Making It Better

Story from Swish Vol.5 No.3.

Making It Better

A girl with a maid, this might be called. Maids are usually subservient – or try to be. But this one wasn't. She was determined to train Judy to take what she knew she really wanted.

* * *


Caren always used to look at me with a strange smile. I say 'always', but actually she had only been with us for three months. Even so I noticed it. I thought her maid's skirt was outrageous really. I mean, showing the tops of her stockings when she sat down, and the whites of her thighs. He always looked at her when she sat like that.

"Why d'you keep giving me sidelong looks and smiling like that?" I asked her once. She was the only maid we had, and maids were always like friends – living in – everything. When I said that Caren moved past me and closed the kitchen door. I thought that was strange. "You haven't had it yet, have you? I can tell, you know. Besides, I'd hear." I stared at her. I didn't know what she was talking about. I mean really I didn't. I told her so.

She didn't answer me – not directly. "You're old enough. Certainly old enough. I wonder he hasn't put you to it," she said. I got a bit mad with her. "I don't know what the bloody hell you're on about," I told her. "Really, Judy?" she asked and raised her eyebrows. She looks quite lovely actually – always used nice perfumes. A bit expensive for her, I thought then. I was more naive then. "We're on our own for a while – I'll show you," she said, "wait."

Well – it's something to be ordered about by a maid, I can tell you, but curiosity made me wait. Then she came down holding it. That cane. My jaw gaped. "Where.... where did you get THAT?" I blurted. She laughed at me. "Oh, come on, Judy, it's not mine. It was here already. You really haven't had it across that beautiful bottom of yours?"

"No," I said, "don't be stupid, of course I haven't." Then she gave me THAT look. "Maybe it's me who's supposed to start you off," she murmured. I coloured right up to the roots of my hair. "You dare try," I said. It was crazy – a sort of panic seized me, because I somehow knew she wasn't joking. I made to push past her but she seized my hair. Being longer than hers, it's easy to. I squealed, trying to wrench away from her. "You stop it!" I yelped. I was like a kid again instead of twenty-one, but I couldn't get away.

"Oh, so you're going to struggle, are you?" she laughed, "I thought you would. All right – let's have you in the living room." I won't go into it all how she got me – got me undressed right down to my knicks. It was all too unbelievable, and the bitch knew I wouldn't scream blue murder to the neighbours sitting in their garden. The fact that I'd been wearing only a T-shirt and hotpants helped. On the sofa she just smothered me for a long moment and I.... well, I began to weaken. I mean, she had her miniskirt right up and her furred pussy was rubbing against mine through the nylon veils. "That's better," she breathed when my arms went limp, "it's best to have you warmed up before you get into it, Judy. Better than taking you from cold. You've lovely tits, darling – beautiful legs. And your bottom is just a dream. Beside, this is only the beginning of your training."

T...t....t....training? That started me off trying to shake myself out of that ridiculous situation. I'd allowed myself to get into it, after all. I didn't have to put up with it and I told her so when THWA-AAAACK! right across my bared botty came that cane, and did I YELP! "Now STOP it," Caren said severely as if she were talking to a schoolgirl. In fact I think she'd have got a big kick out of it if I had been, or more likely she was pretending that I was and she was the schoolmistress. When you really get into it you have all sorts of fantasies like that.

"WOW-OW!" I squealed and got another. She was standing with one leg up on the seat of the sofa and me bent over her thigh. Well – so O.K. – I admit they weren't hard ones. That cane was too thick for the job. It wasn't meant to be a tamer but to act as a warning. It was never used really the way canes are used in stories. There were a couple of thinner ones upstairs. He kept them in his wardrobe and of course I'd never seen them before, not until she showed them to me first. Anyway, I'm skipping back and forth and I don't mean to. It surprised me how strong Caren was. She dropped the cane that first time and spanked me, you see. I strove to get up, but that wasn't the easiest thing in the world to do with a hand clamped firmly on the back of my neck and my bare tummy tight over her stockinged thigh. She was standing up still, as I've described. It was a good position, she explained afterwards. She could really get it into me.

OH – I didn't know one's bottom could burn so much! "Stop it, stop it, STOP it!" I was howling. There were real tears in my eyes and I was squeezing my bottom cheeks so tight. My bottom was a real ball of fire. As it should be sometimes, Caren said coolly when, after about the twentieth, she let me slip down blubbering on to the floor. Then she came down upon me and drew my knicks right off. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!" I went on sobbing as if she were still spanking me. My bottom was an orb of heat-rage on the carpet. She didn't take any notice. Holding my shoulders down, she began to tongue my nipples.

All the funny noises I made when she was holding me! I was struggling, too, but she ignored that, simply brushing my waving arms aside, sidling one stockinged knee right up between my thighs until its roundness was pressed against my pussy where I was all moist. She rubbed her knee there subtly and my bottom bucked all the more.

"Wet – you're wet, aren't you – oooh, nice!" she husked. Her silky thighs rubbed all over my own. Her mouth captured my own. I'd never been kissed by another girl on the mouth and certainly not lying on the floor with my bottom hot and my thighs held open. "Nice – it's nice," she crooned, "aren't you feeling better now?"

"No, I'm not, I'm not," I sobbed all babyishly. The carpet in our living room is thick enough but it still scoured my hot cheeks a bit. I think she knew that and rolled me on to my hip, doing the same herself so that we were locked face to face and tits to tits together, one hand soothing my bottom and the other up under my hair at the back of my neck. Even then I went on blubbering against her moist mouth. That was a lovely feeling, too, she said – and said afterwards again, feeling my half open mouth all quivery. Then of a sudden she began to work me with her finger, first in between the tight cheeks of my bottom and then cupping her hand right under to my pussy.

It was like a thousand sparklers were exploding in my tummy. I yammered and clung to her the way I told myself I never meant to. My legs shot down, straightened, and I kinda hung my head back while her kisses rained over my neck. "There, there – making it better.... making it better," I could hear her saying. I suppose I knew that she meant what was happening to me. It was like fire and ice together – in my bottom and in my pussy. I was coming.

"Come, baby, come," she breathed and rolled me over on my back, opening my legs wider. I drew my knees up, feeling one slender finger urge in between my lovelips while her thumb rotated around my clitty. My mouth and my eyes were open. I could see and yet I couldn't. One orgasm after another rippled through me – my thighs were sleeked with wet. Her tongue was in my mouth. "Lovely, lovely, lovely," she was crooning. I lost count of all the times I came. Then I slumped – my eyes rolled right up into my head, Caren said, and then I was still, cuddled tenderly into her. She cupped my throbbing, pulsing pussy and just held me.

"I knew you'd be good for it," she said afterwards and helped me dress. I felt shy with her – shy and yet not. It was impossible to describe. "If I want to spank you again tonight, will you let me?" she asked. I didn't know what to say. I didn't even know I was going to say anything, and then I heard my voice say, "Yes – if you want to." I felt trembly all for the rest of the day thinking about it, like a dream. I remembered what she'd said about training me, but it was only a word, I told myself. When it got to ten o'clock that night, I made an excuse and went to bed early. I wondered, though, if Caren would be bold enough to slip in. She did, though. She put her finger to her lips and I nodded, like we were conspirators. Then from behind her back as she silently closed the door she produced a thin slender cane.

I was lying on the bed with my nightie on.

"He wanted to cane me tonight – downstairs. I wouldn't let him." I sat up. She could see I didn't believe her. We had to whisper. "He.... he doesn't," I said wonderingly. Caren laughed and stroked my hair, drawing my face impulsively into her shoulder. "When you're not here, he does," she said softly. She could feel and hear my gasp against her neck. "Oh god, he does – he takes my knickers down for it," she said. I guess I knew it was true. I clung to her. "Yes he does, as he will you now. I told him I've spanked you."

"Caren – no!" I threw myself back on the pillow, covering my face, like the world had come to an end, "you didn't!" I couldn't look at her. I had my eyes closed tight. "Yes, Judy," she said, and her voice was suddenly firmer, "it's me who has to put you to your trials first. Roll over now and put your bottom up. It'll only be a light one – a sparkler, as we call it. Just to start you off."

I couldn't believe this! "No!" I squealed. I drew my knees up. My nightie only covered half my thighs. I never wear panties in bed. A sudden sharp slap on my legs made me yelp. Even as I did I tried to muffle the sound, praying it wouldn't be heard above the TV downstairs. "OVER, Judy." Caren said sharply. She took my shoulder and rolled me like a sack of coal so that my shoulder bumped the wall. "It won't make a noise if YOU don't. I'm only going to give you a light sixer, Judy. Now put it up, UP – come on – or there'll be more noise than you know about."

It was blackmail really. I didn't want to, I DIDN'T. I threw my arm back – lying on my tummy as I now was – as Caren flicked the hem of my nightie up over my hips and displayed my bold cheeks. "If you get up...." she gritted warningly, "now, Judy, come on – present it. I have to and so must you now."

"No-woh-woh-woh!" I protested plaintively. I was caught in my own trap of having trusted her, and I knew it. "Oh, you silly – I TOLD you it won't be a hard one, not like I get sometimes," she hissed, "move your knees apart now and steady yourself. Come on!"

It's funny how some words work on you more than others. It was the way that she said, "Come ON!" that did it. I felt like a kid again – at my age! I grabbed the pillow under me, cuddling it like it was my old Teddy. SWEEEE-ISSSSH! "Ynnnnnnng!" I squealed. It was like a streak of lightning coursing across my bared cheeks, biting, snarling into me. Or at least I dramatised it so. My 'first course' as it was afterwards called really was a light one. I've given Caren worse since myself. Even so the breath hissed and sizzled out between my teeth as then I took the next. It was lower – not right across the centre of my halfmoons, but lower and under.

'NOH-OOOH!" I gritted, just knowing I mustn't let the sound reach through the door and downstairs, so I had to swallow in the sound just as I had to draw in the stinging bite of it into my raised bottom. "YES, Judy!" I heard Caren say triumphantly. It WAS a triumph, she told me afterwards, giving me the cane that first time. Before I could recover I took the third, and it seemed so much more of a sizzler that I bit right into my soft pillow and dipped my back in reflex until I made a perfect S-shape, she said – an ardent, offering.

Ardent and offering – yes, those were the words she used to me when she'd finished with me. I was twisting the lower half of my body about like a landed fish while she held me under my armpits making me take the sensuousness of her kisses and the long darting of her tongue into my mouth. "It's all right – it's all right," she kept saying, and I half settled down actually sooner than I thought I would, my face as blurred with heat as my bottom was. Somehow as I finally and tentatively sank down on my back – jerking my botty impetuously as it touched the sheet – she made me give her my tongue in return.

"Judy, you're lovely," she breathed. She got up, slipped her skirt and top off, and I saw that she was wearing her nylons only beneath. She didn't have to tell me she'd left her panties down in the living room – I just knew. "Judy, I want you now," she said simply. "My b...b...bottom stings," I sobbed babyishly. "I know, I know – make it better?" she whispered, "with me, darling, it'll only be my tongue, I'm afraid."

I didn't take in the import of her words then. I didn't have time to. Kneeling down by my bed, she raised one of my legs, pushed my knee back almost into my tummy and glued her mouth to my quim. Then her long pointed tongue darted in and swirled and I croaked "AAAAAAH!" and grappled with my fingers at the rucked sheet. "Oh, Judy, you're salty and wet and lovely, you bitch," I heard her croak, then the sweet firmness of her lips into my mushiness really began to work. Her fingers explored my bottom beneath. I gurgled, choked, cried out softly. I was spilling already – my love juices spurting, caught between the fire and the thrilling-spilling of it. On and on she went until I'd come four or five times. Then she did what I least expected and so was totally unprepared for. Leaving me gasping, as it were, she was up in a flash and I was rolled over on my tummy again.

I knew then. "NO!" I yelled, "NO! Caren, DON'T!" Oh god, my voice must have carried. I'd forgotten. I couldn't have controlled that cry anyway. SWEEE-ISSSSH! CRA-AAAAACK! "YEEE-AAAARGH!" Oh... those were biters... biters.... deep into my hot sphere. I beat the pillow, then clenched it, twisting it in my clawing hands. Another came. A hot searing stroke. Another – another. I blubbered, howled and cried all at the same time, twisting my hips madly to try and avoid that hateful cane which seemed to curve right around my orb as it descended.

Then, as quickly as it had started again, she stopped and leapt upon me, straddling me, her moist cleft rubbing upon my seared halfmoons. "There!" she said triumphantly, "there! That's helped to put you through the mill. Lie still – STILL!"

"I c..c...can't!" I sobbed. In bucking about I all but threw her off, but her legs were well stretched and she kept steady somehow, easing the oiled lips of her quim all around my throbbing bottom until somehow I knew – just knew – she was coming, too. "HOOOOOO!" I could hear her choking softly. I felt her stickiness, felt her go limp. Then she sank down upon me, holding me totally prisoner with her tits globing into my shoulders and both of us making coarse, breath-rushing noises.

"I h...h...hate you, I HATE you," I blubbered when at last she rolled off me, almost falling to the floor as she did, but clutching me into her. "No – no, you don't, Judy," she said firmly. Smeared with tears, my cheeks were sticky against her own hot ones. "You were just ready for that – I knew you were," she said quietly. "I w...w...wasn't," I choked. Her hair stroked my hair, drawing it back from my moist forehead. "Yes, you were," she said with total conviction, "and you half know it already. They're the hardest you'll get, you know. It never gets any worse than that. Nothing is going to work unless we're truthful with one another now."

"I... I don't know what you mean," I mumbled, still screwing up my eyes against the endless tongues of fire in my bottom. Still she cuddled my head and shoulders into her. "Yes, you do, Judy – it brings you on. I knew it would. Hating it and loving it – equally maybe to start with – is part of it. Isn't that right?" I nodded blindly. It was true. She'd sort of made me take it, but hadn't really. I mean, god, I'm old enough. I could have stopped her – I could have stopped her that afternoon. I hadn't. I'd just let myself go, despite all my talk about struggling.

Caren went on murmuring and whispering to me, sometimes making me gasp, sometimes drawing a half-reluctant giggle from me. Sometimes, I told myself, I didn't even realise what she was saying. "I will be both tender and stern when I cane you, Judy. So will he," she said. I made to sit up at that, but her hands held me down. "NO!" I jerked. I meant it. She laid me flat on my back and held me. "You don't want him to make you better afterwards – is that it?" she asked. "Don't be... don't be... don't be s...s...silly," I stammered. The biting and stinging had eased away now. My bottom felt hot, heavy – sort of luxurious.

"It's going to happen, Judy," she said. "You.... you stop it!" I choked. My eyes were as wild as my mouth was loose, she told me long afterwards. Quite daintily she bent, picked up her shirt and top. She was going to walk out of the bedroom just as she was, I could see that. "Not if I let you watch him cane ME?" she asked and was gone, swaying her jiggling bottom cheeks. I loved her. I wanted to call after her.

* * *

The next day it was all quiet, like it hadn't happened. Then about five o'clock (I wasn't in a job at that time), Caren suddenly said to me, "I get randy for a caning sometimes. Not a hard one – like the one I gave you. He puts me over the arm of the sofa, you know. I have to keep my legs straight. He peels my panties down..."

"No!" I shouted, "I don't want to hear!" I rushed out of the room and slammed my door upstairs. It wasn't true. I didn't want to know about it. Was it true? I hated myself for getting up and going back down again. I couldn't help myself. "Caren, please – is it true?" I asked. "Oh, you ARE a baby – of course it's true," she laughed and cuddled me. "He wants to cane your bottom, you know. Won't you let him?" "NO!" I blurted. Caren stepped away from me. Her eyes were harder than I wanted them to be.

"You stop this, Judy," she said, "you're not going back on it."

"I won't," I said. My lips trembled, my legs trembled. Caren shrugged. "O.K." she said bleakly, "then I won't spank you or cane you again – not ever. I won't ever kiss you or caress you or be able to make you feel better afterwards. Sorry, I can't stop talking now, I have work to do," she added in a cold, distant voice. She moved away. I went after her, feeling as if my feet were taking me rather than that I was directing them. "C...C...Caren..." I said. She turned and looked straight at me. "Well?" she asked. I lost my nerve. "N...n...nothing," I said. Suddenly she stepped towards me and lifted my chin. "After dinner tonight," she said. I made to say "No!" but no sound came. It was like I couldn't move. Then I turned and ran upstairs into the bathroom and turned on the taps, ripping my skirt and knickers off and fancying I could hear her laughing softly downstairs.

I don't think I could see properly or hear properly or anything at dinner. At least, that's how it felt. Caren kept hovering over me. When the wine was finished she poured liqueurs, moving quietly and efficiently. "I'll bring the coffee in," she said after that – saying it in a sort of possessive way. The TV was on in the living room. It was all a coloured blur to my eyes. When I was drinking the coffee my cup was chattering all the time against the saucer.

Moving back and forth as she always did, Caren was so cool that I began to relax. I even kidded myself I was watching 'Dynasty' on the TV. I could hear her washing up. It seemed all right. He hadn't said a word. I'd actually almost really relaxed when I heard the door of the living room open and close and Caren was standing there. She had the cane in her hand. It would have been easy to hide. I realised that then. I was stricken. My hand went to my mouth the way you never think it will in real life.

"Come on," she said very, very quietly and walked over to me like a panther. "Caren, no!" I said. It came out like a squeak. I mean in FRONT of him! Then she laughed and said to him, "You see – she didn't believe me." I suppose even then – even then – I believed it was a joke. I wanted to jump up. I couldn't. My legs were jelly. She moved forward more and stood over me. "Darling, get up – please," she murmured. I knew it was true then. I saw him get up and take his tie off.

"No," I said, "oh no! No, Caren – Caren, don't!" – "YES, Judy," Caren said. Her eyes weren't bleak – they were kind – almost laughing. Then it was him – coming over. They pulled me up between them. I could feel myself flopping, crying, twisting, pulling. "Judy, don't cry – it won't be hard, I promise you it won't be hard," Caren was saying. I screamed, and my skirt was up. They were so bloody efficient between them – making me ready for it. He was... he was.... he was t...taking my knickers down! I kicked, I cried more. Over the arm of the sofa where they put me, Caren sat and held my shoulders.

"No-woh-woh-woh!" was all I could hear myself sobbing. My bottom was naked, my skirt right up. She had to hold me tighter then, pressing my face down into the cushions. "It's all right, it's all right," she kept saying, "Judy, you want it." – " YA-AH-AAAAAH!" came my screech then. He'd stepped back and sort of nipped me with it, just gently at first. "You... you... you cah-ah-an't!" I screamed and then SWEEE-ISSSSH! WHOOOOO! Caren was laughing, laughing! "Judy, wriggle it – come on!" she was saying. SWEEEE-ISSSSSH! "NO-OW!" came my shrieks, on and on and on. It bit me, bit me, bit me, stung me. I writhed and wriggled, held by her. My stockinged legs twisted this way and that. I didn't care any longer what he could see.

Oh god, it was an eternity – yet it was only eight, Caren told me afterwards. When they let me up I was like a rag doll, squeezing my blasted cheeks, tears rolling down my cheeks, flopping down on the sofa, on my hip, on my tummy – every which way. Caren was on her knees by the side of me, an arm around my shoulders, murmuring, comforting, whispering, like she'd done the night before in my room. She began to finger me. Down there. In front of him! I tried to stop her. "No, no," I sobbed. I was trying to push her hand away. I rolled over on my tummy again, hiding my hot face in a cushion. She laughed and gave me a little smack, wouldn't let me pull my skirt down.

"OH-WOH-WOH!" I kept sobbing. "She's ready for it," I heard her say softly, "I know she is. Go on." Then came my final cry – my long piercing one, my hips lifted, and the big swollen plum of his prick oozing up under me, into me, parting the lips, sinking up until my squirming bottom was rammed into his belly.

"Just hold her like that," Caren said. The words came like a quiet command. She had got up. Even through my choking, disbelieving moans I somehow knew she was stripping off. The bitch. Another few throbs of his big cock in me and she knew I was going to want it – 'making it better'...

Pre-War Spanks

Story from Swish Vol.5 No.3.

Pre-War Spanks

Was it really so different in the 30's. We think it was. So does the author of this – because she was really there, and has her birth certificate to prove it – though not the marks!

* * *

I don't remember crying ever when I got the strap across my bottom. I wasn't the only one anyway. Sometimes I think that all girls – and many women, too – got it in those days, in the thirties. It was all so different then. Skirts were longer then. I think they created more of a mystery. Everyone wore stockings, and knickers were (let's face it) caressably silky. They covered your whole bum and it was somehow very sensuous to be caressed like that with a roaming hand right up under your skirt.

When I look back it seems that spankings were always on Sundays. Maybe they weren't, but it was truly a day when the devil found things for hands to do. Nothing on the wireless on Sundays in those days – only dull music. No TV, of course, unless you were very well off and then the screen was tiny and dull like the programmes.

The gramophone was the main thing. All those Crosby records, and the dance bands playing. Houses seemed more closed-in, too. Sure – I know that millions of the same houses still exist – but they DID have the feeling. It was something to do with brown and green paintwork, I suppose. There weren't many other colours then – or if there were they didn't get used in our house. The washing smells (all soapy) and cabbage smells added to it all. Darker stairs, too. More secrecy.

Yes, there was – I'm sure there was more secrecy. One afternoon I went out to see a friend on a Sunday. She was the same age as me and we were both in jobs. She wasn't in, so I came back. I didn't mean to let myself in quietly, but then I heard the sound – a sort of whoo-hoooing sound coming from upstairs, and in between the little cries the noise of well-worn leather meeting a naked bottom. Yes – I knew all right.

I inched my way up, all ready to cough at any moment. I needn't have bothered. It was my Aunt Helen – in the front bedroom. The door was almost wide open. Thinking it all safe, you see. I saw her naked bottom projecting over the edge of the double bed where she was kneeling, brown silk knickers wreathed around her ankles. I saw the rolled-up shirtsleeves, the arm rising and falling. I'd had that strap myself – a thick broad one. It came down lazily and it took you SMACK-CRACK! right across your bottom, and sometimes just under it where the bulge dips right in to the thighs. "Oh-woh, woh!" she was sobbing, as if her heart were fit to break. I could see the backward and forward movements of her hips as the leather surged in, lazy and burning.

"Come on, Helen," I heard him say or sort of croak, rather. "No-oh-OH!" her moans came, but she wasn't making any movement to get off the bed or really avoid the strap. Then his voice went into a bark that I'd heard often before. "Yes – come ON!" he growled. "Ow-er! Ow-er! Ow-er!" came her response. She was about thirty then, Aunt Helen. Nice and round. Attractive. SLAP-CRACK! SLAP-CRA-AAAACK! "I told you I was going to, Helen, didn't I?" – "YEHESSSSS! OW-OOOH! You're doing it too hard, you are, OH!"

I could only see her bottom in profile, though sometimes when it swung I could glimpse the cleft. Really I couldn't imagine her doing this or having her knickers down. It seemed impossible. What had she done? And why was she kneeling up and letting him? I mean, I was that naive, and old enough not to be. Blimey, I'd left school four years ago. I'd been strapped. Not like that, though.

Her quivers, her shudders, her cries went on as that heavy strap curled full across her bottom. Real peaches and cream she looked. "T....T....Tom, you shouldn't............... sh....sh.....shouldn't...... stop now............. stop!" "I told you, I told you, Helen, I'd make a woman of you, the way he never will. You need it burned into you like this – LIFT IT!" "WHA-HA-HA-HAAAA!" her voice sobbed out. Every SLAP-SPLAT! sounded louder, but it always did with that strap. I'd had it across my knickered bottom a few times. The SPLAT! was worse than the sting, but it did burn. I was always wriggly for half an hour afterwards. They used to grin. They always seemed to know when I'd had it. My skirts used to crease easily, too. He always lifted them right up over my bum, saying if my stocking seams were straight or not. Things like that.

The way it was, you see, in the house, was that I was able to creep up the stairs and, before I got to the top, turn almost right round and looked along the floor of the landing into the bedroom. Like I was doing now.

I never had it so hard as she was getting it, nor for so long. It seemed impossible to me then. I could hear the bedsprings sighing and singing under her knees, on and on, SPLAT! CRACK! SPER-LATT! "YOO-YOOO-YOOO-YOOOOOH!" she was sobbing. Real sobs from deep down in her. Her bottom was really red – not an angry red, but burnished and polished. All the things I was going to learn about I was listening and seeing. Including what I couldn't believe.

"All right, Helen, all right," he said in a quick tone. I saw the strap slide to the carpet and his hand go to his fly-buttons. Well, no – I didn't believe that at first. I hadn't exactly looked for a bulge there. "No, Tom," I heard her moan, she made to look round, to slide back off the bed (beds seemed higher in those days) but he gave her bottom a rare smack with his hand and she yelped and sobbed all in one voice. Then he got it out.

I almost hid my eyes. Well that's a fib. I'm sure I didn't really. It reared up, all nine thick inches of it with the bulbous knob looking like a big plum that was likely to burst with ripeness any time. I remember putting that thought into those words, and right I was. Then he grabbed her hips and his cock waggled stiffly. "All right, Helen," he said like one might talk to a nervous horse. She bucked like a horse, too, would have got up, I swear, but he held her, leaning his weight forward over her back and fumbling, fumbling until his knob found her slit.

"AH! you're juicy!" he groaned. Then a real "WHOO-OOOO!" came from her, and a silly, feeble, "Don't Tom, don't!" even though he'd already got it in and the wrigglings of her hips only excited him the more, I could see. "I've got you – all right, I've got you, Helen," he said in a voice as quiet as you like, and then he gave one heave of his buttocks and it was a knife going into butter all right. "Oh-oh-oh-oh-!" she sobbed and then her head hung down again and I could see her seared bottom pressing back despite herself while the thick shaft lodged itself inch by inch between her rolled lips.

There was a glistening there, I could see. They were only about twelve or fourteen feet away and, if he had turned to look, I could have ducked my head down all right, I felt sure. Her bottom sank slowly right back into his hands around the suspendered fronts of her thighs and – OOOH! – right in.

It was all sort of like a daze seeing it. Well, I've seen a blue movie or two in my days since then, but they were nothing like. Nothing like when you know the ones who are doing it, and doing it the way they were. "Oh, Tom – oh, Tom – oh, Tom," she kept moaning. "Didn't I tell you – didn't I tell you?" he was croaking. Then he began to pump her. My mouth was dry, my eyes glazed – but I was moist down in between all right, I heard the slaps of bottom to belly coming so loud to me – his skin white, her deep pink, his balls swinging.

I was holding my breath – almost letting it go in an explosion of sound. I don't think they'd have heard if I had. When you're like that – and didn't I know it soon enough – there's scarcely anything seen or heard except what you're doing and enjoying.

"Ah, you bitch, didn't you want this, need this?" he croaked. "Yes..... oh Tom...... you're naughty..... yes.... oh! oh my bottom!"

"It's lovely for it, you know it is. I told you, Helen, told you five years ago and you wouldn't. Remember what your Dad used to say – strapping and threshing come together." – "OOOh, Tom, ah! Don't come! Ah, you bad man, I never had it like this before, you know I didn't." – "Time you did then, eh? Oh gawd, I'll come in a minute – are you coming – wriggle it, Helen – ah, my lovely, you've got a lovely one."

Despite all her protesting and sobbing and moaning, she was surging and heaving it to him all right. That's what amazed me then, after the strapping she'd had, though I suppose I did get a funny distant feeling about how I felt when it scorched my knickers. Afterwards, I mean. There was a quick feel-up sometimes that I used to pretend hadn't happened. I was always sticky-wicky in the crotch of my knickers after a strapping, and my nipples always came up, too.

I didn't stop to see any more. By the sound of their mutual gasps and noises there wasn't going to be much more anyway. I tiptoed down, trembling really and truly in every limb. The world had changed – life had changed. This is what people did. And enjoyed it. I did crazy things in my head like comparing that obvious pleasure with things like eating or going on holiday. Daft comparison, I know – but I was new to it. It was such an intensity of pleasure. But then, being stupid, I played a mischievous trick, going down the hall, opening the door quietly and banging it.

What a scuffle came from up there! You can believe it. I heard Aunt Helen say "Oh God," and then "It's all down my stocking tops." Already then I knew I shouldn't have done it, but it was too late. I heard his mumblings to her, but not the words, and then he appeared, looking over the banisters, saying in a tight sort of voice, "Oh, it's you!" I said "Yes" back, quite merrily, but I must have blushed or something. He gave me such a long look. "Just coming down," he tried to say casually.

I went in, took my jacket off and sat down. I felt awful really – didn't know how I was going to behave now in front of them. Then he came down and I could see it bulging still. I think that was my big mistake – looking – or glancing, anyway. He must have noticed. I never did it before. "Your aunt didn't feel well – lying down," he said. In a way that was his mistake because naturally I had to say. "Oh dear, I'll go up." He made a gesture with his arm to sort of stop me. Too late. I was up the stairs – a bit of the devil in me, I suppose.

I don't know why on earth she didn't move any quicker. Frozen with embarrassment, I imagine. I stepped into the bedroom (forgetting I wasn't supposed to know which one) and she gave a cry, pushed her skirt down and grabbed at her fallen knicks at the same time. "Oh, Mary!" she said – half-relief, half not. I just said "Oh," but the trouble was, she guessed. Woman's instinct. I said "Oh, sorry – I thought you weren't well." I didn't mean to say it like that – a bit cheeky, I mean. It just came out that way.

Anyway, sly-like, she bided her time and waited until evening when the three of us were alone in the house again. I heard her whispering to him. It sent sort of shivers through me. They were in the dining room. Then she came in the living room. "I s'pose you thought we were mucking about this afternoon," he said, all blustery and defensive. Made me mad. "You do what you like – I won't tell," I spat at him. Then she came in. "You see – I told you she knew," she said. It was her conscience made her say it. I was scared-angry, if you know what I mean. "Oh, belt up," I said. That did it.

"Tom – you see to her," she said. I think it was embarrassment rather than anything else made him grab me. And as to Aunt Helen, I think she suddenly wanted to see it – it would salve her conscience maybe. She held me over the table while he upped and got my knickers down. I wriggled, strove, I couldn't get up. My skirt was bundled up above my hips, I had my best stockings and suspenders on, and I knew he was just staring. I twisted my face up and they were looking at each other.

"Go on, Tom do her as you did me," she said. She swore afterwards she didn't mean it the way it came out, but that was a lie. An eternity later – ten, fifteen, twenty strokes later of that strap with my bottom like a brazier – I heard her hiss to him, "Go on – have her – you might as well."

She says I made that up, that she couldn't stop him. I didn't. My tummy was pressed into the edge of the table. The first THWA-AAACK! came into me like a licking, leaping tongue of fire. "YA-HA-HA-HAAAR!" I sobbed, just the way she had – only she hadn't had someone holding her shoulders. "Oh, go on – hasn't she got a lovely bottom," I heard her say. "N.....n....n....n....NO!" I was howling even as it came in again. I'll never forget that biting burning of it – that first real one.

"Oh god," I heard him croak. That was when he had a hard-on already. "I can't," he said. "Oh Tom, you fool," Aunt Helen hissed. She let me go. I wriggled up, cheeks flaming above and below and rushed out, leaving my knickers on the floor. It was like a tomb downstairs after that, except for the hissing of their quarrelling. She went back the next day, but bloody hell did I tell her a few things before she did – on the quiet.

* * *

"Look – I'm sorry about that," he said while she was being seen off at the station. " 'S'all right," I muttered. I felt embarrassed, funny. He put his arm round my waist. I went to move away but I didn't. "You could have done – she was holding me," I said. The words came straight out of my mind really. I didn't mean to say them. He gave me a squeeze and I giggled. "You going upstairs at all?" he asked all awkward. "Dunno – why?" I muttered. Another squeeze. "Go on," he said. I knew we had half an hour at least. It was funny how neither of us had to say anything. It was just THERE.

I didn't let him take my knicks down at first. Not until after the first whippy, searing four – me bent over my bed. "Yes?" he asked. I felt his thumbs dive into the waistband. I hunched up more. I didn't say anything. He drew them down slowly, feeling the silksmooth skin of my bottom all the time, like he knew he could now. "You'll be alright now – I can really give it to you now, can't I," he said. It wasn't a question. He was sort of talking to himself. The jellied cheeks of my naked bottom quivered and clenched as he stroked fire into them. It was crazy. Between strokes he would feel me up under and around my pouting slit and say "Sorry" each time! I was moist. He could feel I was moist.

"Oh, Mary," he said after he'd done it several times. I was hardly making a sound. I had my eyes shut tight. The burning stings were too much sometimes, but I knew I wanted to take them like she had. I began to puff, to moan. I couldn't stop my hips swivelling. I was wicked, I was offering – he knew I was – all pouting and peeping was my pussy. I mewed and whined, thinking, "Oh god, do it yes, do it if you want to."

But that was the irony. We got interrupted in turn. They came back early. He rushed into the bathroom, I made noises like I was clearing out my cupboard. If anyone had seen me – knicks kicked under the bed, skirt creased everywhere, and my bottom wriggling like I had fleas, they wouldn't have believed it. The frustration was awful.

It was a whole week after that before I was strapped, pumped and creamed the way I wanted to be.........

Persuading Sarah

Story from Swish Vol.5 No.2

Persuading Sarah

Even at twenty, Sarah had never had her panties off for a spanking. It was time she learned – the hard way, maybe, but she learned to love it.

* * *

When the doorbell rang, Vivienne Masters went herself to open it. Blonde, stately and five feet ten tall, she carried herself like a model, as she had once been. Her firm, heavy breasts jiggled beneath a white nylon blouse. Beneath her short, tight black skirt her bottom cheeks rolled sensuously.

"It's Sarah, isn't it?" she asked as she opened the door and stepped back, weighing up with a quick professional eye the slim and pretty girl who stood there hesitantly. Sarah nodded and would have remained frozen where she stood had not a large male hand impelled her gently in to the wide hall of the private house. "How old are you, Sarah?" Vivienne asked gently. "Tw...tw...twenty," the girl stammered. She wore a neat oatmeal costume, dark tan high heels and a fawn and frilled blouse.

"You look younger," Vivienne murmured and, before Sarah could move, had taken her soft hand. "She always did," the middle-aged man with Sarah said and ran his hand lightly over her bouncy hair. Sarah said "Yes" and blushed. "Well – we'll go in," Vivienne said comfortably and led them through into a large drawing room where another tall and shapely girl sat, attired as Vivienne was save for black, gleaming boots which stretched up over her rounded knees.

"Lana will get you a drink, Sarah," Vivienne announced, taking Sarah forward. Lana got up smiling and extended her hand in turn. Loosing her gentle hold on the girl, Vivienne turned to the man and said quietly, "We'd better talk." He nodded and, while Sarah turned her head and gazed at them wonderingly, they moved into a small side room where Vivienne closed the door. "Tell me about her," she whispered, "I know we spoke on the phone, but.... yes.... I see. For how long? Uh-huh. Yes, they can be difficult. Give me a few days. It may even be less. Call me tomorrow evening. She won't know. We're always VERY discreet. Best if you go now or she'll wonder."

"O.K." he nodded and swept his eyes so obviously up and down Vivienne's glorious figure that she smiled. "No – that's extra. Costs lots more," she said teasingly and took his elbow, guiding him out. Sarah, seated with Lana on a sofa, made to jump up. "You're going?" she asked anxiously. "Not for long," he said. Vivienne stepped towards her. "Sarah – you're in good hands," she murmured and watched the girl's woebegone expression as the three of them were suddenly alone. "Sarah, you're not a child – take your jacket off," Vivienne said.

"B...b...but I'm not staying. I thought he had a meeting with someone here. I don't understand!" Sarah wailed and ran to the window just in time to see the Rover departing. "Sarah – come here!" Vivienne said sharply, bringing a startled "What?" from the pretty girl's quavering mouth. Lana stepped towards her and she backed away, bumping her hip against the window sill. Wildly, Sarah fended her left arm back but it was taken. "I d...d...don't understand!" she blurted. "Vivienne wants you," Lana said, "don't be silly now, Sarah."

"I w...w...want to go!" Sarah wailed. She made a sudden run for the door, found it locked and jerked despairingly at the handle, bringing a laugh from Vivienne. "I'll SCREAM!" Sarah threatened, bringing Vivienne and Lana both over to her. "Will you?" Vivienne asked quietly, "but HE'LL say you wanted to come – asked to come. Wouldn't that sound a bit silly now? You fight too much, Sarah – that's your problem. A girt has to know when to give it, and when not to. We'll teach you both."

"I d...d...don't understand!" Sarah wailed. They had both taken an arm and were leading her towards the sofa again. Her feet dragged in vain, heels scouring the thick carpet. "Darling, you WILL – you soon will. It's only a little training session, nothing more. All right, Lana, get her over the arm, head down. I want her in her spanking outfit."

"NO-OH!" Sarah screeched madly. In a flash the upper half of her body was bent over the high rolled arm, her legs at full stretch so that she was forced on to her toes. "YES, Sarah!" cut in Vivienne's voice, "skirt off usually, isn't it? But ONLY your skirt to date, apparently." Sarah's arms flailed wildly but caught only empty air. With Vivienne's hand clamped firmly over the nape of her neck she was powerless to rise and let out a high-pitched shriek as she felt Lana unzip her skirt and rip it off.

"How DARE you, how dare you!" came her sobbing cry. Vivienne with her free hand stroked her hair. "Oh, we dare, Sarah, we dare. How many spanks d'you get normally?" – "I do-oh-on't! Are you mad? Stop it. YEEE-ARGH!" the cry forced out from Sarah's lips as a hearty SMACK! landed on her pert bottom whose ripe, tight cheeks gleamed through her white semi-transparent panties.

"Yes, I can see the problem you are, Sarah," Vivienne murmured, giving a nod to Lana whose palm swept in right under the delicious globe, bringing an outraged shriek from the girl who tried frantically still to rise. "AND she makes such a noise. It must ring through the whole house," Lana laughed, running her palm lovingly over the wriggly orb whose cheeks showed faintly pink from the two big smacks.

"She can't be allowed to fib as well, though," Vivienne said almost sadly, "so go on smacking her adorable botty, Lana, until she confesses that she IS spanked. How silly of her to deny it, anyway." – "No, no, I'm not, YEEE-EEEK! Oh, stop it! It stings, oh it st...st....stings!" Sarah howled, jiving her hips madly to try and throw off the blasting smacks that burned right through her nubile bottom. "OOOOH-HOOO-HOOOOO! No!" came her despairing cry as another caught her exactly as before, right under the sweet bulge of her cheeks, bringing her up on to the very tips of her toes.

"Twenty years old and all this fuss, would you believe," Lana said chidingly and again ran a sensuously caressing hand over and around the heated hemispheres while Sarah sobbed on and jerked again. "Uh-huh, eighteen months of spankings and she's still like this. I think we'd best have her panties off," Vivienne said, controlling the would-be upward thrust of Sarah's quivering body. Blubbering as she was, Sarah managed just to cry out, "No! you can't!" before relapsing again into tears.

"They never have come off yet for a spanking, have they, Sarah?" Vivienne asked quietly. Sarah's flushed face moved wildly from side to side. "N...n...no!" she bubbled. If she fibbed again she would get another big spank, she knew, and she hated it, she always had. "I see. Get up, then – at least you've confessed that much. Sarah, get UP!" Vivienne snapped. With even just her skirt off, the girl was delicious to look at. Good legs balanced a good waist. Her boobs were smaller than Vivienne's or Lana's but firm and round like juicy pomegranates. Her bottom jutted beautifully when she stood as she did now, reaching blindly for her skirt which, however, had vanished.

"SIT! Lana, make her sit," Vivienne instructed, taking her seat on the sofa and calmly filling three glasses. Sarah jerked "OH!" as she was made to do so and immediately squirmed on her taunted bottom. "Drink this – you'll feel better and – Sarah – do NOT interrupt or the next spanking will be twice as hard and twice as long. DRINK it – it's only wine, silly. Don't you like wine?" Sarah sniffled and took the glass with shaky hand while Lana settled on the other side of her so that the thighs of both women nestled warmly against her own. Sarah opened her mouth to speak but then seeing the warning look in Vivienne's eyes wriggled again and relapsed into sulky silence.

"That's better," Vivienne said and sipped her wine smoothly. "Want a ciggy? No, all right, later then. I won't beat about the bush, Sarah dear. You're one of a number of girls who are sent to me for training. Yes, training. You should be past it at your age, but still. NO, Sarah – I've warned you – don't speak, just listen. You have been spanked regularly – we know that. Even better we know how you are when you are getting it – noisy and silly. Still.... spanking IS a bit much for a young woman of your age. If you promise me just one thing, Sarah, I'll not be too stern with you. Well, girl, speak!" Hand shaking still so that her wine almost slopped over the rim of her glass, Sarah asked "Wh...what?" in a quavering voice, her eyes misted with tears. "That you will be QUIETER, dear. I mean ALWAYS, in future. It's really very indiscreet of you to make such a noise. WELL?"

Sarah tilted her head back and drank quickly, more and more convinced that it was all a vivid dream. "Wh...what are you going to do to me?" she asked, making them laugh together. "Oh! so you CAN put the little girl voice on, Sarah, can you? Well, that's always an asset. Sarah, we're all women together. That's the first thing to remember," Vivienne said and slid of a sudden to her knees, running both hands up the girl's rounded silky thighs. Sarah quivered and bit her lip, aware that at any moment Lana might seize her hands. Lana took the empty glass from her nerveless fingers and laid it aside. "Sit still," she said softly. "It's true what Vi says – we're women together. We're going to teach you pleasure."

A startled "WHA-AAAH!" broke from Sarah's lips as without warning she felt her knees lifted swiftly up and over Vivienne's shoulders while Lana clamped one arm full around her from the front, imprisoning her arms. "Pleasure, darling – we will give it to you first – HE will give it to you afterwards," Sarah heard Vivienne say from below her. "NEEE-OH!" she screeched and made ineffectually to struggle as delicate fingers drew aside the crotch of her panties, baring the moist lovelips between which Vivienne's long pointed tongue slid and curled.

"B...b...b...b..." stammered Sarah. She tried to kick, but she couldn't. Vivienne held her legs as firmly clamped as were her arms. Seizing her chin, Lana's rich lips misted sensuously over her own. "Th...th...th...." Sarah stuttered quickly against Lana's mouth. No one had ever tongued her before – not down there. Vivienne's mouth was now deep into her fur and Sarah could feel herself swimming. Gliding her free arm down, Lana felt for Sarah's silky, stinging bottom which was just beneath Vivienne's chin and cupped it tightly.

"AH-HAAAR!" Sarah moaned. They had her firm between them now. Vivienne's tongue snaked in and out, sweeping its tip up to curl around her clitty. Lana's worked its way within her mouth. The breath hissed in through Sarah's nostrils. Catherine wheels were spinning and exploding in her tummy. Her spiky heels beat a wild tattoo on Vivienne's back, but Vi knew the signs. Rising quickly while Sarah quivered and moaned her frustration, she drew the girl's legs together high up so that her knees all but touched her forehead and her bottom bulged over the edge of the sofa.

"Wh..wh...wh...what?" babbled Sarah madly, doubled up as she was an unable to see what Lana – who had risen was doing. "YEEE-EEEH-EEEEH!" squealed Sarah as then without warning, and with her ankles held tight up together by Vivienne who sat at her side, a broad thick strap whistled in precisely at the bulge of her cheeks. "YA-AAAAAAH! NO!" Sarah screamed. "YES, Sarah!" she dimly heard Vivienne answer and then the strap come in again, on and on, burnishing and searing her half naked bottom that was so delicately poised until with a back-arching cry Sarah loosed a pelleting succession of orgasms such as she had never known before.

"All right," Vivienne said quietly even as Lana raised the strap again. Lana's arm relaxed while Sarah's legs – suddenly released – fell to the floor and she flopped sideways, mouth open, eyes closed, the crotch of her panties clinging so stickily to her that her lovelips showed clearly through the nylon.

Vivienne's arm snaked about Sarah's shoulders and drew her up again into a sitting position. "There, there – well put you to bed now," she coaxed, "Sarah have nice sleepy?" The journey upstairs to an ornate bedroom was not one that Sarah remembered except dimly. She was tired, drowsy, swimming – her bottom burned, but the glow now was different to that she had ever experienced from a spanking. Limp and sobbing quietly she let herself be stripped and slid under the sheet. "She'll sleep well," she vaguely heard Vivienne say, and then the closing darkness came upon her...

* * *

"Sarah, this is your regular evening uniform in future," Vivienne said to her two days later, adding with a smile: "By the way, your deportment has improved, too. You stride better instead of those silly hesitant steps. How d'you feel?" she asked softly, extending to Sarah a neat bundle. The girl took them, eyes wondering. It was like Vivienne's outfit except that the skirt was so short it would hardly cover her bottom. There were black self-supporting stockings and a white see-through blouse. "E...e...evening?" she stuttered.

"At least you're quieter – much quieter. You didn't howl at all this morning when Lana strapped you," Vivienne said with a smile in her voice. "Yes, EVERY evening, Sarah. You may put them on when you get back. You may have to be brought back here, you know, if you misbehave. You know that?" Sarah shook her head dumbly. "I don't want...." she began. A tear trickled down her cheek. "Don't want what? Don't want to leave? Silly, you can return now whenever you want – if you're obedient, Sarah. Are you going to be?"

"Yeth," Sarah lisped. They had pleasured her between them always before she was strapped, but it would be different now, when she went back, she knew that – and they had told her. She raised her face shyly to Vivienne's soft kiss. Their mouths brushed and lingered. "You'll be a good girl tonight, won't you? Promise? I don't want you back here tomorrow," Vivienne said, searching Sarah's eyes. Sarah nodded. "I 1...1...love you," she stammered quietly and began to cry. Vivienne stroked her hair. "I know. Come back tomorrow evening and tell me, huh?" "Yeth," Sarah mumbled, her eyes brighter with tears. She started as she heard a car stop outside. Vivienne laughed and gave her bottom a little pat. "Go on with you," she said, "and put your outfit on when you get there, right?"

Sarah nodded blindly, going into the hall where Lana in turn waited and kissed her. There were no panties with her outfit, she realised suddenly and felt her legs go wobbly as she entered the car and sank down. "You all right?" he asked quietly and she nodded blindly. "Wh...wh...what t...time is it?" she asked as the car sleeked forward. "Eight," he replied, "I booked a table. Well eat out."

"I'm not, I'm not hungry," she stammered. Cheeks bright red she stared away from him at the passing traffic. She wasn't going to be able to do it, she knew she wasn't. Stumbling indoors at last, she sat huddled on her bed, starting up as the door opened. "Put your things on, Sarah, and come down," he said. How she obeyed she never knew. Cheeks hot and flushed she descended at last, her thighs flashing white above the black stocking tops. Smiling he stood there, holding the strap.

"Well, Sarah, are you going to obey now?" he asked quietly. She gulped, staring past him. Her long legs quivered. The moment she bent over the arm of the sofa where she had so often been spanked, her naked bottom would show, rich and white between the black hem of her ultra miniskirt and her stockings. Blindly she turned and sank the upper half of her body over the arm, hiding her face.

"SARAH!" he barked. Biting her lip she eased her tightly-stockinged legs apart and turned her toes in, as Vivienne had taught her to. Behind her she heard the rustle of his clothing and closed her fingers tight. She could almost feel the heat of his huge cock as he neared her with the strap coiled ready. High-poised as she was, her bottom cheeks tightened and then relaxed. Tomorrow night she would see Vivienne again and it would be beautiful. "YEE-EEE-EEEE!" Sarah squealed as the first snaking caress of the leather hissed across her bottom. Her legs jerked, her torso twisted, and then she remained still again. HOOOOO! it burned!

"YA-AAAAH!" It had snaked in again, sending tongues of fire through her pert cheeks. Cupping her hands over her face, Sarah began to moan. She WAS being quiet, she was. "Rear your bum up and let him take you – you know he's going to, Sarah," Vivienne had said, "once he's got it up you, you'll want to." "WA-HA-HAAAAAR!" Sarah sobbed, but the noise was in her mind – the slap-cracking of the leather making her bottom rotate like a ball-bearing was the only sound now in the room.

"Now, Sarah, now – come on, give it!" she heard him growl after a seeming eternity. Her hips were uncontrollable now, her tummy bouncing and smacking on the rolled arm of the sofa, her legs spread wide, bottom glowing bright as a brazier. Sarah then heard her own voice at last ring throughout the room. "Yes, all right, yes – give it to me, put it up me – OOOOOH! Make me have it! AAAAAR!"

And miraculously Vivienne and Lana were forgotten, forgotten, in the breathless hot desiring of the night....

On The Couch

Story from Swish Vol.4 No.9

On The Couch

Going to see a lay psychiatrist was only really to find out whether she liked being spanked or not. Suzi felt sure she hadn't made up her mind about it. Well.... not quite.....

* * *

"So tell me your problem," Mervyn said and sat back in his big leather chair while his new patient laid herself on the couch in his consulting room.

Mervyn was a lay psychiatrist – highly-intuitive and well-trained, but without medical qualifications. His clientele included a number of attractive females, but none prettier and more shapely than Suzi whose miniskirt had already drawn up halfway along her thighs. A girl who would remain young-looking until she was thirty at least, Suzi gave the outward impression of being no more than seventeen whereas in fact her nineteenth birthday would fall in two weeks time. Beneath a tightly-fitting fawn jumper her breasts mounded like small melons, the nipples seeking like small bell-pushes to peak into the fine wool. Tightly-girded by her self-supporting nylons, her thighs were richly-fleshed without being fat. Her nose was small, her mouth petal-like.

Mervyn wondered vaguely and unprofessionally if she had been screwed yet. He waited patiently for her reply to his first opening words. Patients were often stubborn or afraid to come out with things. It was one of the reasons for having them in the most relaxed position, lying down.

"It's about..." Suzi began and stopped. A pointed pink tongue sneaked out for a moment between her lips and then retreated. Still Mervyn waited. One must never prompt a patient on, or certainly not in the beginning. You had to make them let their own minds flow. Once the seal of silence was broken it became easier. As for Suzi, the white ceiling seemed to hypnotise her. It reminded her of her own ceiling in her bedroom, the way it seemed to whirl above her sometimes after she had been.....

"Spanked...." she heard herself say suddenly and stopped. A mad desire to giggle almost overcame her. "I mean I've been spanked, or I think I have." Still Mervyn did not speak. He'd heard everything, anyway. A spanking was as nothing to things he'd heard from the couch. The Sunday newspapers weren't in it as far as private confessions went. Was she complaining?

Suzi cleared her throat and wondered crazily why she had come. Maybe she wanted to confess, and to someone safe. He seemed a nice man – about forty-five-ish. She liked older men. They were more masterful than boys of her own age who were mainly just stupid. "I'm not sure whether it's just a fantasy, you see," she heard herself saying now. It was best if she half closed her eyes and didn't stare up into the ceiling. The giggle she had tried to suppress escaped her suddenly. "Sometimes I have a bottle of wine, or more than that, in the evenings after work, you see, and it makes me feel swimmy. I don't mean drunk, or anything, not on white wine. Just nice."

"You get spanked for drinking a whole bottle?" Mervyn asked. It was too soon to ask, but something in her voice told him she was about to break. "Uh-huh," Suzi said cloudily. Perhaps that wasn't fair, though – perhaps that wasn't the real reason. "I'm untidy, too – I leave my room untidy, and sometimes, especially on Saturday nights I don't get in until half-past one or two and if I've forgotten my key, well, that adds to it."

"Yes," Mervyn said. It could take weeks sometimes to separate facts from fantasy in some patients' minds. Patience was all. Sometimes people paid him fees, he thought, just to express their fantasies to someone. The thoughts of her undoubtedly beautiful, tight round bottom which her skirt outlined but otherwise concealed crossed his mind.

"I s'pose I always think I won't get it, but I do. I believe I do, I mean sometimes I think I dream it as well. It's been months now since it started. I don't make a row about it, though, honestly I don't, but he does smack me hard, really hard." A small sigh escaped her. With her lips parted she looked as pretty as an angel. Whether she was as innocent as one Mervyn was beginning to doubt, but even virgins could have the most erotic dreams.

"Sometimes, if I'm let in by the kitchen, it's over the table," Suzi went on. "Other times I manage to get upstairs, but then I'm spanked on the bed..." Her eyes closed tightly. She could hear herself sobbing "WHOO-OOO!" as the palm came down again and again on her defenceless and un-knickered bottom, her panties looped around both ankles like they were tied. "YAH!" she would screech into her pillow, stuffing one corner into her mouth to muffle her cries. It was true she never really made a loud noise. In the beginning when she had done, it made her get even harder smacks until her tight bottom cheeks were fully invaded by a blazing fire that made her stockinged legs stiffen out as if she were trying to stretch the searing sensation away.

"It hurts very much?" Mervyn asked softly. He had a feeling this was going to get nowhere. Could be she would be one of those who came only once, paid their fee on receipt of his bill, and then never reappeared.

"Yes," Suzi breathed. There was a funny tightness in her chest when she thought about it. "It used to be through my skirt at first, but then after a few times he pulled it up and...." And took it off, she thought. Perhaps she didn't ought to say that. Being clasped around her slender waist, she had kicked lightly, feet lifted off the floor as her zip was unfastened. Once her skirt had fluttered to the floor there was nothing she could do about it. Nor about having her knicks peeled down, right down her legs, hands floating over her silky thighs, her stocking tops, and tickling the backs of her knees.

"What I mean to say is, it doesn't hurt for a long time," she heard herself telling the psychiatrist now. "In your fantasies or otherwise?" he asked, doodling on his pad. "B...both, I s'pose. Of course in my fantasies I can't really feel it. I can imagine the scorching sensation but it's not the same...."

Not when he had firm hold on her it wasn't the same. His arm was like a steel clamp around her twenty-one inch waist. She could kick as much as she liked, but it didn't help her get out of it. With her panties down it made her show herself more. Nowadays when he got her panties down on a Saturday night it was like he was staring at her bare bottom for a long time before he gave her the first jelly-bouncing SMACK! which always made her suck in her breath.

Sometimes he would even say to her, in the midst of it – perhaps after the fourth or fifth big burner – "Keep your legs still." And miraculously she would. The funny thing was that it never made her really cry – she didn't know why, because it did sting so deeply. Every smack, layered on top of the next, made it worse. The stinging heat deepened and built up until she knew there was nothing she could do to shake it off. Every time she squeezed her hot bum-cheeks defensively and yelped, he would stop until he could see her relax them and it seemed awful that he could actually see that.

"Are you saying you are trying to escape from your – er – fantasies?" Mervyn asked. In twenty minutes time he had another client. She was far more interesting than this pretty but silly slip of a girl. Her fantasies involved three men at once and were extremely erotic. The only similarity between her and Suzi was that she sometimes liked to be whipped first. Maybe, he pondered, all such women were little girls at heart, knowing they had to be punished for their sins, or wanting to be.

"I s'pose – I don't know. Oh look, I shouldn't have bothered you really," Suzi burst and suddenly sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the couch in a manner that gave him a heart-stopping view of the view of her tiny panties – well-wadded by curls, he saw.

"You're not bothering me – you're paying me for it," Mervyn said dryly. Panic like this was often a symptom that the patient desired to escape from their own would-be confessions. "Let's take it step by step. When did you last fantasise? Yesterday? Today? This morning?"

"L...l...last night," Suzi began and blushed. She wanted to slide off the couch but she seemed stuck. It had begun on the couch. She had finished a bottle of Blue Nun and felt nice. When he came and sat beside her and put an arm round her shoulders just as the Play Of The Week finished on TV she had felt quivery and expectant. With a start she had felt his free hand settle slyly on her thigh. "What are you doing?" she had asked. The last moment of the play faded out but she had gone on staring at the screen. "Feeling if you're warm," he had replied.

"I am."

"Botty nice and warm?"

"Yes. Stop it! Oh, you're not going to spank me tonight – I haven't done anything."

"A whole bottle of wine you've polished off again."

"That's not a reason." The news was coming on. She didn't want to watch the news. His hand was still on her thigh. "Look – I'm going to have a bath," she had quavered suddenly, wondering why her voice sounded funny. "Hey, look! What are you DOING?" Her voice had become a panicky shriek. Sliding one arm under both thighs he had lifted her clear off the settee. "Stop it – NO!" she had squealed. Her arms, legs, had swung as she had felt herself being carried into the hall. Trying in vain to grab at the bannister rail, her alarmed cries had rung through the house.

All this spilled out from her now – but then she stopped. Her silence this time was final, Mervyn felt. He closed his notebook. "Next time perhaps we can take it further," he said. There seemed more to it than she was telling him. It would all come out in the end – if she came back. "Yes," Suzi lisped doubtfully. It was just a silly, panicky thing that had made her come really. She wasn't ever going to talk about it any more. Not ever again, she told herself firmly as she left the building and went to the tube. Or made to go to it.

A wine bar attracted her as she passed along and she went in. It wasn't very nice to go in on one's own, but there were others of her own age group there and nobody noticed. The first bottle of white wine slid down beautifully. Then she had a half bottle for a chaser. WHOOO... she felt good now – much better. What a stupid thing to go and see that daft psychiatrist. Well – not daft really. He might have spanked her himself if she had gone on any further. The very thought made her bottom cheeks tighten under her panties as she went down an escalator.

Maybe if she'd told him all about that spanking last night, he would have spanked her, too, Suzi pondered. She had wriggled like a fish – like never before. "I've not DONE anything!" she had squealed twice more even as her knickers were being peeled down. It was really awful that he hadn't even answered her. Spun over on to her tummy with her legs slipping to the floor, her bottom had gleamed, exposed. "NO!" she had begun to blubber even as his free hand came down – his other being laid flat in the small of her back. "YES!" the reply had come back to her and, scrabbling with her fingers on the raised pattern of the bedcover, she had felt the first sting her hard.

"No please, no please, no please!" she had sobbed – quite over-dramatically as it turned out because he didn't smack her pert bottom as hard as he sometimes did. Her hips jerked to every downward SPLAT! of his palm and she could feel her cheeks reddening. "NOOOO!" she whined again and again, her legs twisting about. "All right, all right," he had soothed and suddenly the smacks were even gentler, though she jumped still to each one. The burning, the stinging, had come much more slowly, too. Little bubbling cries of "OH!" escaped her with each one, but she kicked less. A swirly, sickly, sweet feeling was building up under the emerging heat in her polished bottom. Surreptitiously as he smacked – sometimes each cheek separately, sometimes across both together – Suzi began to rub her pussy against the ribbed covering. Her small muffled cries grew softer now though a little "OW!" escaped her occasionally. Beneath his other hand her jumper was wrinkling up more and more until her bra showed.

Bubbling softly, her mind in a haze, Suzi had lifted her bottom a little – to escape the smacks higher up, she told herself dizzily as her hips churned, but to her own surprise it was really to feel a couple under the swell of her cheeks. "PMFFFF!" she had gasped as she got it there. I felt different there, as if his palm were coming in deeper. The rich, sweet feeling between her thighs was growing – she was melting. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! "WHOOOO!" – the shuddering whimper burst from her. Her legs straightened. Careless of their spreading she had rubbed herself wildly on the bedcover and then gasped out a real, warning "NO!" as she collapsed and lay quivering.

His hand no longer fell. Squeezing each bottom cheek on the other tightly, Suzi had felt a second exquisite orgasm shimmer through her and then she had gone limp. It was then that he had unclipped her bra and rolled her over....

The wine was sweet on her breath. Maybe she'd have another when she got in. Before supper. Yes. What the hell. He could spank her as often as he liked. If she wanted to do her own thing, she would. And after last night.... No, I must have fantasised that bit, she told herself. Geting home at last, she tossed her handbag on to a chair and went straight to the fridge. There was always a bottle waiting. Leaning against a kitchen unit, she sipped the cool liquid as if it were her first of the day. She could hear his typewriter rattling away upstairs in the study. Another novel that he was working on. She enjoyed reading them. It was flattering when he asked her opinion about them while he was still working on them.

Pouring a second glass, she started as he entered the kitchen unheard. "Working late today?" he asked and picking up the bottle took a quick swig from the neck. Suzi hated him doing that. Trying to look all macho, she thought. She nodded. There was something coming, she knew it. And it came immediately.

"So, how did your visit go, Suzi?"

The question took her aback and she blushed – infuriated with herself that she did so. "What d'you mean?" she flared. "I was passing by near Harley Street – saw you come out. Couldn't stop – I was in the thick of traffic," he told her. Suzi sneered, "Oh yeah?" and made to go past him, but his hand took her arm. "So what did you say?" he asked quietly. Her lips trembled. "I told him everything – every bloody thing, the way you spank me and....."

Nothing seemed to faze him, she thought and leaned back against his grasp on her elbow. "Feel better now that you've said that? And what did it cost?" he asked. Suzi shook her head with quick, embarrassed impatience. "Oh – I dunno – the bill's in my bag." He cocked his head, smiled and said, "Go fetch it."

"Go fetch it yourself!" she almost blared, but as so often to her own surprise she obeyed. She hadn't bothered to unfold it before. "Thirty POUNDS? And who's going to pay it – you?" he asked, eyebrows raising. Suzi stared at the floor. "I can draw it out of my savings," she mumbled. It was stupid. He was making her feel like a schoolgirl or something. His hand lifted her chin, her eyes defiant in his. "You mean I'LL pay – right? You'll borrow from me and I'll never see it again, as usual."

And as usual in what was outwardly a serious situation, Suzi wanted to giggle. It was a nervous habit, she told herself, but inside she felt a funny sense of relief that he knew about it. "Are you going to get supper ready, or are you going to drink wine all night?" he asked. The relief was so great that she laughed. "Yes, sorry, all right." She brushed past him towards the cupboard, trembling inwardly as he went to go. At the door he turned and asked, "I suppose you told him you hated being spanked?"

Suzi hunched her shoulders, her back to him. She wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. "No – I didn't – oh, I dunno." She couldn't remember if she had said that or not. "Then why did you go?" He had come up behind her again, his hands lightly on her shoulders. His voice was gentle. She could feel her bottom bulbing into his flies. "Don't!" she gritted and tried to resist as he turned her about, making her sag against him. "I don't want you to become a semi-alcoholic, you know," he told her and stroked her hair. Suzi's legs trembled. "I only really have about three bottles a week," she mumbled.

"Or four," he said and lifted her face. A smile came to her lips that she couldn't suppress. "You DO spank me hard, sometimes," she said, but it was only half an accusation, and she knew it. "Yes," he answered quietly and kissed her cheeks. Suzi wriggled away. "Oh go on with you – I want to get the supper ready," she said. He nodded and went out, but despite their making-up, as it seemed to her, there was still a tension that she knew she had created.

After supper, when they had had coffee in the lounge, he took her wrist as she made to pass by him and drew her down into his lap. Suzi gave a little start of resistance and then relaxed. "Thirty quids worth of spanks," he murmured and she giggled. His hand stroked her thighs and her hip where it curved out. Suzi hid her face. "Not if you do it hard," she whispered and couldn't believe she had said it. "You have to pay for your sins, don't you, Suzi?" Her eyes were shut tight. He was lifting her up again, the way he had the night before. Her arms clung to his neck as he carried her upstairs. "I don't want to," she mumbled.

When he laid her down on the bed and raised her skirt she clutched protectively at the pillow and gasped a little "OOOH!" of surprise as he bent and coursed his lips lightly over the half-bared cheeks which bulged out on either side of the backstrap of her panties. Her eyelids closed and tightened as he took the waistband and peeled them down, drawing them off her ankles. "Lift your bottom," he said quietly, and when she did he unzipped her skirt and drew it off in turn.

A little whimper escaped her, but he drew her hips higher, making her knees draw in towards her waist. "Oh, PLEASE!" she hissed as his hand came between her stockinged knees and levered them apart. Then a sharp, short squeal escaped her as a single hard smack landed on her bared cheeks. "OW!" she jerked and he laughed. "Well – you deserve it – don't you, Suzi?" She couldn't answer – she couldn't. Her silence with her face buried in the pillow said it for her. "Suzi – I want you to ask me to," she heard. I can't, I can't, she told herself and buried herself deeper in her self-imposed darkness, hips jolting as another hard, unexpected SMACK! caught her on her exposed cheeks.

"Yes! Yes – SPANK ME!" she screeched. Her shoulders hunched more, her bottom a naked bulb of desire that she could no longer hide. Knees wider apart, the pursed lips of her quim visible in their nest of curls beneath the split cheeks, Suzi jolted and surged her hips to every incoming SPLAT! of his palm. "YEEE-AAAARGH! YEEE-OOOH!" she screeched and gritted on and on, knowing now that her cries were an outward part of her desire to yield to it – to yield as never before to the burning and the stinging.

"Go on – oh, go on!" she heard herself crying out madly. She hated it, wanted it – oh God, it stung! The heat was burning his palm almost as much as it blazed within her. The redness of her cheeks shone above the pallor of her thighs where the tops of her self-supporting nylons bit tight. Sixteen... seventeen.... she had lost count. And he wasn't stopping. Starshells burst in her tummy, her bottom rotating as if on ballbearings. "No, no, NO!" she heard herself screeching, but unheld as she was Suzi made no attempt to escape the relentless SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! that came in again and again until – arching her back and with a long whimper moan – she fell flat on her tummy, wriggling her belly madly on the coverlet until her jerking sobs and moans died away and her bottom cheeks tightened against the awful exquisite, dual sensations she was enduring.

Stroking her hair, he waited long and patiently until only her soft whimpers were heard, her lipstick and mascara smeared on the pillow with her tears.

"That's better – that's better now," he said softly and rolled her gently over. The contact of her hot bottom on the coverlet made her jerk. "I c...can't... I can't lie st...still," she sobbed and rolled over on her hip away from him, facing the wall. "You're not going to spank me again – not ever – you're not!"

"I know," he soothed. They both knew it wasn't true. Biting her lip and closing her eyes again, Suzi squeezed her raging bottom cheeks tight together. Riding through these first minutes afterwards was almost the worst part – waiting for the stinging to die away within her pert cheeks and the greater, flooding warmth to invade her. Then she could relax into the throbbing. Relax.

His lips kissed her ear and it tickled. "You've been on the couch and now you're on the bed – which d'you like best?" he whispered. Holding herself tight, Suzi felt his hands slip up under her top and unclip her bra, freeing the firm, jellied mounds. The stiff thorns of her nipples quivered.

She wasn't going to tell him. Not ever. She wasn't going to tell anyone....

Strict Schooling

Story from Swish Vol.7 No.4

Strict Schooling

"I will leave you to it for the first couple of weeks, then, Jeremy", Hilda said to her nephew. As she spoke she gazed proudly out of the window of her old-style detached house at a large white board which had just been erected in the front garden. The bold black letters on it, in old-fashioned script, simply read: St. Hilda's - Prop. Mrs Hilda Birch. It gave her name a saintly air, she thought.

"Thank you, yes", Jeremy answered quietly. He was a tall young man – the sort that novelists used to call 'clean of limb'. He had left university three years ago to potter around, using an inheritance from his father. Then he had visited his aunt and from there on had begun to find himself in the midst of a new life. An ex-headmistress of a girls' private school, Hilda had decided views on the disciplining of young ladies.

"It's no use dealing with girls underage, Jeremy," she had lectured him, once she had expounded her basic philosophy to him, "The girls to take in hand are those who fritter away their time at discos and such and who seem nowadays to be able to evade parental discipline – or at least to receive so little that it really has no effect on them. They have to be drilled, you know", she had said, causing Jeremy to raise his eyebrows at first, but little by little her ideas had got through to him.

When his aunt had first shown him her little collection of canes and tease-whips, he had thought them fearsome looking instruments, but the more that she explained the techniques of using them, the more he understood. In the two months that had passed since he had stayed in her house, he had begun to admire her more and more. "You will consider me old-fashioned and out-of-date, Jeremy, but believe me there are young ladies out there just crying for the sort of attention they will receive here. It's rather like being in the Forces, you know. At first you resent being given orders, but then gradually you come to see it as a way of life, and you gain a certain pride in being moulded to a set routine. There is safety in it, I suppose".

Jeremy had never heard anyone talk in that way, and he was fascinated. In her early forties, as Hilda was, she could look at times extremely grim and forbidding. In private, though, she could show a warm womanliness, and a firm, ripe figure to go with it.

"I can see that", he had said slowly in response to her remark, "But surely these canes and small whips must hurt frightfully". The remark had brought a smile to Hilda's lips as they sipped after-dinner liqueurs. At the time of this conversation, Jeremy had only been with her for a week and knew little enough. "They could – but in proper hands cruelty is not applied. The actions are DISCIPLINARY, Jeremy. I want you to keep that word constantly in mind. Other terms are sometimes used. 'Training' is one. I do not object to that. The important thing is to show a caring attitude – perhaps you might even say a motherly one. There are times when no harm is done by comforting a girl after she has received bottom-treatment".

As she had spoken, Hilda had rolled a cane in the fingers of her free hand. Her other one held her glass elegantly. Ever since she had decided to open her house as a training college for young ladies, Hilda had started carrying one about. In anticipation, Jeremy had thought, and had felt a curious mingling of thrills and apprehension in him. It was an apprehension that Hilda had known she had to allay, and she did it that night in the boldest possible way.

Jeremy gave her a cue when he replied. "Yes, I know, but the fierce stinging, surely...." Hilda had put down her glass and had said, "Jeremy – get up, please". – "Eh?", he had answered nervously. His aunt was dressed rather severely that evening. She had kept her outdoor black boots on and wore a black knee-length skirt, a crisp close-fitting white blouse, and a tie that nestled between her imposing tits. – "I said, get up, Jeremy", she had repeated and rose to stand above him. Her skirt was thin and he could see the impress of her suspender clips through it. He knew that she always wore stockings. Often enough she left her bedroom door half open and he had frequently glimpsed her drawing them up her still-shapely legs.

What had happened in the ensuing ten minutes was something that Jeremy could still hardly believe. Taking his hand, she had led him firmly into the dining room and closed the door. Then, facing him and with her breasts rising and falling visibly beneath her blouse, she had said gently, "I am going to cane you, Jeremy – or rather, I am going to give you a FEEL of the cane. After all, if you are going to wield it on the naked bottoms of our students, then you have to know what it feels like".

"Here, I say!", he had expostulated. It seemed to him that he could see her nipples through her blouse and that they had grown more prominent even as she spoke. And at the same time she had turned him about, telling him sharply to bend over the end of the long dining room table.

That he had obeyed her was itself ridiculous, but that she had then calmly unzipped and unbelted his trousers and drawn them down to his ankles, together with his underpants. – "No!", he had wanted to yell, but the firmness of her free hand in his back had held him over, not so much by force as by sheer will-power. Then, with his buttocks shamefully naked and offered, Hilda had stepped back, warning him in a clipped voice not to rise.

"But you....", Jeremy had begun to say, though in reality he had little idea as to how he were going to finish the sentence, and in any event he had no chance to. SWOOO-ISSSH! sang the cane and in the next half-second a shrill cry of utter dismay was emitted from his lips as it bit into his buttocks, causing him what he thought to be the most fearful stinging. – "Be STILL!", she had barked at him as his hips waggled and he tried to suppress further gasps. What seemed to him then an eternity passed as Hilda waited, cane-poised behind him. He could hear her speaking to him softly – hypnotically almost – but could hardly distinguish the words through the haze of redhot sensations he was experiencing.

At the second, which came a whole minute later, he had cried out almost girlishly, "Oh, NO!" and had gritted his teeth against the deeply-insurgent stinging. But then something else happened, too. His penis had begun to stir, and the thought terrified him that his aunt would see the beginning of an erection – but in the very midst of that mental and physical turmoil he had felt the cane tapping gently and rhythmically against his seared buttocks, on and on, until he thought she would never stop.

With each little bounce of the warning cane, so his prick extended itself more until to his horror and excitement it stemmed full up his belly. Then.... SWEEE-ISSSH! again, and a howl broke from him. – "NO-WOH!", he yelped, but as he did so, the cane fell at a right angle firmly across the nape of his neck, preventing him from rising immediately not by strength but by her silent determination which he could feel like a perfumed cloud over him.

His sobs resounded. – "Now rise, Jeremy", she had said calmly, though in fact it was almost the last thing that he wanted to do, with his penis thick and long and at full stretch. Haltingly he had pressed himself up, tightening his seared buttocks and screwing up his eyes – none of which appeared to impress Hilda who had placed one hand on his shoulder and turned him about to face her.

Feeling utterly stupid and yet incredibly wild with desire at the same time, his eyes narrowing as he fought against the deep stinging in his bottom, Jeremy had felt her fingers slip tenderly under his swollen balls and then glide up to ring his swollen stem.

"You see, my dear, it disturbs in more ways than one", she had murmured. No longer able to contain himself, Jeremy threw his arms about her and hugged himself to her rather than vice versa. His thrumming prick tapped against her belly through her skirt and he began to sob boyishly while her arms enfolded him.

"Were you a girl, you would not be comforted in this way after a first caning – brief as yours was. The hands may touch gently afterwards, and a soft word might be said, but that is all. A promise is held out – nothing else. The girl will be told that she will be disciplined again. That is all. The first time. As for you, my dear, you cannot help but display your manliness. That will often happen, but you must realise here and now that men have to discipline themselves, too. It is all part of it. NO, Jeremy!", she had snapped, for even as she spoke he had begun to fumble up her skirt until his stiff cock protruded between her black-stockinged thighs, just above her knees, her nylons rasping softly against his powerfully-throbbing member.

"I am sorry", Jeremy had heard himself sobbing. She moved her voluptuous body away from him as he spoke and loosed her arms. – "You forget, Jeremy, that it is a discipline. That must be inculcated first. Later, when all is firmly established, there comes mutual pleasuring. I say MUTUAL, Jeremy – not enforced. Young ladies do not display as visibly as males, of course, but close observance will often show that their nipples are erected and their pussies moist. There may also be a touch of stickiness elsewhere. Such signs are promising. The desire to yield utterly becomes so overwhelming that all inhibitions disappear. Even so, a sense of discipline still obtains, and thus the most delicious results are achieved".

Jeremy had listened to all that in a daze, and yet he had understood better than a million words could otherwise have told him. He had been told then to go to bed, and he had gone, like a stricken schoolboy, with Hilda smiling at him behind his back. The next morning she had produced the minor bombshell that her daughter, Diana, would be joining him to teach at the college – or the training institution as Hilda preferred to call it.

Diana was no softie, Jeremy had been told. "There was the case of the Peeping Tom – I will not otherwise name him, Jeremy, who liked to peek into her bedroom to see if he could see her in her undies. Diana was at the peak of her own training then, but I had taught her caution and she well understood that discipline was mutual. I had her cane him, and she enjoyed it", Hilda had said.

But now that the moment had come for Jeremy to take over, in concert with Diana who was due to arrive later in the day, he kissed his aunt a temporary farewell. For a brief moment he experienced the moist warmth and voluptuousness of her lips and the bulging of her mature tits into his chest and longed to pass his palms around her superb bottom. As ever, though, Hilda drew herself away. "Discipline, Jeremy", she murmured, and his eyes hazed. – "Yes, I know, but....", he began. Her hand waved the rest of his words away. – "Really, dear, you have not caned me yet. My own bottom has not received from you. I do not accept an intruder without that", she said, and twiddled with the front door knob, her large bottom turned provocatively to him.

His eyes, piercing her skirt, Jeremy imagined the large pale orb which her undoubtedly tight and skimpy panties netted, the halfmoons glossy, rich and full. – "Intruders?", he echoed. She smiled at him over her shoulder, easing the door open. – "A private term, Jeremy. When, years ago, I yielded completely to the cane at last, I was asked next morning by Mama whether I had also received an intruder. I knew what she meant and had to answer yes. Be good, dear. Bye-bye!"

Discipline – thought Jeremy admiringly as he watched her hips swaying in her departure. She could easily have let him fondle her lightly for a moment, but that was obviously not the way it was. Every minute he was learning....

* * *

Discipline was also the word in the mind of Tina Brown who – at the railway station three miles away from St Hilda's – was tapping her foot impatiently in waiting for a taxi. A bright red sling-bag hung over one shoulder and she had a suitcase by her side. Her blonde hair glinted in the pale sunlight. – "What a ridiculous wait", she said suddenly to the unknown girl who stood close to her and who was also obviously waiting for a lift. In a moment they were chatting, and amazed to find that they were both bound for the same place. Carole was the other girl's name.

"I didn't particularly want to come, but jobs are so hard to find right now, and I was told it would be good for me. Did you see the brochure about the place?" – "Yes", Tina said, and seemed to be struggling to find words as a cab finally drew up and both got in. "It's disciplinary – that's what it said", she remarked. – "I know – and I'm told I need it. Were you told that?", Carole asked, although she guessed the answer would be in the affirmative even as she spoke. Her tight round bottom wriggled uneasily on the seat.

"I think it's ridiculous these days", Tina said, looking out of the window at the small country town. – "Me, too. I said I wasn't coming here, but that didn't wash. I got...", Carole began and stopped suddenly. Tina turned her face sharply to her. – "You got what? You mean, you got... spanked,?", she asked so knowingly that Carole had a job to conceal a nervous grin.

"Why? Did you, too?", Carole responded. Both suddenly half laughed and then grimaced and clutched one another's hand. – "I was told it would be worse here", Tina replied obliquely. – "Yeah. Me, too", Carole said with awe, and then both fell silent. – "Oooh-wow!", Tina could still hear herself squealing as a broad, leathery palm had descended again and again on her rudely-bared bottom that very morning when she had refused to get up. If only she had known it was going to happen again, she wouldn't have worn that filmy, shorty nightie. And she never wore panties in bed, either, which had made it worse.

Carole had similar memories. Her tummy swirled a little as they got closer to St Hilda's. The same sort of feeling one had on going to the dentist. – "You'll have to obey there", she had been told. – "You'll learn", Tina had heard only five hours before when she lay sobbing with her reddened, naked bottom still showing and her long, slim legs all awry....

* * *

As for Diana, she arrived earlier than expected. So early in fact that her car passed her mother's en route and they both laughed and waved to one another. "You'll be the real boss – the Headmistress – until I get back", Diana's mother had told her before that. Catching Jeremy by surprise as she did, Diana had him running downstairs to open the front door to her. He hadn't seen her since she was a child, but now Diana was a stunner. He couldn't imagine anyone not wanting to see her in her undies. Her voice, though, could be as crisp as her mother's.

"I have a list of house rules here that I drew up, Jeremy", she said as soon as they were seated at coffee. – "Yes?", he asked tentatively. There was something in her tone that told him that he wasn't going to be in charge after all. With something of an inner quiver, he accepted that. Every time that Diana crossed and recrossed her legs he could see the darker bands at the top of her charcoal-shaded nylons.

"I will read them to you", Diana said, and began: "Rule One: Pupils – they are not allowed to call themselves students here, Jeremy – will be utterly obedient at all times; Rule Two: They will wear regulation outfits that mother has already stored upstairs. Wantonness is not permitted. High heels to be worn at all times; Rule Three: Each new girl will be disciplined once daily for her first week by a firm spanking on her naked bottom; Rule Four: For the first week of their training they will be taught to walk for an hour or so with their panties rolled down to their stocking tops. This produces a delicate, mincing step; Rule Five: On her second week, each girl will bare her bottom to the tawse; Rule Six: No girl will refuse her caning in her third week, or she will be held over, I regret that, but it may be necessary; I will apply the cane first in all instances; Rules Seven: A recalcitrant girl – a rebel, if you like – will be made to stand, knicks down and holding her skirt up, for twenty minutes; Rule Eight: Each pupil will receive her third or fourth caning stripped to self-supporting black stockings and high heels; Rule Nine: Whether she has been disciplined or not, each girl will be taught to display – this is later in the term I might say – and will permit her naked bottom to be fondled while she stands perfectly still. I may, of course, have to add a few more rules as we go along".

"Yes", Jeremy said faintly, and gazed at her in wonderment. The devil of it was, his cock was twitching again, but Diana didn't seem to notice the bulge under his flies. And then the doorbell rang.

"Ah – our first, I expect. I will let them in", Diana said brightly. Her bottom wiggled adorably as she walked. Gazing after her, Jeremy could see the tightly updrawn vee of the back of her panties through her skirt, and he rather wondered who was going to have all the fun.....

* * *

Well – YOU are, for certain. There's going to be more about St Hilda's next month!

Under The Cane

Story from Swish Vol.7 No.1

Under The Cane

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

"N...no, but it was AWFUL! I mean, that cane really bit into her bottom! I mean, I saw the awful pink streaks and how she weaved her hips around trying to escape it and how she clenched her fingers every time you...." – "Shush, darling, and listen", Marjory interrupted her, "You're thinking of it as a sort of school punishment, which it is not. Semantha is of age, as all my girls are. They are all upper middle class, as we used to say. They are a select band. I refuse more girls than I accept, I can tell you. Semantha was a little rebel when she first arrived. Every time she had been spanked, apparently, she kicked and howled and tried to pull her knicks back up. We can't have that, can we? The cleft orb of a girl's naked bottom, well-striped and heated and wriggling divinely, is a treat for a male or a female. I bring them to a state of obedience".

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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