Saturday, 22 January 2011

Wet weather

Story from Roue 12.

Wet weather

Thursday afternoons at St. Angela's are usually a lot less tedious than the rest of the week. You see we have games period from 2 until 4pm when all girls who are fit have to play one of the recognised sports. Mary Andrews and myself, Brenda Homes had both been to the school nurse, Miss Rubens, that morning and obtained 'games excuses' – Mary has a sprained wrist, and I have a bad cold, caught last weekend when I was out in the rain without my mackintosh on. As we could not play hockey we had to watch the first XI hockey team play St. Audrey's. St. Angela's need all the support they can get as St. Audrey's are very experienced even though their average age is only 17 as opposed to our average age of 19.

Time was getting on as we hurried past the Art room and Music room heading for the changing rooms. We had both been in detention from 1.15 until 2 o'clock taking up our dinner break. We past a line of girls from form 6A waiting miserably outside the Headmasters study, facing the wall with hands on their heads. They were all wearing their games kit and their short pleated bottle green games skirts had risen up to show six pairs of bottle green cotton knickers. I knew only too well that those very same knickers would soon be lowered to feel the dreaded cane bite into the tender skin about 6 times each. I presumed that they had been caught misbehaving whilst changing for hockey.

We hurried on around the corner - walking not running - I must add as running in the school corridors is forbidden, past the assembly hall and gym and into the changing room. I hurried to my peg and lifted off my bottle green gaberdine mackintosh and slid my left arm into the check lined sleeve, and struggling a bit, I got my right arm into its sleeve. The gaberdines waterproof lining rustled delightfully as I drew it up over my shoulders and did up the four pairs of buttons to my neck and secured the belt tightly around my waist. The green check lined hood hung from the neckline of my gaberdine, and I raised it up over my school hat and fastened the tying cords securely under my chin. From my locker I took my pair of size 7 black rubber boots with their three inch heels, removed my flat heeled school shoes, and struggled to slide my legs into each boot as they are very tight fitting around the leg.

From my gaberdine pocket I produced my bottle green woollen gloves and put them on, securing the waist tabs of my gaberdine over the gloves. I had no intention of getting a worse cold than I had already!

I glanced quickly in the full length mirror, straightened out my belt and pulled it in even tighter to emphasise my neat waist, and turned towards Mary, expecting to see her also wearing her gaberdine and rubber boots. However she was standing waiting for me still only wearing her school shoes and no gaberdine!

"Aren't you going to put your gaberdine and boots on?" I enquired, "You know what happened to Cynthia Barker last week when she disobeyed the rule about wearing your gaberdine and boots when watching games."

"Yes, I know all about that - she got 4 detentions from Mr. Pink - the silly old fool. I'm prepared to risk that, after all it's such a beautiful sunny day for the time of the year. I don't want to wear a heavy sweaty gaberdine on a day like this. And I hate those black rubber boots, why do they have to be so tight on the legs, and have a high heel?"

"Oh I don't mind them one bit. In fact I love the high heels - it makes me feel good after wearing our stuffy old 'sensible' shoes, and as for the gaberdine - well that's not so bad either if it keeps me warm and dry."

"Yes, you should have worn it last weekend when you were at home shouldn't you - then you wouldn't have got that cold." Mary quipped with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

However hard I tried I realised that I wouldn't get Mary to see sense and change her mind, and as we hurried out of the changing room door it was already 10 past two and the game started at two thirty. Suddenly we stopped in our tracks as we heard a voice boom out "ANDREWS where do you think you're going? Come back here AT ONCE!"

It was Miss Davies the Gym mistress who had shouted out of the window of the sports store. She must have heard the whole of our conversation, and now Mary was really for it! Mary walked forlornly back into the changing room and I followed close behind. Miss Davies stood beside a row of girls gaberdines and clothes with her hands on her hips and legs apart.

"Andrews, what is the meaning of this, why are you disobeying the school rules?" she asked in a sharp voice.

"......Please Miss, I'm sorry Miss, it's such a lovely day Miss, that I thought...."

"What YOU thought Andrews is of no consequence whatsoever. The school rules are made for your benefit and we are here to make sure they are obeyed. Now you will go and put your gaberdine and boots on this instant and return here for your punishment. What a pity you didn't listen to Brenda's advice, she really is so sensible."

I stood and watched as Mary hurried to her peg and put her gaberdine on, done up the same as mine and squeezed her feet and legs into her shiny black rubber boots. She was back very quickly and Miss Davies gave her a thorough inspection. "You're belt is twisted and your hood is not done up tightly - four extra strokes," she ordered. "Now bend over that bench and hold the legs the other side."

I moved my position slightly so I could watch as Miss Davies lifted Mary's gaberdine and folded it neatly up over her back followed by her green blazer and her box pleated gymslip. Her green knickers contrasted beautifully with the white of her thighs. I thought to myself that they would not be white for much longer!! Next Miss Davies put her fingers into the tight waistband of the knickers and drew them down to her knees where they covered the tops of the rubber boots.

"Fetch me one of your plimsoles please Brenda." Miss Davies requested, and I hurried to my locker and brought back my right hand white rubber plimsole. "Thank you Brenda, this will do nicely," she said as she flexed the shoe between her hands. "Mary, you will receive ten strokes for not wearing your gaberdine, ten strokes for not wearing your rubber boots, plus two strokes for having your belt twisted and two for not having your hood done up tightly. That makes a total of 24 stingers that you will get with Brenda's plimsole."

I stood back against a line of pegs with girls clothes hanging on them, my hands behind my back admiring Mary as she lay quietly over the rough wooden bench. I felt a thrill of excitement that I could not understand as I waited for Miss Davies to deliver the first stroke to Mary's bottom. I looked at Mary's white bottom and at my very own plimsole which Miss Davies suddenly brought smartly down on her right cheek. CRAACK! "EEOOW!" screamed a surprised Mary.

A bright red patch soon appeared where the sole of the plimsole had struck and this was soon followed by another CRAACK! this time to her left cheeks. "EEEEEOOW!" came Mary's reply. Again the plimsole struck Mary's right cheek and she responded with another "EEEOOW!" Miss Davies set up a steady rhythm of strokes alternatively to Mary's right and left buttocks. The howls of pain turned into continuous sobs and tears streamed down her face after the sixth stroke. I was able to watch as Mary's bottom turned from a milky white to a soft pink and eventually to a fiery red. Mary held onto the pipes for the whole punishment and managed to keep her legs fairly still. She knew only too well that Miss Davies would increase the punishment if she jumped around too much.

After the 18th stroke Miss Davies finished with Mary's bottom and delivered the remaining 6 strokes to her thighs. I must admit that I had really enjoyed watching her being punished and I could feel my cotton knickers were becoming very wet between my legs!

I was very glad that I had not been on the receiving end of my plimsole as Mary's bottom looked very red and sore as she lay over the bench quietly sobbing now. Miss Davies gave me my plimsole back and by the time I had put it away Mary had pulled up her knickers and straightened her gymslip, blazer and gaberdine and was standing up wiping her tears away with the back of her hand.

"Let that be a lesson to you Andrews," Miss Davies said sternly. "If I ever catch you going out again when you should be wearing your gaberdine and rubber boots you will get double that punishment and so on until you learn. Now, quickly, be off with you or you will miss the start of the game - and you know what that will mean if you are late don't you?"

"Yes Miss Davies," I replied, "We will get our bottoms warmed up in the pavilion, I expect."

Miss Davies dismissed us with a wave of her hand and we hurried out of the door and along the road to the games field. It was quite awkward to run in the tight high heeled boots and I had to wait for Mary on several occasions as she found the tight elastic of her knickers cutting painfully against her sore bottom and legs. It was a beautiful sunny afternoon, and I soon felt very warm as I ran along in my bottle green gaberdine done up tightly with the hood up, and I could see that Mary felt the same, as droplets of sweat ran down her face where her tears had been running only a few minutes before. Our gaberdines give off a very rubbery smell which is caused by the waterproofing of the garment, and this smell gets very strong as we sweat in our gaberdines. I could smell Mary's own personel gaberdine smell as we walked the final hundred yards to the games field. The sweaty smell of other girls excites me no end and I felt my knickers becoming damp again.

Luckily for us we reached the games field just before the bully off, and stood on the touchline panting for breath after our half mile run. There was quite a large number of supporters for both St. Angela's and St. Audrey's. It was immediately obvious which school each girl came from as all our St. Angela's girls were wearing their bottle green gaberdines and rubber boots, and all the St. Audrey's girls who had travelled with their team were wearing brown gaberdines with hoods up over their brown berets, and they wore knee length fawn socks and low heeled shoes.

There were also quite a number of men and boys from the local village watching the game, or to be more precise they came to look at the girls themselves. It's not really surprising why they were attracted as girls playing hockey show a lot of their knickers, especially as we have to wear such short games skirts. Also our breasts bounce up and down provocatively under our white blouses.

On show today were 11 St. Angela's girls wearing short bottle green pleated skirts, white blouses, bottle green cotton knickers and bottle green knee length socks and of course hockey boots. The 11 St. Audrey's girls wore brown gymslips with a gold sash over a white blouse, the brown cotton knickers, and also brown knee length socks and hockey boots.

St. Audrey's school is also very strict like St. Angela's with the frequent use of the cane and tawse, and Mary and I spent most of the game trying to spot the tell tale marks of the cane on any of the 22 girls thighs. It surprised us to see that ALL of the 11 St. Audrey's girls had fresh vivid cane weals on their thighs which were plainly visible to all the spectators, but we could only see five St. Angela's girls with marks on their thighs - perhaps our teachers concentrate more on our bottoms!

Despite the age difference St. Audrey's managed to beat St. Angela's by 4 goals to 2, and we wondered whether their caning just before the match was to spur them on to beat our older girls!

After the game Mary and I walked slowly back to school chatting and giggling in our usual schoolgirlish way. It was getting chilly now and we were glad that we had our regulation gaberdine mackintoshes on to keep us warm. We decided to take the long way back which took us past the store room near the boiler house. By this time we were larking around somewhat, and I ran into the store room and Mary followed, closed the door and turned the light on. I hid behind some boxes, but I could not refrain from giggling so Mary soon found me. She came up behind me and wrapped her arms tightly around my waist and gave me quite a hug. Slowly she released her grip and I felt her hands creeping upwards and gently she began to stroke my breasts through my gaberdine. I stiffened in surprise but gradually relaxed as she moved her hands in a circular motion, one on each breast.

I was becoming aroused and I felt that tell tale wetness in my knickers again! I turned around and boldly kissed Mary on her lips, she responded very quickly and we held each other in a strong embrace for several seconds. I moved my hands up to Mary's head and fondled the back of her head through her regulation hood, and she responded by stroking my head likewise through my hood. I moved my hands from her hood and stroked the back of her gaberdine and I could hear the waterproof lining rustling as I moved my hands about, and the delightful smell of her gaberdine mingled with the smell of her sweaty arms as we embraced each other again in a deep kiss.

I continued to move my hands lower and I knew I had come to her bottom when she flinched and let out a startled "OOOOH." I lifted the pleated back of her gaberdine and softly stroked her tight knickers covering her tender bottom. I just had to kiss those ruby red cheeks and thighs!! I turned Mary round and asked her to bend over a convenient table where I lifted her gaberdine up over her back once more, and felt under her blazer and gymslip and eased my fingers gently into the waistband of her knickers. She lifted her hips slightly so I could draw her knickers down and I noticed her bottom flinch several times as the tight leg classic drew over her inflamed skin.

I kissed each cheek tenderly and I moved my left hand down between her thighs and into her pussy. She squealed in pleasure as I stroked her clitty for the first time and she moved her bottom up and down in unison with me. Mary came quite quickly and I responded by gently kissing her red bottom all over, and at the same time she reached behind and managed to get her hand up underneath my long gaberdine, gymslip and blazer, and rubbed me frantically through my very wet knickers. I was already very excited, so I came very quickly and we collapsed in a heap on the table plunging our tongues deep into each others mouth in a frenzied kiss.

I was just thinking what a beautiful afternoon it had been, for me especially, when I heard a scraping noise and saw Mr. Archer the caretaker watching us from behind some shelves full of toilet rolls. (It turned out that he had watched our whole escapade, and had wanked himself off twice in the process!!)

"So this is your little game, is it?" He enquired as he walked out into the room. "Two naughty schoolgirls who love each other?.. Eh?.. Eh?"

We didn't answer, but hurriedly jumped up so our gaberdines would fall down and cover my knickers and Mary's bare bottom. He went on "....I'm sure Mr. Payne the headmaster is going to love dealing with you two. I would imagine a public caning and talking to in front of the whole school would be the minimum punishment for this offence. Wouldn't you?... Eh?... Eh?..... Come on answer me girls."

"Yes, Mr. Archer, er.. er.. I mean, No Mr. Archer," I stammered. "Please don't report us Mr. Archer, we'll make it up to you, we really will. You see Mary's already had 24 with my plimsole today from Miss Davies, and she lays them on really hard."

"Well now, since you mention it, I think we can come to some arrangement." He grinned broadly as he said this. "You will both bend over my table, raise your gaberdines, blazers and gymslips and receive 12 strokes of MY cane. What's that? - You didn't realise I had a cane? Ah well! Now you know don't you?"

We were entirely at his mercy at that moment, although looking back I feel it would have been better if he had told Mr. Payne, but then I don't think he wanted that at all! He produced a standard school issue crooked handle rattan cane from a locked cupboard and swished it menacingly through the air. SWISH! SWISH! SWISH!

"What are your names girls?" He asked holding up a pad and taking a grubby pencil from behind his right ear.

"Er, Brenda Holmes."

"And Mary Andrews."


"7B," I said with head bowed and in a quiet voice.

"Right, now lift your skirts and bend over the table, hold the bars on the other side, yes that's good. Now let me take your knickers down Holmes. My what lovely rubber boots you've both got on, and high heels too! Now then, if you make too much noise I will increase your punishment, and you will keep your bottoms still, understand."

I nodded my hooded head and I saw Mary do likewise, and I waited for the punishment to begin. It was obvious that this was certainly not the first time Mr. Archer had used his cane!!

"Holmes, you will be first as you have such a lovely white bottom just asking to be caned." I heard the cane swish through the air several times, and gritted my teeth in anticipation of the first stroke. However, when it came the terrible pain took me by surprise.


"Be quiet Holmes that was only the first stroke you still have 11 more to come," he said with a hint of pleasure in his voice.

SWISH! CRAACK! "YEEEEOH! AH! OOOH!" I exclaimed once again.

"Holmes I will warn you once more. If you persist in making such a ridiculous noise I will take Andrews' knickers off and stuff them in YOUR mouth. That will quieten you down a bit.

SWISH! CRACK! The cane came down across both my cheeks again, and although the pain was getting greater all the time I managed to clench my teeth and only emitted a gasp of "Oooh!"

He delivered the fourth, fifth and sixth strokes to the backs of my legs which took me rather by surprise, but still I managed to refrain from crying out, although my eyes were wet, and the tears started to run down my cheeks.


"That's six strokes, Holmes. You're doing well now, see, you can take your medicine like a good girl if you try." He gloated over my bottom and touched it lightly with the cane which made me flinch each time. "What a lovely sight your bottom is now Brenda, 6 parallel lines, 3 on your cheeks and 3 on your legs. Those on your legs will show for several days when you bend down. Now for your final six."

I heard him chuckle in his funny way and huffles his feet back. Suddenly my bottom was filled with an incredible searing pain as he brought the cane down much harder than any of the previous strokes. SWISSSH! CRAAACK! "YEEEOOOW! OOOH! AAAH!" I screamed and screamed, forgetting his threat about gagging me.

"So Holmes, you want Andrews' knickers in your mouth do you?" And he went over to Mary and removed her bottle green cotton knickers and roughly forced them into my mouth. He couldn't get them all in, and he left her crotch piece very close to my nose. I became very excited as I smelt the soaking wet knickers that Mary had had on not so long ago. I almost forgot the punishment in hand as I wriggled my hips around the table with pleasure. I was brought back to reality as stroke number 8 met my bottom that was already feeling as though it were on fire.


The final four strokes were delivered with great force, but I don't really remember much more than the continuous fiery pain which swelled up through my body with each stroke, then diminishing only a little before the next stroke descended and took me up to a higher peak of pain. Strangely enough Mary's wet smelly knickers seemed to take my mind off the punishment in hand, and I continued to twist my hips around on the table edge. After the twelfth stroke had landed right on top of a previous stroke on my legs, I came with a fantastic prolonged orgasm which made my whole body shake and quiver with pleasureable pain. I realised then that I had quite enjoyed the second part of my punishment with the knickers in my mouth!

Mary's punishment is a bit of a blur to me as I lay over the table still clutching the legs on the far side. The pain in my bottom and legs subsided a little and I stopped shaking after a while. I heard Mary screaming quite a lot which is not surprising as she was receiving her 12 strokes on top of her bottom already sore from the slippering she had received only a few hours before.

I felt my knickers being pulled down my legs and I responded by lifting my boots off the floor to allow them to be taken off and I presume stuffed in Mary's mouth. Certainly her cries were greatly muffled after that. She told me afterwards that she too was very excited by the smell and taste of my knickers which were soaking wet in the appropriate place. She didn't come like I did but she told me that she had been very close to it.

When the punishment was complete we were ordered to stand up and to straighten our clothes. Mr. Archer took our knicker gags out, but he would not let us put them back on - in fact he kept them for his own enjoyment.

So knickerless and still clad in gaberdines with the hoods up, we made our way back to the changing rooms, but our first place to visit was a toilet where we inspected each others bottoms in private. I was absolutely amazed to see the state of Mary's poor bottom when I lifted up her gaberdine and gymslip. Before it had been a fiery red all over - now it was still a fiery red but 12 deep ridges, now turning a horrible blue, marked her tender bottom and legs. I wondered what she would get from Mr. Walker when she reported to him before lights out for her punishment for talking after lights out last night..........

Friday, 21 January 2011

Alice by Julia Marlowe

Story from Privilege Club 10.

by Julia Marlowe

I can't get Alice out of my mind. I'm like a man possessed, a hopeless, burnt-out case, I know, but what can I do? I shall probably eventually go mad, but it's my fate. I'm finished. The funny thing is that it never would have happened if I hadn't lost my glasses on the Underground. I would probably have finished up marrying some nice girl and my life would have proceeded smoothly. But it's no use, once you've tasted the fruit of paradise, nothing else will do. On such trivial events do our destinies hang.

For me, though, it really began with the phone call. I live alone in my flat in a small Midlands town. Even as I picked up the phone I was still cursing my stupidity for losing the glasses. After I'd given my number a woman's voice came through. It was soft, warm, mellifluous, musical even. I liked it immediately. You can mostly tell a person's character over the phone. "Excuse me, have I the right person? Is that Mr Broderick?"


"Ah... Well, you're in luck, Mr Broderick, for I have your glasses here in my hand."

"No! ... God! You have? Wonderful! Where did you find them?"

"On the Northern Line between Chalk Farm and Belsize Park."

"Oh, that's absolutely great. I can't thank you enough. You're an angel."

"Well, I don't know about that. You were wise to have your name and phone number inside the case, but unfortunately no address. Would you like me to send them?"

"Yes, of... Er, no, wait a minute. Look, I'm visiting London again this weekend on business, so why don't I meet you and I can reward you? You at least deserve something for your trouble."

"That's very kind of you, but that isn't necessary. I don't -"

"Look, I insist. Please let me meet you. You've no idea how grateful I am. It's the least I can do to buy you a drink, or even a meal."

There was a long pause. Finally she said, "Very well, Mr Broderick. Yes, that would be lovely."

That's what started it all and sure enough that Saturday I met her as prearranged at Chalk Farm station which was near where she lived. I should have known from the voice that she would look a bit special, I suppose. But I wasn't prepared for what I saw. She was an absolute stunner. Her name was Lauren Masters. She was as tall as me and had a figure to die for. Her pale skin was flawless, the corners of her very generous mouth turned upwards. She wore those extremely large glasses that make a woman look even more attractive, that enhance her looks. I must have been staring like an idiot. I couldn't believe my luck. She took my hand in greeting and felt in her bag, bringing out my specs.

"Here," she said. "Look after them this time and don't lose them again."

As we walked off she told me she knew a really good Italian restaurant just up the road which she frequently used. It only took us about ten minutes to get there and we had an excellent meal with a couple of glasses of wine. She wanted to go Dutch, but I wouldn't hear of it, saying yet again I wanted to thank her for finding and returning the glasses. She told me that she owned her own business, a beauty consultancy, which I didn't find in the least hard to believe. She was a wonderful role model for her clients. After lunch we got a bus and she showed me a few of the city's sights I'd never managed to get round to before.

It must have been around four o'clock when I realised that the parting of the ways had probably arrived. I was just about to ask her if I could see her the following day when she asked me if I would like to go back to her place for tea. I needed no second bidding and in less than another fifteen minutes we were entering her flat just off Primrose Hill.

Inviting me to sit down, she disappeared for a few minutes and when she returned she had changed into an ankle-length sleeveless print dress buttoned down the front only as far as her upper thighs, so that her gorgeous slim legs were revealed by the split effect. She produced a couple of glasses and we relaxed to talk some more. Later, after a light afternoon snack, we sat chatting amiably, when suddenly the door opened and a girl entered. She was in school uniform, white blouse and loosely knotted tie, her navy skirt rather startlingly short, halfway up her thighs. I blinked, for she couldn't possibly have been a schoolgirl, they would never have allowed her to dress like that anyway, in such a provocative manner. She must have been at least eighteen. She glanced at me, then looked down at the floor as she began to walk across the room to the far door.

"Where do you think you're going?" Lauren snapped. "Where are your manners, girl? What do you say when we have visitors?"

I was startled by Lauren's tone. The warmth and softness had suddenly disappeared. I couldn't believe it. The girl turned to look at me. She was above average height, very slim. Her dark hair was cut short like a boy's. She was very pretty, but her whole demeanour was diffident in the extreme. She blushed and looked as if she wanted to disappear from my gaze. She quickly looked at the floor again.

"This is Mr Broderick," Lauren said peremptorily. "Say hello to him."

"Hello," the girl whispered.

"This is Alice, Mr Broderick. She's my protégée. I'm grooming her to take over the business at a later date. She lives here too. She belongs to me."

Lauren looked amused at my surprised expression. "Oh, she'll do anything I ask. You can have her if you want her. Any way you like. She won't mind. Come over here, you silly girl."

Alice walked over towards us and stood, her eyes still cast down.

"Don't you think she's exceedingly pretty, Mr Broderick?"

Though now quite dumb-founded, I nodded.

"Very," I said, and meant it, for she was.

"Nevertheless, she has to be punished for her gross ill manners." I couldn't believe what I was hearing, but Lauren went on, addressing the girl, "Get across my knee. Now!"

To my utter amazement, the girl turned to the older woman and bent her body across her lap, supporting her arms on the sofa. As she did so the short skirt rucked up to the very top of her thighs, displaying a pair of beautiful firm, rounded bottom-cheeks. They were completely naked, something else I was totally unprepared for. In spite of myself, I could feel the incipient stirring of an erection, which I hoped wasn't obvious.

Lauren didn't mess about. She proceeded to deliver a series of heavy slaps to the girl's gorgeous behind. I winced, for they must have stung sharply. After Lauren had finished giving her at least thirty blows the girl's buttocks had reddened considerably. "There. The only trouble, Mr Broderick, is that she likes it. But I think that since you're the one she's insulted, you too should punish her, don't you?"

I opened my mouth to decline, when she added, "Only I think you should use your belt."

"But -" I began.

"Oh come, don't be reticent. She deserves it. She always does. She's dying for you to beat her."

Lauren pulled her off her lap. As Alice stood, the older woman looked across at me and said, "If you don't believe me, come and feel this."

I got up and walked across and she took my hand and placed my palm between the girl's legs. Her beautiful cunt was wet through, the juice running over my fingers.

"Jesus," I said. My hard-on was now becoming unbearable. I didn't care any more, realising I would have to fuck one of these two, if not both.

"See what I mean? It's all right, you can touch her. Any time, anywhere. She's all yours. I know you find it hard to believe, but she's a complete slut. There's nothing she won't do for you."

Turning to Alice, she said, "Bend over the table."

As Alice compliantly leaned over the table her arms spread wide, giving me an even lovelier view of her delicious behind, I knew there was no way I could resist the offer. Her rounded, dimpled cheeks curved in towards the valley below which formed their junction, her plump split peach pertly and enticingly exposed in that darker area.

I undid my belt and stepping forward, delivered a cracking, stinging blow over both already flushed buttocks. I'd never done this in my life before, but I was beside myself, the girl's extreme compliance and stance were too much for me. I thwacked her another with the belt and another and continued like a maniac, the marks making a crisscross pattern over that vulnerable rump. I don't know how long I continued or how many lashes I gave her. Once, I glanced over at Lauren and my jaw dropped to see that the split skirt had fallen off her thighs, her legs were open wide and she was vigorously masturbating, her long slim fingers circulating and rubbing over her clit with abandon.

That was it. That was enough. I dropped the belt and unzipped my fly, dragged out my cock as fast as I could, and buried the purple end deep within Alice's glorious cunt. Within moments I was fucking her as if the world was about to end and she was about to be taken from me. I was helpless.

"That's right, Mr Broderick. Fuck her hard. She can never get enough, you know."

I was a bit out of practice and Alice was so unbelievably and magnificently tight that I couldn't hold out any longer.

"I'm coming!" I cried, withdrawing as my cock began jerking out of control.

Alice quickly turned and dropped to her knees. She took my cock in her hand and clamped her sweet full lips over the end as I shot the load deep into her mouth. I was astonished to see her lick and suck it like an expert. She'd certainly done this before. Some of the cream spurted over her face as she withdrew her lips, but she used her fingers to scoop up and lick the rest and clean the end of my cock completely.

Lauren too cried out as she also came. Both their faces were flushed, and I suppose mine was too as I sank back into the armchair.

"God," I said. "That was unbelievable. You two are something else."

"Alice, go to your room now," Lauren said. "And don't forget that work you have to do for me."

As the girl left, Lauren said, "Well, what do you think?"

"What do I think? I've never seen anything like it. I'm amazed."

"Will you stay over tonight?"

"Well, thanks." Naturally, I envisaged more of the same before the weekend was over, so I was hardly going to refuse.

No more reference was made to the event which had just taken place. For the rest of the afternoon and evening it was just as if it hadn't happened. Lauren said there was an excellent play on in the West End if I wished to go, but I was tired and settled for staying in. When I was shown my room at the end of the evening, if I expected I was going to sleep with either of them, I mistaken. I was shown a guestroom and that's where I slept - alone.

The following day, Sunday, Lauren took me to see more of the city. We ate at a different restaurant this time for lunch before returning to the flat later in the afternoon. There was yet another surprise in store for me, for as we entered this time Alice was dressed in a maid's uniform and was busy dusting the furniture and vacuuming. The difference was that this time she was wearing silk stockings and a suspender belt, but the black skirt was as minuscule as ever. Her bare bottom-cheeks looked absolutely lush when she bent over to dust the coffee table.

"Oh, my God," Lauren said. "You should have finished this by now, you stupid little bitch. Put the machine away and go to your room, I'll deal with you later."

When she had gone, Lauren turned to me and said, "Sorry about this, Mr Broderick. It's so embarrassing. The little trollop is determined to spoil our weekend."

I didn't think so, she certainly wasn't spoiling mine, but I wasn't going to voice that sentiment. We settled down and she fetched out some more wine. We sat and talked at length about our respective jobs. I sell computer software and she seemed very interested in my varied anecdotes. After a while she said, "Excuse me, we must see what Alice is up to. I can't trust her."

She went to the door and called the girl's name. After a moment or two, Alice appeared, her gaze, as always, avoiding my eyes.

Lauren said, "The cleaning should have been finished before we arrived and you know it. So you know what that means, don't you?"

"Yes, Lauren."

"Now apologise to Mr Broderick."

"I'm sorry, Mr Broderick," Alice almost whispered.

"Now, bend over the edge of that armchair, you little slut."

Alice bent over just as she had done yesterday and once more her black pleated maid's skirt rucked up to show those wonderful curves of her bottom-checks. I gulped. Again, I could feel my cock quickly rising in anticipation. My throat was dry and I licked my lips. Lauren went over to a chest of drawers and, opening one, produced a wicked-looking thin cane, which she began to flex and a moment later gave the girl a resounding thwack across the left buttock, producing a prominent red weal. She then gave her another on the right one, forming a crisscross.

The effect on me was immediate. I had a hard-on fit to burst out of my pants and I began rubbing it through my trouser pocket. This hadn't gone unnoticed by Lauren, who smiled.

Alice wriggled her bum lasciviously, which was too much for me and I had to finally free my cock so that I could wank it more easily. Meanwhile Lauren gave the girl a series of further cuts with the cane until at last I could hear Alice whimpering.

Lauren handed me the cane and I gave the girl a further six, at which I was almost on the verge of coming, but fortunately I managed to just keep in control. A bead of pre-come had formed on my tingling glans. Bending over, Lauren prised the girl's fiery red bottom-cheeks well apart, revealing her dimpled little anus.

"Now there's a little treasure for you, Mr Broderick. I can assure you, she loves that best of all."

I was more than ready. I positioned myself against the backs of Alice's beautiful soft thighs and rubbed her enticing little arsehole a few times with the tip of my cock before finally pushing it into the tiny aperture. It was difficult, naturally, but it was soon obvious that the experience wasn't new to the girl, for the rectal muscles soon slackened and I was able to enter with ease. It was even better than yesterday, if that were possible. It was heaven. As I fucked away, the girl actually started moaning with obvious pleasure. Meanwhile Lauren had come behind me, loosened my belt and dropped my pants to the ground. I then felt her fingers inserted into my own rear hole and the intense pleasure was even doubled.

It's no use, I can't describe the joy of that afternoon, that whole weekend. These two had led me to pleasures I could only previously dream of. They were quite weird, both of them, totally far out, but I loved it. I wouldn't have wanted them any different.

Lauren allowed me to sleep with Alice that night, though she never came to join in. Naturally, I wondered what Lauren would be like, but I never got to find out. Alice though was sensational. This incredibly innocent-looking creature was in fact a sensual volcano. Her appearance and demeanour belied her intense sexuality. I couldn't begin to list the things she did to me, things I never even knew existed. She hardly spoke a word. Alice believed one act was worth a thousand words.

And that was the first weekend just over a year ago. I visited them every weekend after that for about six months. I could never get enough, I was like an addict, a man possessed. During the week I couldn't get Alice's pert little bottom, her plump little quim and beautiful small breasts out of my mind. I was sick with sex and Saturday could never come fast enough. I never once had sex with Lauren though, yet I would dearly have loved to. I tried to approach her once, but she drew away, making it clear that she wasn't available.

Then six months ago I visited the flat one Saturday only to find it vacant. On enquiry with the landlord, who lived on the premises, I discovered that they had left early that week. He had no idea where. I was devastated.

The following weeks I was like a drug addict in cold turkey. I couldn't eat, I lost weight and was off ill from work on several occasions.

As I said before, I'm finished. I'm a man possessed. The constant vision of Alice, her spectre, haunts me, and I'm going under. I know now that suicide is only a breath away, there's no way I can last out...

I wrote the above a few days ago. Then this morning my doorbell rang and when I opened it, Lauren stood there, looking as radiant and composed as ever. I was almost delirious and simply fell into her arms. I immediately asked her where Alice was, of course. She asked me to let her in and when settled she would tell me.

Once inside, she told me that she was on her way to see some friends in Leeds and thought she would drop in to see me en route. I told her she had done the right thing, but that she was very remiss in leaving and not giving me her address.

"Yes, I was very naughty, and I hope you can forgive me. I really should be chastised for that."

When we were sitting having a drink later she said, "Alice left and went abroad to live in Spain. She met this bikey, a real slob I can tell you. I wouldn't have touched him with the proverbial bargepole - he never washed, he stank even. But that's Alice for you. Unpredictable. It won't last. I give her a few months and she'll be back. But you never know. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe we'll never see her again."

Lauren smiled, and continued. "That's life. He can't give her what we gave her, he hasn't the imagination. She doesn't know what she's missing, does she Mr Broderick? Silly girl."

I asked her if she wanted to stay overnight before proceeding on her journey and she happily agreed.

Which just about brings my story up to date. It's evening now and Lauren is lying face down naked on my bed. Her wrists are tied to the bedpost, her legs spread wide. Her bright blue eyes are sparkling behind those huge glasses. I have in my hand a riding-crop that I got out of the wardrobe.

"You're now going to know how Alice felt," I say, smoothing my palm across her delightful firm bottom, which I'd previously oiled at her request. It's the first time I've ever seen it and it's lovely and I kiss it. My cock has already risen, hard and quivering, with the excitement of what I'm about to do.

"Oh, rest assured I know all about that, Mr Broderick. Alice and I often reversed our roles, but you never saw that. Alice only showed you the side she wanted. As did I."

She smiles. "Go on, Mr Broderick. Give me the whip, and then fuck me silly." Oh, yes, Lauren. That's what I've wanted to do since I first laid eyes on you. I'm happy again at last. My saviour has arrived. I've finally come home.

"Certainly, Miss Masters." As I draw back the crop to deliver, I say, "This is for Alice, God bless her."

Thursday, 20 January 2011

In Good Hands...

Story from Janus 27.

In Good Hands...
by Anthony Grantham

'EVERYTHING OFF!' he ordered.

She stood still and for a moment he thought she was going to defy him. Her green eyes flashed with fire showing the anger within her. Indeed it was for one of her displays of uncontrolled anger that he was now going to punish her.

'Not everything, surely?' she protested.

'Everything off!' he repeated sternly.

'But Daddy!' she began.

'Liz,' sighed her father as she began to unfasten the buttons of her white top. 'When did I last give you a caning when I let you keep on a single stitch of your clothing?'

Liz stopped at the last button. Already a considerable amount of her generous cleavage was visible. She took a deep breath knowing that she had to give the obvious answer to the question put to her.

'You haven't,' she said with closed eyes.

'Then why argue?' said her father diffidently. 'Unless of course you fancy getting an extra dose.'

He whooshed the slender 36-inch crook-ended cane through the air to emphasize his point. At that sound she could not help but quail, despite herself.

'Perhaps you think ten strokes isn't enough?' he put to her.

'It's more than enough!' snorted Liz. Again the green eyes flashed to show temper and fury that simmered just below the pretty blonde's low boiling point. It was temper and fury that had been well controlled over the years by generous applications of her father's slender stick. Without that instrument of correction, her father dreaded to think what would have become of Liz.

'You have only yourself to blame, young lady,' he reminded her. 'All your punishments have been well deserved!

Resigned to her fate, Liz removed her top and started on her jeans. Her breasts bobbed about delicately within her white, lace-trimmed bra.

The unzipped fly-front parted in a 'vee' to show the elasticated top of white mini-briefs, so skimpy that they did not even conceal all of her tight, golden pubic curls.

She let go of the top and the blue jeans slid down her long, graceful and lightly downed limbs. Balancing herself, first of all on one bare foot and then on the other, she tugged away the fallen jeans. She took care to fold her discarded clothes which she then placed neatly over the chair alongside her – the chair over which she would shortly have to bend to receive her very painful punishment.

Her father noted her tidiness with a great deal of satisfaction. The habit of being tidy had, in fact, been beaten into her over the years – as it had also had to be thrashed into his two younger daughters.

Blonde and beautiful – younger versions of Liz, they both sat demurely on the settee watching their older sister preparing herself for her punishment. Sitting between them was a good-looking young man who seemed to be a bit embarrassed by the proceedings. But his presence made the event much worse than normal for the girl who was to receive the cane.

Liz put her hands behind her back and her breasts were automatically thrust out as she started to unhitch her bra. Then she stopped.

'This is outrageous!' she complained.

'Your behaviour was outrageous, too!' he reprimanded her.

'I'm nineteen, remember!' she pouted, with an imperious flick of her golden mane.

'It's about time you remembered your age!' her father replied instantly.

'Young ladies of nineteen should not behave in the manner in which you have behaved!'

'This is highly embarrassing!' There was a hint of appeal in her voice, a crack of weakness starting to appear.

Her appeal was also directed to the audience. Her sisters squirmed uncomfortably in their seats, well aware that Liz was on the point of having more strokes added to her already stiff sentence.

Liz held up her left hand and the overhead light caused the diamonds in her ring to flash and dance.

'I'm engaged to be married!' she snapped, folding her arms across her breasts.

Her father took a deep breath, clearly trying to control his rising temper. He sprung the cane between hands. 'You are still my responsibility!' he reminded her sternly. 'If it is necessary, I shall even cane you on the very eve of your wedding!'

Liz looked straight at the man sitting with her sisters, expecting him to raise an objection. After all, he was the man she was going to marry. His only action was to avert her stare.

Liz lowered her head, reached behind her and suddenly her unfettered breasts were shuddering under their own weight with her body movements.

With a flick of her fingers in the waistband of her briefs, the tiny scrap of material fluttered down to the carpet.

Liz stood arrogantly, her breasts pointing at her father. She made no attempt to conceal the triangular tangle of golden curls at the junction of her thighs.

'Satisfied?' She almost spat the question.

'No. I'm not satisfied, Liz,' he replied coolly. 'I'm not at all satisfied with your behaviour. I propose therefore to increase your punishment from ten strokes to twelve!'

He paused and indicated the only other male in the room. 'I'm glad I invited Rodney to witness your chastisement. Now he knows what he's letting himself in for!'

It seemed as if the breathing of those present in the cosy suburban lounge had suddenly stopped. The only sound was the muted ticking of the clock on the wall above the fireplace.

Liz closed her eyes and compressed her lips into a thin line. She was close to tears.

'Put your shoes on please, Liz.' Her father's softly spoken command broke the silence.

With all sign of rebellion now gone, Liz sat on the chair. Keeping her knees pressed tight together, she pushed her feet into her shoes and bent forward to fasten the tiny buckles. Her features vanished in a waterfall of curling, golden hair.

She stood up, her high-heeled shoes showing off the superb curves of her elegant legs. Those extra few inches would also poke her bottom further up into the air when she was bent over the chair. Her face registered the fact that, her veneer broken, she was now stricken with nervous embarrassment, fear and shame. Her cheeks had crimsoned.

The soon-to-be-married blonde teenager fumed her back on her father and lowered her body by placing her hands on the soft seat of the chair.

Not satisfied with her position, her father pushed Liz forward by pressing his hands on her bumcheeks until her head was in the angle of the seat and the chair back. His fingers went under her hips to raise her haunches.

He took the cane in his right hand and positioned himself to the left side of his erring daughter. Those on the settee would have a clear view of the cane rising and falling and of the devastation it would cause to the lovely firm buttocks in its path. They saw Liz clench her bum until the cleft was just a thin line. Her knees were locked tight together. How dreadful she must feel now, waiting for the cane.

Whirr! Whap!

Liz inhaled urgently as the thin wand of wood bit into her flesh. She did not yell out however.

Whirr! Crack!

Her body shook and her breasts shuddered as she gasped with the pain caused by the second stroke.

Two red stripes, one inch apart from each other, now disfigured her peach of an arse. The blows had been heavy, but no heavier than was usual.

Her father again raised his cane into the air. Although Liz had caused him countless problems over the years he loved her dearly; and she knew how to take a beating! He admired her for that!

The rod whistled down once more to land with a resounding whish-thwack!

'Ooohh!' moaned Liz. She waggled her bottom from side to side in an effort to cope with the fiery sting which was now added to the throb left by the first couple of strokes. The pain was beginning to build up, but she had a lot more suffering ahead of her before the cane would finally be laid to rest at the end of the session.

'Aagh!' croaked Liz as the next cut buckled her knees. However, she managed to keep her legs pressed together. Her head twisted from side to side. Liz was fighting to keep back the tears but all concerned – victim, chastiser and rapt audience – knew it was a fight she could not win!

Liz had so far suffered only one third of her punishment. Previously, the highest number of strokes she had taken was eight. Her father wondered just how his daughter would cope with the extra strokes. Liz was thinking the same thoughts, too!

Then the acute pain from the next stroke completely obliterated her thoughts.

'Ow... ow... ow... wow!' she cried out, raising herself up to her full height. Her hands clenched as she fought to keep them away from her backside. Those watching could not see, but the tears had now started to flow.

Her loss of control was only momentary. Gamely, she bent down again and offered her bottom for further chastisement. Gone completely were all traces of the fiery temper that had got her into trouble in the first place. Yet there was a blazing fiery sting across her welted bottom.

Her father cleared his throat before addressing her. 'You know what's next don't you, Liz?' he asked her, tapping the cane against his foot as he spoke.

Liz raised herself up to arm's length. She turned her head to look at him and flicked away stray curls from the front of her eyes. 'It's a five-barred gate, isn't it?' she asked tearfully.

'Yes Liz,' he confirmed. 'It is.'

'Oooh!' she groaned.

'I'll let you stand up and rub your bottom after you've had it,' he offered.

Liz managed a smile through her tears. 'You must be getting soft in your old age, Daddy!' she told him.

Her father smiled too. Liz was being funny, not cheeky. It must have taken some courage, seeing the discomfort she was experiencing.

He sighed deeply as his eldest daughter resumed her position and prepared herself for a 'five-barred gate' – a weal which would cut diagonally across the five horizontal bars already disfiguring her bottom. Added to the sharp sting of the sixth stroke would be a re-awakening of hurt from the five earlier ones.

Her father bit his lip as Liz moved her bum-cheeks ever so slightly in anticipation of the awful torment. Liz had always received a 'five-barred gate' from the very first time she had received a caning. If he backed off now it would be a sign of weakness. Liz herself would not admire him for that. Furthermore, the other two girls would expect a softening of attitude when their turns came round again.



The cane landed diagonally but before the fresh red imprint could appear, Liz had shot upright and was clutching her scorched buttocks in a shock of pain. She continued to wail and she cried unashamedly.

Her father decided to stop, but Liz was not being spared the remainder of her ordeal. Far from it. As far as the lovely blonde was concerned, far worse was in store for her.

Sensing what was about to happen, Liz turned round quickly. She made no attempt to conceal her blonde triangle – her hands were needed to provide some comfort to her bum.

'No Daddy! Please no!' she croaked. 'You can't!' She blinked away her tears and appealed with big, watery, green eyes.

'I can Liz,' he told her, the determination evident in his voice. 'And what's more, I'm going to!' Here he paused before continuing, 'It depends of course if Rodney wants to.'

He held out the cane to the dark-haired young man in the smart casual clothes sitting between Liz's two younger sisters on the settee.

'Yes Mr Kennedy, I do,' said Rodney grabbing hold of the cane. Mr Kennedy detected a trace of eagerness in his voice.

'No Rodney! Please don't!' wailed Liz as her fiancé stood up and took off his denim jacket.

'Bend down again please, Liz' was his only response to her request.

Mr Kennedy detected signs of rebellion again as Liz squared her shoulders. Rodney held up the cane. Her shoulders slumped and she again bent over the chair, her bottom sporting a pretty picture of a five-barred gate. Tears of mortification poured down her cheeks.

Mr Kennedy was delighted that Rodney was taking up where he had to leave off. Liz needed to be tanned regularly. He sat back on the settee to watch the remainder of the punishment.

When the first stroke bit into the rich moons of her backside, he knew that Liz was in good hands.

Of course he would miss taking a cane to her bottom; but he had two other daughters who would not be ready for marriage for some years yet!

Wednesday, 19 January 2011

The Visit

Story from Whispers 04.

The Visit

'Well Debbie, here we are again. I'm sorry about this, but it really is your own fault.' The avuncular figure at the wheel of the car did not look in the least bit sorry – but the young girl by his side did.

'Please, Dad, don't make me go in.' He wasn't actually her Dad (though she always called him that) just a foster-parent. 'You know what she does to me.'

'Of course I know what she does to you. That's why I bring you here. It's what was arranged, so that's how it's got to be...'

'Oh Dad!' Such a pleading, pouting look but it left him unmoved.

'Don't think we've missed a single month this year yet, have we?'

'No...' The girl shook her head miserably.

'It's all down to your bad behaviour. You've got to learn, Debbie. Otherwise I shall simply have to keep on bringing you here. Now... off you go. I'll wait, as usual.' It was a lovely summer's day and the sun-roof of the car was open. So, also, he saw was one of the study windows where Debbie would shortly have to present herself. That was interesting. It was some time since he'd been able to hear the girl getting it. He had used to listen outside the door of Mildred's room when Debbie was receiving a whacking from her foster-mother. That, of course, was before Mildred had left him to set up this Private School of hers. That parting had been reasonably amicable, suiting both sides.

'Don't forget, John, the girl will still need discipline. I suggest you bring her along to me once a month. Say, every last week-end. With a little report from you.' Those had been Mildred's parting words and that was how it had been ever since. At the time, John had thought of suggesting he could take over the disciplining himself since the girl was staying with him (partly to act as a sort of housekeeper) but he had thought better of it. He had the idea that Mildred would not approve at all. She was inclined to have very Victorian ideas. Apart from those on discipline.

Reluctantly the girl opened the car door. One last appealing look. 'Don't forget my report,' he said, handing over a folded sheet of note-paper. She took it sulkily and walked slowly towards the house. He saw Mildred appear briefly at the open window and look down. He gave a little wave but she didn't appear to notice.

Contentedly, John settled down in the sun. To wait. And to listen.

'Come in, Debbie...'

Into the familiar, frightening room she went, seeing Miss Mildred (as she had to call her now) was, as usual, wearing her gown. Though she was not a qualified teacher, she liked to do this – especially on these occasions.

'Good afternoon, Miss Mildred.' One had to be polite, difficult though it might be.

The tall, commanding looking woman shook her head sorrowfully. 'This is the seventh consecutive month, I believe. Am I making no impression on you, Debbie?'

'Yes.. oh yes, Miss Mildred.'

'It would not appear so. Give me the report.' The girl handed over the slip of paper. It was studied and again the head shook. 'Slovenly housework... careless in appearance. And four detentions at school. I certainly don't like the sound of that. What were you up to, my girl?'

'N-not paying attention, I think, Miss Mildred.'

'Four times? It's a pity they can't use corporal punishment in that place. That would soon sharpen your ideas up. And a lot of the others, too. Still, fortunately, I can use it.'

The girl fidgetted nervously. There was no point in making excuses or pleading. It never made any difference. 'I... I'm sorry...' she said lamely.

'Let's have that skirt off then.' Mildred became suddenly brisk and walked across to her desk, opened a drawer and took out a clothes brush. It had a long head and a long handle. Debbie paled. Apart from the cane, which was used very rarely, it was the instrument she liked least of all. It stung abominably. Far worse it seemed than the strap or the slipper. The back of that brush was so hard. Near to tears, she removed her skirt – and then saw that Mildred had moved the chair, on which she customarily knelt to be chastised, right to the open window. Why on earth had she done that? 'Up you go,' came the order. Hesitantly, Debbie knelt up on the chair. Soon it would all begin again. The pain, the shame. Oh what an awful life it was! As soon as I'm 18, I'll run away, she told herself. But that was eighteen months off yet.

She suddenly realised she could see her dad. There he was still in the car. Luckily he seemed to be dozing. It would be all the more shaming if he could see her suffering. 'Let's have those knickers down, Debbie.' Luckily he couldn't see that anyway, she thought as she pushed down the white briefs so that they clung around her thigh tops. Being bare made it seem far, far worse even though the brush would have stung just as much through those thin briefs.

'Six for slovenliness,' Mildred said. 'Six for careless appearance. And three for each detention. How many does that make, Debbie?'

'T-twenty... four... Miss Mildred. Ohh... that's too many!' Tears misted her eyes.

'Not at all,' came the firm reply. 'Let me tell you something, my girl. You are at an age when strict discipline is essential for your upbringing. Let me tell you also, that for every detention you get next month I'll give you six. And more than likely I'll use a cane. Think about that when you're in school.'

A deep sob as Debbie tensed herself. Oh not too hard, she prayed!


As usual, it hurt even more than she had let herself remember – and Debbie uttered a gasping cry of pain. Not too loud... oh no.. or I'll wake him up. She summoned her resolve, clenching her teeth.

Whacckkk! A whinnying sound came out and her head tossed back. Oh don't wake up... don't! Whaaaccckkk! Oh... oooh.. it was hurting so! And yet it was only just beginning. How could she stand it? Whaaccckkk! A strangled yelp. She just couldn't help it. Whaaaccckkkk and again Whaaaccckkkk! The stroke following more quickly caught her by surprise and she yelped even louder. Stay asleep... please... please!

'Six for slovenliness, Debbie. How many more to come?'

'Eighteen, Miss Mildred. Oh please, Miss Mildred, can you move the chair away from this window?' Debbie turned pleadingly.

'Certainly not. It's a hot afternoon...'

Didn't she understand? Didn't she want to understand? Debbie groaned despairingly.

'Come along, get that bottom square, my girl. The worst part of your punishment is still to come.'

Don't I know it, said Debbie to I herself, forcing herself back into position. Soon welt would be I overlaying welt.

Mildred, an expert in these matters, gave the girl a five minute rest after the twelfth stroke. Her bottom would be burning nicely and there was no harm at all in making her wait for the second twelve. Rather to the contrary. In Mildred's opinion, waiting was an integral part of punishment. Ideally, a girl should be told of her punishment to come overnight so that she had plenty of time to contemplate it. Most salutary.

Miserably, Debbie remained kneeling, looking out of the window. Tears made the landscape shimmer. Dad still seemed to be asleep, but it was difficult to see since he wore dark glasses.

'Right, Debbie, we will resume...'

She felt her buttocks clench convulsively with dread. I must be brave, I must be strong, she told herself desperately. I must not yell too loudly.

But the first of the second dozen, descending agonisedly over an earlier welt, made her shriek. And Debbie went on shrieking – and begging – whilst Mildred went on remorselessly wielding the clothes brush.

Soon it no longer mattered to her whether the figure slumped in the car was asleep or awake...

There was only ever-mounting pain.

Tuesday, 18 January 2011

The Most Famous Smacked Bottom in Town

Story from Februs 23.

The Most Famous Smacked Bottom in Town
by J. E. Roberts

I suppose when I was a student more than 30 years ago now, I was not too bad looking. I modelled myself a bit on Brigitte Bardot – well, lots of girls did that, but I had the lips to go with it. And the long blonde hair and a kind of small but sticky-out bottom, if you know what I mean. When I'd been in my early teens, I'd worried about the shape of my bottom – I thought it stuck out so much that the boys wouldn't like me. After I got to University I realised they liked me so much because it stuck out.

So 1 knew I was popular. But I was a bit of a demon; I liked tormenting the boys. You know the kind of thing: leading them on and then leaving them high and dry, so to speak. This story is about how I got my come-uppance.

I'd never really been spanked before. When I was little, my father did get exasperated with me one day and he gave me a few taps on the backside, but nothing much really. It certainly didn't hurt. I got my first real spanking when I was 18 and in very unusual – and very public – circumstances. This is what happened.

When I joined the University, I got involved in Dramsoc and appeared in a few productions. One of the boys who was interested in me was called John, and – though I didn't appreciate it at the time – he was sensitive and intelligent.

We met because I was playing Tituba to his John Proctor in "The Crucible". Our affair went well while we were in the play together, but once the Christmas holidays came, I just sort of forgot about him.

By the second term, I'd become the secretary of the Dramsoc. Another student had agreed to direct a French play called "The Little Hut", which is about a woman cast away on a desert island with her lover and her husband; you get the general idea. It was quite a popular play at the time and had a long West End run. John was cast to play the husband but there was only the one female part and I wasn't cast. By this time anyway, I was more interested in the stage manager Dan, who was a more easy-going, rugby-playing type. John seemed kind of quiet by comparison.

Unfortunately – or perhaps fortunately as it turned out – the girl who was directing the play got herself pregnant and left University in a bit of a hurry. Being secretary, I got lumbered with the chore of finishing the play off. I did so reluctantly, partly because it wasn't a play I liked much anyway and partly because it was a bit awkward between John and me.

Then I started playing John and Dan off against each other and, to cut a long story short, the two of them were having a great row one day when I arrived at rehearsals – and yes, I was the subject of the row. John had noticed me snogging with the stage manager in the wings of the theatre when I should have been directing the play. Well, it was such a tedious bloody play and at the time I thought Dan was a real dish.

The row ended with John being punched by Dan and the leading lady getting fed up with it all and walking out. John and I were hardly speaking by that time; he blamed me for the incident.

What really terrified me however was that it was the dress rehearsal – and I'd now no leading actress. I'd only just taken over as Dramsoc secretary and I wanted to show I could handle things. But nothing seemed to be going right with this play first losing the director and then the lead. There was nothing else I could do: I had to learn the lines double-quick and go on in the part myself without even a rehearsal, apart from going through a few of the moves. I had quite a good memory in those days and I was very familiar with the script by then.

One thing I haven't mentioned so far is that there is a spanking scene in the play. The woman dashes out of her hut to answer the phone and her husband puts her over his knee for playing around with the other man. This had always been acted in rehearsals very fast – twelve quick smacks, as indicated in the script.

* * *

When we got to the scene on the first night, John threw me over his knee as I was expecting. What I hadn't expected was how strange it would feel. I mean, think about it. There I was, the boss, in charge of the whole show and now a leading light in the Dramsoc – and now here I was, upended in front of around 150 people, with my sticky-out bum sticking up over the knees of an ex I was hardly speaking to. I knew he still found me attractive, and in the split-second as I lay there, I felt very vulnerable for I realised I was wearing a very flimsy costume a sort of bikini and pants: not a lot of protection against a heavy, avenging male palm.

The pause seemed a very long one. And then he brought his hand down, much harder than ever in rehearsals with the other woman. I yelped, kicked out my legs and bucked, but he held my body tightly. Suddenly I realised I was trapped. I had to take another 11 like that, and there were all these people watching and not making a sound. The entire audience seemed to be holding its breath, as well they might. I held my breath too, as I waited for the next one. Why didn't he get on with it? I could hear him breathing heavily.

The second slap was even harder and I yelled at the top of my voice; then another three very hard and very fast left me gasping for breath and hardly able to call out at all. John was counting the spanks out loud, as indicated in the script and yelled "Six!" in a tone of great triumph.

I then had a few words to say, though my bottom was hurting so much I could hardly find my voice. I had to say; "Ouch! That hurts!" which I was told afterwards (by someone who politely assumed I was acting) I said with great feeling.

John then had to reply something like: "That's the idea of it," and again he gave the line a new interpretation – kind of more thoughtful and determined than ever before.

What happened next took me – and everyone else – completely by surprise. In full view of the audience, he peeled my panties down to reveal my now-scarlet buttocks and continued belabouring them very hard and with great gusto.

He was supposed to give me only another six, but he went on and on. I twisted and wriggled and gasped and howled, but I couldn't got off his knees and he carried on until he reached 25. I was sobbing so hard that my Leichner Numbers Five and Nine were running down my face. Then he stood up and I rolled onto the stage, to a tremendous round of applause.

As I lay there in agony, rubbing my sore bottom, I suddenly realised I was turned on. I struggled to pull up my panties and hoped there wouldn't be a wet patch on them soon – or, if there were, that no one would be able to see it. I looked up at John from the stage floor and I remember the thought going through my mind: "He is quite nice-looking after all."

My backside was throbbing like mad, but somehow I managed to hobble to my feet... and immediately forgot my next line.

Hardly surprising, and I don't really know how I got through the performance. But it all seemed to be a great success and at the end, we got a standing ovation, so to speak.

Word soon got round the University, and there was a big demand at the box office and queues right round the block for returns: we could have sold the seats for the next performance many times over. My secretaryship of the Dramsoc had been a great success, but somehow it didn't seem to help my relationship with John. He slipped away after that first night and anyway we'd have both been too embarrassed to speak to each other.

But there was another aspect to all this that we'd forgotten about: there had been a local newspaper reporter at the performance. And the spanking scene – with panties on, of course – had in fact already been photographed by the paper before the performance. Early the next morning, reporters were trying to get in touch with me, but they couldn't because I wasn't on the phone and very few people knew my address, as I'd just changed digs. By the afternoon, the paper was published.

Normally a student production of a play that was already well known would have received only a short review, lucked away on an inside page. But not this show. All over the front page: "Spanking Success" was the headline, and the picture of me over John's knees was about as large as it could be, with the caption "Whipping Girl". There was no review at all; this was a news story. My acting counted for nothing but my bare bottom was suddenly the most famous smacked bottom in town.

And reporters may not have been able to find my address, but they knew where to find the Vice-Chancellor. He told them he'd be looking into the matter that day, but they quoted him as saying he'd get to the bottom of the matter. Ha bloody ha, very droll, I'm sure.

* * *

I was in a lecture when I received a note asking me to report to the Vice-Chancellor's office at 4pm that afternoon. Outside a couple of reporters from national papers were waiting for me. What had happened was that the local reporter had sold the story on to them, I refused to say anything, but realised my bare bottom was now about to become the most famous smacked bottom in the country.

I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I walked to the Vice-Chancellor's office. This after all was the sixties and in those days, a bit of spanking may have been all right, but nudity on stage? People talk now about the Swinging Sixties, but forget that they didn't swing as much as all that; there was a lot of stuffiness around, and at that time there was still a Lord Chamberlain censoring plays. I'd worked so hard to get into that University and I was about to be sent down in the most public and humiliating way imaginable! I remember thinking: 'My career is over and it's hardly begun.'

When I got to the Vice-Chancellor's door, John was there as well. I was furious with him. After all, he was the one who'd pulled my panties down on stage. But before I could tell him what I thought of him, the door opened and we were ushered into The Presence.

The Vice-Chancellor had the local paper in front of him and he started off by giving us a good talking-to: dragging the good name of the University into the mud and all that sort of thing. Suddenly John interrupted: 'It's really not June's fault,' he said. 'We didn't rehearse the scene like that. She didn't know I was going to pull her panties down. It was my idea entirely.'

There was a long pause, and I recall the Vice-Chancellor putting his pen down.

'I see,' he said. 'So you take full responsibility for the incident?'

John muttered: 'Yes.'

'In that case, Miss Roberts,' said the Vice-Chancellor, smiling a little grimly, I thought, 'I need detain you no longer. You may go.'

I was so relieved. I managed to say thank you and walked towards the door, but as I looked back, I caught sight of John's face. I couldn't leave him like that. His career was at stake as well; his family wasn't as rich as mine and he'd have completely lost his opportunity in life.

I told the Vice-Chancellor it was my fault too, that I'd been a bitch, that I'd driven him to it and treated him badly and I was really sorry. I pleaded with him to let John off.

This time there was an even longer pause. The Vice-Chancellor got up from his desk, turned his back on us and looked out of the window, obviously trying to decide what to do.

He said he was impressed by the way we'd each tried to shoulder the blame and protect the other, but, he said, he regretted he would have to impose some disciplinary action.

'Mr Smith,' he said. (Smith isn't his real name, but you don't expect it to be, do you?) 'I will give you a verbal warning,' and he then proceeded to give him a right roasting, which I won't bore you with.

When he'd finished, he looked straight at me, but he spoke to John. 'Mr Smith,' he went on. 'Whenever I've had a problem like this, I've usually used a hairbrush. An ebony one, fairly heavy, is best, I find. Do you have one like that?'

'I don't think so.'

'But you could find one?'

'I suppose I could.'

'Good.' He smiled properly for the first time. 'I should think twelve, well laid on, will be enough. Good afternoon.'

We were about to go out, when he added: 'Oh and – in private, of course. Definitely not on stage.'

We walked away in silence. Then John said he'd see me home, and I agreed, but we still couldn't find the words. Outside my flat, he blurted out: 'Look, we don't have to do what he said. He'd never know. I'm sorry; it really was my fault, not yours.'

I looked at him straight in the eyes. 'I do have a fairly heavy ebony hairbrush, in fact,' I said. 'Come in.'

I'm afraid the audience that night must have felt very shortchanged. No naked rump, and only a very perfunctory spanking, for John knew my bottom was still very sore from the hairbrushing. The punishment had taken a long time, because after almost every stroke, I had leapt up and done a sort of dance around the floor on one leg. Each time it was ages before I could pluck up the courage to place myself over his knee again.

And John didn't spare me with that hairbrush: he laid every stroke on as hard as he could. And as the hairbrush fell down on my naked, unprotected rear, I fell deeper and deeper in love with him.

When eventually the thrashing was all over – and it must have taken more than half an hour – my sticky-out bottom stuck out even more, it was the colour of beetroot and I was madly, irrevocably in love. I wonder how the Vice-Chancellor knew what would happen?

Mind you, I can confirm that the hairbrush is certainly an instrument of punishment, not pleasure. That's not to say there wasn't pleasure afterwards; the Sixties did swing a little bit whatever I said earlier.

While all this was going on, the Vice-Chancellor was issuing a press statement, saying both students had been disciplined after an internal inquiry and that the matter was now closed. The story appeared in several national papers, became a big joke but was eventually forgotten.

We still have that hairbrush today; it's our most treasured possession. But even now, I can't take every stroke without leaping up occasionally. And, in all fairness, neither can John, for he gets it as well if he's made me angry – and we both make sure we get angry a lot. Yes, we're still together, so I suppose this story has something of a traditional ending: we spanked happily ever after.

Monday, 17 January 2011


Story from Janus 27.

by Tom Horner

'THERE ARE some young women who are just asking to have their bottoms smacked!'

Richard looked at David in surprise. He followed the direction of David's eyes across the pub, and realised that he was staring at a small group of people standing at the bar. The group consisted of three young men and a girl. The girl was about 20, her auburn haircut in a pageboy style. She stood in the middle of the young men, talking animatedly, her chatter punctuated by flashes of her wide eyes, glimpses of a bright wide smile, and tosses of her pretty head. It was a performance that any man would have found hard to resist and the three young men in the bar were no match for this jinxy little minx. She had them transfixed, lapping up her performance like three cats round a bowl of cream. She was smartly dressed – a secretary perhaps – and when she turned her back, the tight material of her grey skirt rippled with the movement of her slim buttocks.

Richard gave an appreciative grunt. She was a delightful creature, but one that was clearly in need of a firm spanking.

'I see what you mean,' said Richard.

'I rather thought you might,' David replied, turning to him with a smile.

Richard had known David for the three years since starting to work at the same firm. David was some years older than Richard, about 50 he thought, and a good number of points further up the managerial scale, but nevertheless for some reason he seemed to have decided to take Richard under his wing. Over the past three years they had become quite close, often going to the pub together at lunchtime or after work.

Despite this friendship, Richard really knew very little about David, or his personal feelings. This sudden expression of interest in the pert young girl at the bar came as something of a surprise, although the sentiments his senior voiced were by no means alien to Richard's own feelings. But he was even more surprised by what David said next.

'Yes, I thought you might have the same interests as me. I got the first inkling when I saw the way your eyes follow Jean around the office – particularly when she bends down to the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet!'

David gave a chuckle as Richard stared into his drink in embarrassment, thinking of the many times when, in his imagination, David's sophisticated secretary, Jean, had touched her toes for six of the best on her bare bottom.

'But I only knew for certain yesterday,' David went on, 'when I saw the copy of that magazine in your briefcase. I used to read it myself, but since I met Angela I haven't felt the need so much.'

'Angela?' Richard stammered questioningly, still scarlet with embarrassment from having been confronted with his own most intimate secret.

'Yes, my current young woman. I've known her about two years now, I suppose, but she's a headstrong little madam, and needs regular discipline of the firmest kind.'

Richard knew that David was not married, but he had never heard him mention a girlfriend before. Was he suggesting now that he had some young woman with whom he put into practice all those things which Richard had so far only read about in magazines? It seemed to be too amazing to be true. But what David said next was even more so.

'Yes,' he continued in that same smooth tone, 'Angela needs to have her bottom warmed at fairly regular intervals. In fact she is due for a session tomorrow evening. Why don't you come home with me tomorrow, and see how reality compares with your fantasies. I'm sure that you will enjoy it, and your presence will give an added piquancy to the session for Angela and me.'

This was an invitation which Richard had no hesitation in accepting. And so it was that he found himself the following evening seated in a comfortable armchair in David's large house, sipping a drink. He was awaiting expectantly the arrival of Angela, and wondering just what she would be like. At 6.15 precisely, the door bell rang.

'That will be her,' said David, leaving the room.

He returned a few minutes later ushering a young woman into the room in front of him. As soon as he saw her, Richard gave a start of surprise. He knew this girl – she had been at University at the same time as him! They had never been introduced, and indeed Richard doubted whether she would remember him at all, but he had known her. Only then she had been 'Angie', not 'Angela'.

She had been one of the prettiest girls in the University, and it would have been difficult not to have noticed her. Richard always counted it a good day if he managed to sit near her in one of the refectories, and watch her talking to her friends.

He remembered one particularly pleasant afternoon he had spent in the snooker room in the Students' Union. He had gone there with a friend to play a frame, but had found the table occupied by Angie and one of her girlfriends. The fact that they were not very good meant that it lasted a considerable time. Normally this would have infuriated Richard, but the sight of Angie, repeatedly bending across the table, the faded blue denim stretching tight across her bottom, made up for the long wait. In fact it was almost with regret that Richard saw the black disappear into the pocket for the last time.

'Sorry to keep you waiting,' she had said, smiling sweetly as she handed him the cue.

But that had been five years ago. Now the faded blue jeans were replaced by a smart blue suit, the tight pencil skirt reaching just to her knees, the short jacket finishing at her waist. Her thick black hair had been cut from its almost waist-length, to finish now at her nape. But the face was still the same – the wide blue eyes, the tip-tilted nose, the full mouth, that he remembered.

She smiled and held out her hand as David introduced him to her. It was clear that she did not remember Richard. Perhaps he had changed more than she had done, or maybe she had simply not noticed him in those days. Whatever the reason, Richard decided that it would be better not to remind her of the time when their paths had crossed previously.

As David fetched her a drink, Angela chatted in a cheerful way about the tough day she had had at the office. Richard, looking at her, found it almost impossible to believe that this delightful young woman was the person who David had led him to believe, willingly accepted corporal punishment, and whom David had promised Richard himself would see receiving such treatment before the evening was over.

In fact, Richard did not have long to wait for proceedings to begin. After a few minutes the conversation lulled, and David looked determinedly at Angela, as she sat, curled up like a cat her legs tucked beneath her, on one of the armchairs.

'You won't forget why you are here this evening, will you, my dear?' he said.

Angela's eyelids fluttered. She looked down into her drink and murmured in a small voice:

'No David, of course not.'

Then she glanced across in an inquiring way at Richard.

'Oh yes,' said David, 'That is precisely the reason that Richard is here. He is very interested in the punishment of naughty girls.'

'I see,' said Angela, continuing to stare at the floor, and avoiding Richard's eyes.

'Well,' continued David, standing up. 'I think we may as well get started. So finish your drink, Angela, and fetch the cane like a good girl.'

Angela gulped down the rest of her drink and stood up, handing the glass to David. There was a large leather-topped desk at one end of the room, and Angela walked over towards it. Richard's heart was beating at high speed as he watched her cross the room, her hips swaying under the tight skirt. Then she reached the desk, and squatting down, opened one of the drawers. From it she withdrew two items – two canes, yellowish in colour, one with a crook handle, the other straight. She turned to David, holding them up.

'Which one do you want?'

'Bring me the rattan, but leave the bamboo on the desk,' David commanded.

The straight cane was laid on the leather, and she came back to David holding the crook-handled rattan. As she handed it to him she looked straight into his eyes.

'I have been a naughty girl,' she said. 'I am in need of punishment. Please cane me as I deserve.'

'Of course, my dear,' replied David. 'Prepare yourself.'

Angela returned to the desk, with David following her, flexing the cane. Richard could see that it was very supple and swishy. Was he really going to see it applied to Angie's bottom? Or was this a complex illusion, perhaps even designed to make fun of him?

When Angela arrived in front of the desk she stopped and took off her jacket, laying it neatly on the desk-top. David beckoned Richard, and he moved forward to stand next to his host.

Angela still had her back to them. Her hands now fell to her waist. She unclipped the skirt, and undid the zip. Even with the zip unfastened she had to wriggle a bit to ease its tightness down her legs. As it descended her bottom was revealed to Richard's eager gaze. It was inadequately covered by silk knickers of pale blue, which failed to conceal the enticing roundness of her buttocks. She was wearing stockings and suspenders rather than tights. At last the skirt was off and placed neatly beside the jacket. Then she bent across the surface of the desk reaching for the far side with her fingertips.

David gave a loud 'tut'.

'Come now, Angela,' he said, 'let's not have any false modesty just because we have a guest with us. You have a delightful bottom. It is that that Richard wants to see being punished, not the expensive underwear with which you pamper yourself. Take them down please.'

Rather reluctantly Angela pushed herself upright. Her hands went to the waistband of the knickers. Then she stopped, and peeped back over her shoulder at David.

'Please,' she said, 'let me keep them on. They won't protect me at all.'

'No,' replied David sternly. 'They must come down. And I don't care much for your reluctance to obey. Let's have no more of it, or we'll have to let Richard see what happens to you when you have to make a trip to the room upstairs.'

'Oh no, please,' said Angela hurriedly. 'I'm sorry – I'll do what you say.'

Her thumbs slid into the waistband of her knickers and pushed them down to the floor. Stepping out of them she laid them on the desk with her skirt and jacket. Then she bent into position again. Richard now had the delightful view of Angela's bare bottom offered up for the cane. It was as beautiful as he had imagined it would be all those years before, when he had watched it bent over the snooker table. It was so smooth and white. Richard would have loved to stretch out a hand, first to stroke, and then to smack.

But it was David who was measuring the rattan across Angela's cheeks. He tapped it once or twice across the crown, making the flesh ripple.

'Now,' he said, 'keep your legs straight, and your tummy flat on the desk, please.'

As Angela tensed her legs, and pushed herself flat against the desk, David turned to Richard.

'That way it makes sure the target is presented at the perfect angle,' he explained. And indeed, Richard had to admit that the minor adjustment had made Angela's bottom even more prominent – and splendid.

'Keep still now!' The cane tapped once more. 'I'm going to start!'

David raised the cane, and then swished it in across the centre of Angela's bottom. To Richard, almost overcome with the excitement of witnessing his first real-life caning, it seemed as though time stood still as the whippy stick kissed the firm flesh with a sharp smack. It lingered for a moment, and then came away, leaving a rapidly reddening tramline as evidence of its attention, neatly drawn across the centre of Angela's bottom. Angela's only obvious reaction had been a sharp gasp of breath, and a slight toss of the head, but Richard could now see the muscles in her thighs tensing as the pain reached her.

David swished the cane in again with a full swing – Smack! As Angela wriggled, a little more this time, and tightened her grip on the desk, Richard had to admire David's accuracy. The second stroke had ruled another red line exactly half an inch below the first.

The third stroke went in the opposite direction, across the top of the cleft, and this time Angela gave an almost audible crying and her bottom began to sway from side to side.

To Richard's surprise, David paused.

'Well, Richard,' he said, 'I dare say you'd like to take a more active part in the proceedings.'

Richard's throat was dry with excitement. He could do no more than nod his head.

'But I believe that you have never caned a naughty girl before?'

A shake of the head this time.

'Very well. In which case I can't allow you to use this rattan – it needs an experienced hand to use it correctly. But by all means use the bamboo on the desk there, to complete Angela's punishment.'

Hesitantly but with the most incredible sense of anticipation, Richard picked up the straight cane. It was thinner than the rattan – but not as supple or swishy. Richard realised that this would make it easier to be accurate with it.

It was magic – he could only just come to terms with his good fortune.

'That's it,' said David, 'Get the feel of it. Try a few practice swings, and then you can give Angela the remaining six she is due.'

At this point Angela pushed herself up from the desk, and turned to David with appeal in her eyes.

'Oh, please, David – don't let him. It's different taking it from you – but from a stranger...'

She stopped as she saw the look of anger in his eyes.

'If I say so,' David replied with controlled rage, 'you will take it from a tramp off the street.'

He put his hands to her shoulders.

'I've already warned you once this evening about disobedience. You have now earned youself a trip to the room upstairs when we have finished with you here – and the longer you take to get back across the desk, the longer the visit will be!'

Angela's head dropped, and with a sigh she resumed her place over the desk, wriggling herself into the precise position in which David had originally placed her.

'Now, if madam has finished her little tantrum, perhaps we can continue.' David's face lightened and he smiled at Richard. 'Come here, and I'll give you a lesson,' he said to him.

'Stand at this distance to her so that the cane will meet both buttocks as equally as possible. It's inevitable that a right-hander will touch up the right cheek more than the left, but try to make it as even as you can.' Following David's instructions Richard placed the cane across Angela's bottom, in between two of the red lines left by David's strokes.

'I should go a little lower if I were you,' David advised. 'Like most girls, Angela is particularly sensitive in that area, and it will reduce the risk of your crossing one of my strokes – which should be avoided unless you are intending specifically to increase the severity of the punishment.'

Richard adjusted the position of the cane, pressing it against the firm flesh of the lower half of the girl's bottom. He thought he sensed her tremble a little. He became sharply aware of the contrast between Angela's arched buttocks and the whippy, springy hardness of the cane.

'Look at Richard, please, Angela!' David ordered.

'It is very important to be able to see the girl's face when you are punishing her,' he explained. 'Helps you to judge the effect of the punishment more accurately.'

The mass of black hair on the desk moved, and Angela's pretty features were turned towards Richard. She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, and her eyes were full of mute appeal, to which Richard was quite impervious. He was in the position ha had dreamed of so often – a cane in his hand, and a beautiful young woman bent over before him, her bare defenceless bottom correctly presented for his attention. He was determined that this was going to be a punishment session which both he and the girl would remember for a very long time. But now David was giving a few last tips.

'Take the cane back slowly, and then whip it in with plenty of wrist. It's a kind of flicking action you should be aiming for, so that the tip of the cane really gets moving.'

Richard matched his actions to David's words, and the cane met Angela's bottom with a resounding thwack! Her buttocks tensed, and she shut her eyes, but otherwise there was no reaction. Richard was pleased to see that the red line had appeared exactly on the spot he had been aiming for. David added his congratulations.

'Yes that's it,' he said. 'Now you've got the idea give the cane a bit more air, and give her the last five nice and slowly. Try to spread them evenly from the first one down to the tops of her thighs.'

Richard then proceeded to administer what he later liked to think of as a 'sound beating' – a 'six-of-the-best' such as a stern headmaster might have used to bring tears to the eyes of the toughest young schoolboy. But on this occasion it was not the thick hide of a delinquent adolescent on the receiving end, but the sensitive flesh of a 24-year-old woman.

Richard watched Angela's reactions carefully as the strokes whipped in, and he had to admit that she took it well. He felt a perceptible change in his own state of consciousness at each successive application – a series of explosive heightenings of his sense of being. Only when his fourth stroke hit slightly off-target, and landed on almost exactly the same spot as the third, did his beautiful victim's lips part in a brief squeal of pain. It was at this point too that she started to cry a little. But she made no attempt to rise from the desk, or to avoid her punishment in any way. And when the sixth swingeing stroke had left its angry red line across the white flesh at the very tops of her thighs, she just lay in place sobbing quietly.

Richard suddenly felt a little embarrassed. He had become so absorbed in caning Angela that now he had finished he felt rather awkward, standing there with the cane in his hands.

David soon came to his rescue. He took the cane from Richard, and patted him on the shoulder.

'Well done!' he said. 'A splendid performance for a novice. I can see it won't be long before you graduate to the rattan. Let me refill your glass, while Angela recovers herself a little.'

He led Richard back to the other end of the room, poured some more drinks, and then took down a book from the shelf.

'Have a look at this,' he said. 'I'm sure you'll find it of interest.'

As Richard browsed through the book, which turned out to be a lavishly illustrated history of corporal punishment, he noticed that David had returned to Angela. Bending half over her, he was whispering to her. His right hand rested on her punished bottom, caressed it a little, and then slid between her thighs. As he continued to whisper close to her left ear, Angela's bottom began to writhe, sensuously at first, and then wildly and passionately as her thighs clamped tight on David's insistent finger. At last her body went rigid, and then suddenly relaxed. It took all Richard's self-control to stop himself reaching a climax at the same time. But he did not want that just yet, for he was not sure that the evening had yet provided all its interest. Was there not still the mysterious 'room upstairs' to come?

As David came back to Richard, Angela got up from the desk. Gathering up her clothes, and dabbing ineffectually at her eyes with her left hand, she half-ran from the room.

'She's going to have a shower,' David explained, as Richard, with longing eyes, watched the door close behind Angela's blazing bottom. 'She'll be back in a few minutes.'

In fact it was about ten minutes later that Angela reappeared, looking very different from the dishevelled and tearful girl who had fled the room. She was dressed in a white towelling wrap which finished at mid-thigh. As far as Richard could tell she was wearing nothing else. Her glorious long legs glowed pink with the effects of the shower. She took a drink from David, and then turned to Richard with mischief in her eyes.

'You certainly know how to punish a girl, don't you?' she said. 'I thought you were going to slice my poor bottom in two!'

'Well... I... er,' Richard stammered, feeling himself blushing.

'Don't be a tease, Angela,' David broke in. 'You'll have him apologising to you in a minute. Give him a kiss, to show there's no hard feelings.'

Angela placed her glass on a nearby table and put her arms round Richard's neck. As she kissed him full on the mouth the wrap fell open. The warmth of her naked body close to him, and the scent of her expensive perfume, made Richard's head swim. But as he brought his arms up to pull her closer to him, she slipped away. She pulled the wrap around herself again, but not before Richard had caught a tantalising glimpse of her small firm breasts and the smooth white plane of her stomach above the dark triangle between her lissom thighs.

Angela picked up her drink once more, and they fell into general conversation – rather incongruously, Richard thought, in the light of the earlier events of the evening. But the only reference to those came when Richard asked Angela if she would like to sit down, and she declined with a rueful grin, and a rub at her towelling-covered cheeks.

Richard had begun to think that perhaps the 'room upstairs' was just a threat, and that the evening had passed its climax, when David, glancing at his watch, suddenly changed the mood. His voice was stern and hard as he spoke.

'It's time, I think, my girl, to bring the pleasant part of the evening to an end – for you at least. I have not forgotten, even if you may have done, that you are due for a trip to the room upstairs. So finish your drink, and follow me, please!'

Richard's excitement began to rise again at these words, and looking at Angela, it seemed that there was something close to fear in her eyes as she drained her glass. She started to follow David towards the door, but he turned again.

'You may as well leave that down here,' he said, indicating her wrap. 'You won't be needing it.'

The towelling slipped from her shoulders and fell in a heap on the floor. She was totally naked now, and Richard, in a certain state of shock had time to confirm his previous impression of the beauty of her young body, for she made no attempt to cover herself, letting her hands rest meekly at her sides. The pinky brown of her erect nipples contrasted delightfully with the milky whiteness of her breasts.

She turned once more to follow David, and Richard's eyes dropped to admire the proud swell of her buttocks from the delicacy of her slim waist. Her bottom seemed suffused with a delicate pinkness, the marks of the caning fading, but still discernible.

The other two seemed to be virtually ignoring him, so Richard followed them through the door, his eyes glued to the entrancing swing of Angela's hips.

As they mounted the stairs, Richard thought what a strange trio they must look. Two men, fully dressed in business suits, with a totally naked girl between them. He certainly felt that he was in the best position, for the movements of Angela's hips and legs and buttocks as she climbed the stairs were raising him to new levels of excitement and anticipation. He could sense too that Angela herself was all atremble with nervous expectation.

The room into which David led them on the first floor had once been one of the back bedrooms of the house. It was large, but very sparsely (and strangely!) furnished. As David closed and locked the door behind him, the first thing that Richard noticed was the piece of furniture which occupied the centre of the room. It was something he had never seen in the flesh before, but recognised at once from the pictures he had seen in books about historical public schools. There was no doubt from its strange two-stepped shape that this was a birching-block!

But this was not the hard wooden structure of the public school. It was covered in dark blue velvet, and it looked as though the top was padded. There was something almost sensuous, and quite definitely erotic, about this item of equipment.

Any doubts which Richard may have had about the use to which the block was to be put were dispelled when David went to the large oak cupboard, which was the only other item of furniture in the room, and produced a birch. It was about two foot six inches in length and consisted of five switched taped together.

At the sight of this fearsome instrument Angela shuddered. David broke the silence, but what he said did little to relieve the tension in the room.

'I made this one specially for this occasion,' he said, giving it a few hissing practice swings. 'I am sure you will find it very effective, my dear. Now onto the block with you, please, so that we can get started.'

Richard felt sure that Angela must in some ways have been relieved to let her knees, which were now visibly shaking, sink into the soft velvet. She leant across the top of the block, then stretched right over it as instructed. David criticised her posture until he was satisfied that it was just perfect.

Angela's stomach was now pressed tightly against the velvet, and her buttocks were raised but relaxed, curved beautifully in all their defenceless naked glory.

David commented upon the merits of this mode of presentation of her posteriors and then said, 'Feel her and see.'

Richard came forward at David's invitation and reached out a hand to Angela's left buttock. The warm flesh was beautifully soft to the touch, despite the slight ridges left by the caning. His fingers slipped into the deep divide between the buttocks, and Angela flinched slightly, but made no other protest. There was no doubt that with her knees very slightly apart, and her bottom cocked up over the block, Angela was perfectly positioned to receive an extended punishment.

Meanwhile David, standing in front of Angela, had removed his jacket, and was now undoing his cuff-links and rolling up the sleeve of his shirt. The birch he had placed on the floor, under Angela's nose, so to speak, as if giving her the opportunity to examine in close-up the implement which would soon whipping across her unprotected flesh.

'You may have noticed,' David said, 'that Angela obtained a certain amount of satisfaction from the attention we gave her earlier. Things are very different here. As she well knows, a session in this room is for punishment, and punishment alone. It would be quite contrary to my intentions if the birching which she is about to receive became in any way a source of pleasure to her.

'That would mean that the lesson of contrition and penitence which she is supposed to be learning would be lost. For that reason, if no other, the punishments which she receives on such occasions are always severe. This evening, for example, I have decided to give her twenty strokes of the birch.'

Angela had obviously been waiting with extreme nervousness for sentence to be pronounced, and she reacted with a low moan. This did not escape David's attention.

'There had better not be any complaints from you, my girl,' he said, 'or I shall double the number of strokes this instant. And do try to take your medicine with some degree of fortitude. As usual, any undue reaction to a stroke, vocal or physical, will lead to that stroke being repeated. Now let's begin, shall we?'

Richard stepped clear as David came round behind the block. The birch was laid against Angela's pouting cheeks, and tapped, once, twice, three times, before David drew it back, and then brought it down with a hiss and a smack, in a full-blooded stroke across their centre.

It was only as the rod spread itself across the broad swell of Angela's bottom, that Richard realised that to be on the receiving end of a birch such as that which David was wielding, must be a bit like being beaten with five thin canes at once. But Angela made no audible complaint, though the toss of her head, and the whitening of her knuckles, showed that she had felt it.

'One,' David announced, as a broad scarlet band appeared across Angela's bottom. 'Only nineteen to go, my dear!'

Richard watched with fascination as the birching of the proud young beauty continued. David obviously intended to take things slowly, and his delivery of the first five strokes had no particular rhythm to it. Angela took them all as well as she had the first, and the room remained silent apart from the hiss and thwack of the birch, and David's deliberate count after each stroke.

After the sixth, however, she cried out, earning herself a repeat. And thereafter, every few strokes, as the birch explored every inch of her soft curves, leaving its scarlet visiting card at each point of call, she could not control herself, and yet another stroke was added to the total.

She stuck for a long time on eleven, and it was then that Richard noticed that her eyes were riveted on David, as if willing him to utter the next number. David gave no sign of noticing this silent pleading. Eventually she managed to bite her lip, and hold herself sufficiently steady on the block to satisfy him, and he said 'twelve'. The relief, combined with the pain, finally made Angela's tears overflow.

Richard was not sure how many strokes in all Angela took that evening before 'twenty' was reached. By the end he was totally drained with the nervous excitement of watching this beautiful woman being punished almost beyond the limits of endurance. In the whole of his life he had never encountered anything a fraction as erotic as the flagellation of Angela's naked buttocks with the mercilessly vicious birch.

But the strange thing which he noticed towards the end, was a change which came over Angela as the birch hissed and smacked relentlessly against her increasingly sensitive flesh.

Her eyes remained fixed on David, and were still full of tears, but the fear was gone now, to be replaced by a shining brightness. It was as though she had transcended the pain to reach a new plane of enlightenment. It was clear that she was suffering intensely: the clenching of the muscles in her back and arms and the involuntary twitching of her buttocks proved that. And yet the look which her eyes gave David was not one of hate but, it seemed, of love!

It was clear to Richard that he had much still to learn about the subtle relationship between pain and pleasure. He dearly hoped that his teachers might continue to be his stern friend, now wielding the birch yet again, and the beautiful girl whose body lay defenceless and squirming with pain over the block.