's horse. As he mounted the animal he said to her, "We'll have a different arse on show afterwards. I wonder whose it will be?"

The dark-haired girl shrugged, and led horse and rider away. When she had slipped the leading rein, she found that Richard Hudson was at her elbow. He pulled her to one side and whispered in her ear. "Bad luck, old girl. Your turn out wasn't up to scratch, I'm afraid. Six o'clock in the marquee. Okay?"

Joanne ran off in search of her friend Amanda.

Tony, who had fallen at the second last, was shocked when she told him the news. "I don't believe it", he gasped, "You normally do a wonderful grooming job".

Joanne shrugged her shoulders once more, and remained silent.

As six o'clock approached, she made her way to the marquee as instructed. On the way, elbows were dug into ribs, and knowing winks exchanged, as greedy eyes focussed upon her tight khaki breeches, which snugly contoured her buttocks, thighs, and hips.

"Don't be frightened", Richard assured her as she sat on the stage, waiting for six o'clock to strike. "It will hurt, but it's all a bit of fun, really".

Joanne looked into his dark smouldering eyes, sniffled, and nodded.

At the first stroke of six, a cheer went up. Joanne rose, with weak knees, and stood on the stage in front of what she was sure was a bigger audience than the previous year.

She stood on one leg at a time, letting Richard pull off her black shining boots. Then, he dragged off her white socks.

"You're on your own now, Joanne", he smiled at her.

There was a hubbub of conversation as she began on the buttons of her white blouse. She had earlier removed her bra, so that, when the last button was unfastened, and the sides of the garment pulled apart, her breasts were revealed for all to see.

Joanne's full, rising-tipped breasts were fully appreciated by her audience. She saw Tony, who had pushed his way once more to the front – this time with Amanda – clapping enthusiastically. The blonde girl, last year's 'loser', grinned as the blouse came off completely.

Her boobs swung and swayed majestically as Joanne began to fumble with the buttons on her drum-tight breeches. There were five on each side. It wasn't long before she was showing off her well-moulded legs, leaving her standing there in just her red, polka-dotted briefs.

"Off! Off! Off!" came the chants.

Joanne ran her tongue across her lips, as she she hooked her thumbs in the elaslicated top of the briefs. She recalled her remark of the previous year, about dyeing her black pubic hairs a ginger red. When she'd said that, she'd never dreamed she would actually be in this position.

Her eyes sought Tony as she skinned down the polka-dotted triangle.

The stable lad's mouth dropped open in amazement. The rest of the spectators gasped, and then wildly cheered and clapped.

"Most unexpected, my dear", smiled the handsome Richard Hudson alongside her. "Very nice too, just like the rest of you".

It was nice hearing that coming from his lips.

Joanne had not dyed her pubes – she had shaved away her jet black pubic triangle, and her love mound was completely stubble free! The excited crowd just loved her hairless zone.

Tony blew her a kiss, and Amanda gave her a thumbs-up sign.

She felt Richard's hand, warm on her shoulder, and taking a deep breath, she turned around.

Having always thought of her bottom as being too much on the big side to be appreciated, she was delighted to hear the shouts and cries, as her nether cheeks were put on view.

Two large, white, and quivering globes overhung her full, heavy thighs. It was her strong hips which swept out beneath a narrow waistline, which gave the illusion of her bottom being over-large.

Those members of the audience who had attended the event over the years, thought the girl's bottom was just perfect for the purpose.

Again, Richard's hand touched her shoulders. Joanne, legs braced, lowered her body from the waist, and her fingers touched her toes. She hardly heard the noise from the hundred or so people behind her, as she waited for Richard to begin.

Her bare, helpless bum trembled chubbily.

Suddenly, she was aware of everything being quiet. Then there was a 'whoosh!', followed by the sound of bare flesh being struck.

Joanne felt the crop streak across her bottom, and her breath left her in a rush.

The first stroke was agonising. Her behind jiggled and contorted, rose and fell.

Richard waited for her to recover before swinging in once more.

Joanne cried aloud, gyrating her buttocks as they reacted against the smarting pain.

So pre-occupied was she in coping with the after effects of the scything whip, that she was oblivious to the fact that her thighs were wide open for the benefit of the spectators.

Again, white fire blasted through her ample bottom. She had never imagined that the bite of the riding crop could hurt so much.

Still, she had only herself to blame for the temporary discomfort. Joanne had helped Amanda to turn out her horse, and had thus neglected her own. The blonde girl's winnings had been gratefully handed over to her friend. She was still saving for a car.

Joanne gasped and her body wriggled more and more violently, as each quickly succeeding stroke added its cumulative contribution to those which had landed before.

The money wasn't the main reason why the pretty girl with the hairless mons had set herself up. Amanda had confided in her that the girl who got her backside seen to at the hands of Richard Hudson, got to spend the night with him!

Joanne really fancied Richard. What better way to preserve the memory of his randy, yet kindly, late father?