Production Line

Story from Sapphire 27.

Production Line
by Teresa Joseph

It had been the worst act of civil disobedience in this private girl's school's one-hundred-year history. Outraged at the reintroduction of school uniform for 'A' level students, every one of the school's 60 upper-sixthform students had walked out of lessons in protest, staging a sit-in in the common room and refusing to attend classes again until the policy was scrapped.

Needless to say, when word of this 'strike' had finally reached her, the Headmistress had been absolutely furious. Alter all, whilst she might have been young and attractive, only twenty-seven years old, the school council hadn't hired her because she would be able to 'relate' to the pupils. And so as the wave of sedition spread first to the lower-sixthform and then to the rest of the school, she sought to break it by any means necessary.

At first, whenever a ringleader had marched into her office to reiterate the girls' demands, Ms Dexter had pulled the impudent bitch over her knee, spanked her bare bottom purple and men sent her back to the common room wailing like a baby. But whilst she had hoped to intimidate the strikers, this blatant coercion merely strengthened their resolve, meaning that in the end, Ms Dexter was forced to hammer out a deal with the girls, giving them the freedom to leave the grounds during school hours in exchange for accepting the uniforms.

It appeared as if the sixth formers had won. But at the end of the day of course, it had all been a manipulative ploy; a means by which to get the girls back into the classroom so that Ms Dexter could punish them for their audacity, make an example of them and ensure that no other year would ever follow their example. If the girls had thought that they could bully the Headmistress into bending to their petty demands, they would all soon realise that they were sorely, sorely mistaken.

Nevertheless, despite having to wear their new school uniforms, the upper sixthformers were all quite cheery as they filed into the main hall for their weekly assembly. But when they noticed that a dozen female teachers were stood waiting for them wielding paddles, straps and canes, the penny finally dropped.

There was a stampede back towards the double doors, but since Miss Wilcox had already locked them the girls' only option was to stand quietly and listen to Ms Dexter's ultimatum.

"I will not accept such seditious behaviour in my school!" she barked, marching back and forth before the crowd of cowering teenagers. "An example must be made, so now you have two choices. Either stay here and accept proper punishment for your actions, or file out to the school office and sign the expulsion papers that have been prepared for you."

A deathly silence fell across the room as the girls all considered their actions. None of them wanted to take a hiding, but the idea of confessing to their parents that they'd been expelled was ten times worse. And so very reluctantly, they all agreed to stay and take their medicine.

"Very good," smiled the headmistress, happy to see that she was back in charge where she belonged. "Now divide yourselves up into two equal groups and line up single file behind Mrs Dunston and Mrs Archibald with your hands behind your head, quickly and quietly if you please." Having long since accepted what was in store, the girls obeyed without incident. And so lining up like lambs to the slaughter, the girls waited for each of the teachers to fetch a chair from the side of the room, sit down, make themselves comfortable and beckon forward the first girl in line.

Of course, as the first in line, Lucy and Carol were the first ones to have the hems of their skirts tucked up into their waistbands ready to have their thighs smacked into another incarnation. But although many of the other girls were glad that it wasn't them, they both consoled themselves with the fact that their punishment would be over with first. And biting their lips as they gripped their fingers together behind their heads, they both braced themselves for the first eye-watering smack.

"What's the matter baby?" teased Mrs Dunston, patronising the whining class sissy as she reddened first her left leg, then her right. "Is it hurting you?"

Mrs Dunston may have looked like Mary Poppins, but in truth she was more sadistic than most of the other teachers combined. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing more amusing then seeing a weeping schoolgirl begging for mercy as she wriggled like a worm on a hook.

Lucy nodded; whimpering pitifully as she skipped from one foot to the other, in too much pain to stand still and to terrified to run away. And barely able to keep herself from giggling, the teacher simply had to pick up the pace.

"Do you want me finish?" she chuckled. "Well maybe we should get it over with a little more quickly then shouldn't we."

In any other circumstances, Carol would also have been laughing herself to death listening to Lucy beg for mercy. But now of course, after years of bullying the class wimp, she was far too busy fighting back her own tears to pick on the petite little blonde.

Mrs Archibald might not have been as severe as the Headmistress or as sadistic as Mrs Dunston, but she was far less subtle, and no matter how tough Carol might have thought she was, this teacher was tougher.

She tried to appear resolute, fighting in vein to look cool in front of her friends who were standing in line, but as Mrs Archibald smacked her, the poor girl couldn't help but weep and beg for mercy as the teacher darkened her deep olive skin even more.

"Turn around," she snapped, unwilling to put up with the girl's childish snivelling any longer. After all, both she and Mrs Dunston had another 29 miscreants to deal with and she didn't have time for games.

As regular as clockwork, both teachers' then began tanning the backs of each girl's thighs as tears streamed down their faces. But then without any warning, less than a minute later, the girls were both shoved down the line towards Miss White and Miss Finchley as Samantha and Janet were both called forward. Before they could even yelp, Miss White and Miss Finchley had pulled Lucy and Carol's knickers down and pulled them across their knee, ready to spank their bottoms red raw. And as they listened to their classmates yelping behind them as their thighs were beaten rosy, Carol and Lucy braced themselves for the worst.

One after the other and two by two, the girls made their way along the production line, weeping more with every stroke. If they'd thought that the smacking was painful, Carol and Lucy quickly realised just how naive they really were as the teachers tanned their rumps. Lucy yelped as much as ever as Miss Finchley spanked one cheek after the other, cupping her hand to ensure as much pain as possible on the girl's part and as little as possible on her own.

Despite being laid across the women's knees, both girls were still ordered to keep their hands on their heads. And although their position made this difficult enough to begin with, it became almost impossible to do so as the teacher's stung their cheeks.

Were they whipping them both with stinging nettles? The girls couldn't turn their heads back far enough to tell. Their checks were burning hot. With every stroke the teacher's seemed to plants a seed of pain that blossomed in a fraction of a second, covering their cheeks with pins and needles as painful as hornet stings and forcing them to shriek like scolded cats. After the twentieth stroke, neither Lucy could hold on any more. Tears were pouring down their faces like Niagara Falls, and no matter how afraid they were of the Headmistress, they simply had to fight back.

Almost on queue, the girls both began bucking like donkeys much to the disgust of both the teachers and their Headmistress. Miss White and Miss Finchley tried everything to shut the girls up from arm twisting to a full force spanking. But with a single stroke of her riding crop across their checks as she marched up to each one of them in turn, Ms Dexter quickly reasserted the teachers' authority and put Lucy and Carol back in their place.

The single lash they received was so harsh that it might as well have come from a bullwhip, and left such an agonising purple welt that from that moment on, the girls bit their tongues, crossed their ankles and took their spankings without question. But of course, there were still four steps left to go.

Hearing the lash and the leather and the howls of pain of the girls who went before them, Sam and Janet took their spankings as quietly as could be expected. But although another beating from Ms Dexter was the last thing that they wanted, Carol and Lucy could not help but howl and weep as Mrs Kelly and Mrs Lee paddled their bottoms purple. Gritting their teeth as they bent over and grabbed hold of their ankles, the girls tried their best to fight the urge to run away as the teachers' stood beside them brandishing their oval leather paddles, laying stroke after stroke full square across their bare defenceless cheeks. But each time the leather struck them, it became more and more difficult to resist.

"I'm Sorry!" howled Carol, jumping like an electrocuted kangaroo and then running for her life. "I'm Sorry! Please Stop!" But her punishment was not yet over.

"Do you want to be expelled?" demanded Ms Dexter, grabbing Carol by the wrist and bringing her to heel.

Carol shook her head violently, spattering her Headmistress with tears.

"Well then get back over there! And then when you've finished, you can just rejoin the back of the queue and go through it all again."

Whacked across the thighs with Ms Dexter's crop for a second time, Carol did what she was told without question, ensuring that she wouldn't agitate Ms Dexter any further, but also destroying any dignity that she might have had left. And touching her toes once again in front of Mrs Kelly, Carol wept and pleaded, but she didn't move an inch.

Lucy would have run long before Carol if she hadn't been so afraid. And biting their lips as Miss White and Miss Finchley spanked their bottoms red raw, Sam and Janet could hardly conceive of the paddling that was in store for them. After all, the girls were in enough pain as it was.

As one of the girls who had organised the strike in the first place, Janet had received more than a dozen spankings from Ms Dexter in her attempts to get them to follow her instructions. But with Miss White whacking each cheek in turn and setting her rosy young bottom ablaze, all of that was a distant memory, and Janet was weeping just as hard as ever. Fifty strokes later, each pair moved up to the next teacher in line. And if Lucy had been too scared to run away from the paddle, the tawse soon had her jumping halfway to the moon.

"Hold still!" snapped Mrs James, twisting the wriggling girl's arms up behind her back as she fought to keep her across her knee. Miss Simmons was also having problems keeping Carol across her knee as well. But after a while, after a dozen or more vicious strokes of infernal, split-tongued leather across their burning purple cheeks, both girls were forced to submit and take their medicine.

In fact, when the time came for them both to step forward and take the martinet, they all but ran up to Mrs Jennings and Miss Falkirk and leapt across their laps, hoping against hope that blind obedience and submission might buy them a little compassion.

As it was though, no matter how much the teachers might have taken pity on them, the martinet showed no mercy. Even the gentlest of strokes across their swollen purple cheeks was enough to sting them into tears of excruciating pain.

"Stop crying you baby!" snapped Miss Falkirk, sick to death of Carol's incessant whimpering. "Stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about!"

Carol didn't listen, but if she hadn't been crying so bitterly then she might even have laughed at the irony. It was bad enough that the teacher had used such an obvious cliché, but to suggest that she wasn't in pain already... that was just far too hilarious to bear.

Lucy meanwhile was being given more than enough to cry about. After all, Mrs Jennings might not have been very skilled, but she wasn't very subtle either. On this production line, compassion and sympathy were in short supply. None of the teacher's even seemed to acknowledge the fact that the girl that they were punishing had already received a vicious beating from each one of their colleagues before them. None of the teachers were prepared to put up with any rubbish from their students, and so when Julia took her knickers off prematurely, Mrs Archibald decided to give her a spanking as well.

"Do you need to take your knickers off to have your thighs smacked?" barked the teacher as she dragged the tearful girl down across her knee and laid the flat of her hand into her firm young checks.

"No Miss!"

"You only take them off to take a spanking don't you!"

"Yes Miss! Please Miss, I'm Sorry!"

At first, Ms Dexter hadn't been sure about this. Alter all, it held up the line and delayed the punishment of a number of girls who were far more deserving. But watching Julia howl and struggle as Mrs Archibald did what she did best, the Headmistress soon came around.

After five dozen strokes of the martinet, Carol and Lucy's flaming bottoms were absolutely covered with flaming purple welts; a reminder of the bitter, eye-watering kisses that each stroke had left behind as the sharp leather bit into their cheeks. But now with only Miss Kennedy and Mrs Williams and their 3' bamboo canes standing between them and the end of their torment, they both knew that soon they would have much more than that.

Rubbing their bottoms as hard as they could without increasing the pain and with tears still streaming down their red and swollen faces, the girls reluctantly edged forward towards the impatient teachers, dreading what was to come. At long last, with Janet and Samantha already howling with agony as the martinets inscribed their signatures across their swollen purple rumps, Lucy and Carol finally bent over to touch their toes, clenched their teeth and shut their eyes as tightly as possible, hesitantly awaiting the first brutal stroke.

In the fraction of the second that it took for Miss Kennedy to lay the cane down full square across her helpless cheeks, Carol heard it as it cut through the air behind her and instinctively tried to pull away. But by then it was too late. And with a deafening crack, eight inches of bamboo cut deep into her derriere and sent her running from one end of the hall to the other and howling like a wounded wolf.

She didn't get far too however before Ms Dexter grabbed hold of the girl and dragged her back to Miss Kennedy to take her last five strokes. Time was of the essence. There were 58 other girls to punish and they couldn't waste time chasing after them after every stroke. Efficiency was everything, and so bending Carol over, twisting her arms up behind her back and holding her head down between her legs, Ms Dexter held the squealing, struggling girl in place as Miss Kennedy administered another two dozen brutal strokes; stopping just short of scarring her for life, but only just.

After that of course, it was all over; at least that is until the rest of the girls had received their medicine. And so ordering the wailing girl back to the end of the line, Ms Dexter grabbed hold of Lucy, and placing the girl in the same debilitating double arm lock, held her fast as Mrs Williams' cane went to work on her rump. When it was all finally over, Lucy's bottom truly felt as if it had been covered with stinging nettles and set ablaze. The poor girl was utterly inconsolable, and so whilst Ms Dexter tried three times to order her into the corner, in the end the Headmistress had to whip the girl over to the corner like a disobedient mare and put her hands up on her head herself.

"Keep it going!" she commanded, marching up and down the line of teachers, ensuring that everything ran smoothly. "Anyone who holds up the line gets a cropping from me and a double helping from my colleagues!" And seeing how distraught both Carol and Lucy were after just one ride of the merry-go-round, every girl in line decided there and then to do exactly as they were told.

"It's okay Carol," soothed Helen, hugging her best friend better as they both waited together at the back of the line. "Don't worry. It's all over now."

"No, its not," she wept, crying on the young blonde's shoulder. "It's never over."

Janet and Samantha both took their canings as well as could be expected under the circumstances. And so even though Ms Dexter had to force both girls over to the corner beside Lucy and all three of them continued to howl like wounded banshees, the line moved on without a hitch.

"Are you going to keep your hands on your head darling?" asked Mrs Dunston as she hitched up Kia's skirt and gently smacked each thighs in turn. But the tall, slim redhead never even said a word. Instead she just stood there, wincing with pain as the smacking grew more and more forceful, the tears welled up in her eyes and her tender white thighs were turned an ever deeper shade of red.

At that moment however, Ms Dunston noticed Carol and Helen hugging at the back of the line and practically blew her top.

"I told you to keep your hands on your heads!" she barked, storming up to the girls, grabbing them both by the hair and dragging them out of the line. "Do I have to spell it out for you?"

With that Carol squealed and kicked with agony as the Head' beat her sore and tender thighs with her sharp leather crop.

"What's the matter? Didn't we punish you enough?"

The pain was unbearable, but with Ms Dunston pulling at her hair the poor girl couldn't help but try to break free, much to the Head teacher's satisfaction.

"There you are!" she mocked delightedly. "See how easy it is? Now just keep your hands up there and take it like a woman!"

Doing as she was told, Carol did her best to stay still as Ms Dexter cropped every inch of her thighs, beating them until they were covered with angry purple welts. But in spite of her best efforts, the girl soon began dancing on the spot like a member of "River Dance," twisting and turning this way and that, ensuring that Ms Dexter was able to crop her front and back.

Helen meanwhile didn't even dare to move. After all, Ms Dexter was mad enough as it was, and she didn't want to risk the possibility that scratching her nose might anger her even further.

Having already cried until her tears stained her blouse, Carol was weeping as hard as ever when Ms Dexter finally sent her to the front of the line, ensuring that her second helping would come as soon as possible. And then as Mrs Archibald stung the poor girl's swollen thighs even further, Ms Dexter turned her attention to Helen and gave the girl her first taste of discipline.

"Stop squirming girl!" snapped Mrs Archibald, tired of Carol's relentless struggling. But with her thighs ablaze, the slightest touch would have been enough to make the girl yelp with pain. And as it was, Mrs Archibald was striking the girl with a great deal more ferocity.

Helen too was now howling with pain as the Headmistress beat her thighs. And with every other girl who had been punished howling just as loudly, it was becoming increasingly difficult for the teachers to be heard. But thanks to the efficiency of Ms Dexter's plan, there was little need for spoken commands.

And so it went on, with every girl in the upper-sixthform receiving their just punishment from all six teachers in line, as well as severe cropping from the Headmistress if they even tried to resist. Sometimes they took it obediently and sometimes they had to be restrained. But in the end each and every on of them submitted to their Headmistress' authority.

It took all afternoon, but by four o'clock all sixty of them were stood weeping in the corner with their hands on their heads and the stripy purple thighs and bottoms on display for all to see.

"That's better," smiled Ms Dexter, proud of her accomplishment and happy to see that their rebellious nature had been broken once and for all.

"Now then girls, the school buses will be leaving in about five minutes. So the question is, have you learned your lesson or shall we punish you again before letting you walk home?"

"No Miss," they all whimpered in perfect harmony. "Please, we've learned our lesson. We're sorry that we challenged your authority. Please let us go home."

"Okay then girls," she said with an almost sincere air of forgiveness. "Put your knickers back on and run to the bus stop. And don't forget to tell your friends what happens to you if you step out of place."

Gathering together in the corner of the Hall, the teachers then watched, barely able to keep themselves from laughing as they watched the girls wince with pain, carefully slipping on their knickers and then running out into the corridor as fast as they could.

"Do you have any idea how course and rough the upholstery is on the seats on the school buses?" asked Mrs Kelly, not sure whether to smile or wince at the idea of the girls having to sit on them the whole journey home.

"Oh yes," declared the Headmistress. "Why do you think I let them off so lightly?"

Back to the Institute

Story from Februs 31.

Back to the Institute
Colin Weaver's Sequel to 'The Institute Girl'


The stretch of pavement in front of the Birley Institute is about fifty yards long. Lucinda Horton had walked along it twice, and was in the middle of her third preoccupied perambulation when she became aware that someone had fallen into step beside her.

She turned her head and looked into the pale, plump, bespectacled face of a fiftyish man with the general appearance of an undertaker's chief clerk.

'I was wondering',' said the man, with a grimace meant for a smile, 'if you were – er – looking for business, love?'

After a moment's stunned surprise, understanding came to her, and the expression on her face was obviously an adequate answer. The man backed away hastily 'Sorry!' he said. 'My mistake! No offence meant!' He was almost running as he turned away and crossed the road.

Staring after him, Lucinda uttered two explicit words which would have horrified her fellow teachers at St. Jude's. Then she marched up the steps of the Institute and rapped sharply on the door. It was long after closing time but the door opened almost at once.

'Come in, lass,' said Jim Mytton, placidly. 'I thought you were going to wear a groove in that pavement. And you gave Sam Earnshaw a bit of excitement, didn't you? He won't have decided yet whether he's disappointed or relieved.'

Lucinda remembered, blushing, that the window office overlooked the street. I said I'd come,' she retorted defensively, 'and here I am.'

'I knew you'd keep your word,' he said quietly. 'You're an honest girl, and a brave one.'

Lucinda felt a comforting glow at the approval in his voice. This sardonic, middle-aged man had been the closest approach to a friend she had made in the month since she had moved to Birley. A tall, attractive woman of twenty-seven, something in her speech and her dress and her manner had seemed just a little exotic for that rugged Northern town, and people had been a trifle wary of her, taking their time to offer acceptance. She had become a regular visitor to the Institute, and it was there, thanks to sophisticated surveillance equipment, that Mytton had watched her acting out an absurd charade, lying across the marble thighs of a statue in Gallery Three and pretending to take a spanking.

Mytton had not been shocked, he had not reacted with derision or unwelcome lust, and he had made it clear, thank God! that he would not gossip. What he had done was to order her across his knee, take her knickers down and give her an exemplary, uncompromising spanking which surpassed any she had experienced in the eight years she had been submitting her shapely bare bottom to various disciplinary hands.

Afterwards he had taken her to the Reserve Room, which housed the equipment of the old Birley Reformatory. It was there that he had told her about SPOC, the Society for the Purpose of Correction, a group of local CP enthusiasts with room for another member.

She had used his mobile phone to speak to Helen the secretary of SPOC, and when she was accepted as a member she had endured the initiation of six scorching cane strokes fig across her tender rump from Jim Mytton. And now, she about to attend her first meeting.

'Jim,' she said as they walked towards the Reserve Room, 'Do I look all right? I wasn't sure what to wear.'

He looked at her thoughtfully. She was wearing a sleeveless, dark blue dress, snug at the waist, with a modest scoop neckline and a full, knee-length skirt. Her legs were bare and she wore cream peep-toe shoes with a medium heel.

'Just right,' he said. 'We don't go in for black leather or St. Trinians stuff. You look fine, Lucinda.'

They reached the door with the sign: RESERVE ROOM. STRICTLY PRIVATE.

'You can still turn round and walk away,' he said. 'We'll be disappointed, but we'll understand.'

Lucinda took a deep breath. 'I made my decision outside,' she said. 'Let's go in.'

* * *

The room was as she remembered it; in effect, a workshop equipped for every variety of corporal punishment. There was the sturdy wooden trestle with the padded leather top at waist level, bolted to the floor. An equally sturdy oak table with a long, faded cushion along one side. Several chairs. On one wall, about six feet up, were two substantial steel rings, bolted into the brickwork. And in racks on the walls, lying on the table, hanging on hooks and pegs, were canes, straps, whips, paddles, every kind of punishment implement.

Three days ago she and Jim Mytton had had the room to themselves. Now it seemed full of people, all looking towards her as she entered. A woman came forward, smiling. Slim, blonde, elegant, fortyish. 'Lucinda!' she said. 'Welcome to SPOC. I'm Helen Withington.'

'Hello, Helen,' said Lucinda, blushing a little as she remembered the last time Helen had heard her voice, when she was yelping under the cane.

'This is my husband, Robert.' A burly man with a broad grin beneath a bristling, sandy moustache.

'And this is my daughter, Kelly.' A line from a song came into Lucinda's head. "Tall and tanned and young and lovely," Kelly, at twenty, was all of that; her shining fair hair was plaited into a thick pigtail and tied with a red ribbon. She wore a tight white top and a red miniskirt.

'As you see,' said Helen, affectionately, 'Kelly is rather too big to go across Mummy's knee now. In fact, she sometimes threatens to put me across hers! Do you think I should let her, Lucinda? I read a letter in a magazine once, from a woman whose daughter gives her a good smack-bottom when she misbehaves. It made me wonder.' Kelly smiled at Lucinda. 'I don't really think I'd spank Mum,' she said. 'But I've taken an awful lot of punishment since I joined SPOC – it's about time I had a chance to spank someone!'

'Perhaps that can be arranged,' said Mytton, enigmatically.

A handsome, athletic-looking woman wearing a burgundy coloured shirt and white jeans stepped forward. 'I'm Marjorie Taverner,' she said. 'I gather Helen's described me in rather unflattering terms, a real she-devil with the tawse, in fact.'

Lucinda recalled her phone conversation with Helen. 'Something like that,' she admitted.

Marjorie shook her black curls. 'I shall discuss that with Helen later. Yes, I can be severe, but I object such an ogress of me!'

'Rubbish!' said Helen, unrepentantly. 'You know you enjoy using that strap, Marjorie.'

'I shall certainly enjoy using it on you later, Helen!'

There was obviously no malice in the exchange, and the friendly bickering made Lucinda feel more at ease. 'Do you take punishment as well as giving it, Marjorie?' she asked.

'Oh yes. The others would never let me play the stern dominatrix all the time, even if I wanted to.'

'Let me introduce you to the others,' said Helen, 'and then we can make a start.'

So Lucinda exchanged greetings with Frank Kay and Jane Morris and the elderly Miss Foster, who smiled grimly when Helen described her as, 'Our expert with the birch'.

'And now,' said Helen, briskly, 'let's start with someone giving my darling daughter the thrashing she deserves! Kelly has not been a good girl since we last met here.'

'I'm always first!' pouted Kelly. 'And anyway, Jim said I'd have a chance to spank someone else.'

'Did I?' said Mytton.

'Well, you sort of hinted.'

'In that case,' said Mytton, 'you'd better put Lucinda across your knee and spank her.'

Overcoming the sensation of a sudden drop in a fast lift, Lucinda said, 'Rather Kelly than you, Jim! But have I done anything to deserve a spanking?'

'Of course you have!' said Mytton. He turned to the others. 'You should have seen Lucinda a little earlier, trying to kid Sam Earnshaw that she was on the game!'

'I did not!' protested Lucinda, red-faced.

'I can't blame Sam,' said Mytton, solemnly. 'There she was, strolling along, wiggling her hips, oozing sex appeal!'

'Jim, please!'

'I think he expected her to produce a price list,' went on Mytton. 'You know, so much for straight sex, a bit more for the kinky stuff.'

'Please!' begged Lucinda, squirming, 'can I have my spanking and get it over with?'

'Oh, how I am going to enjoy this!' said Kelly, gleefully. 'Lucinda, come here!' She sat down and beckoned imperiously. 'You have been a very naughty girl and I am going to take your knickers down and smack your bare bum in front of everyone.'

'Yes, miss,' said Lucinda, meekly.

If Lucinda had been embarrassed by Mytton's teasing, that was nothing compared to her feelings as she lay bare-bottomed across Kelly's lap. She had only once before been spanked in front of an audience, and that had been at a party when she had been pulled across someone's knee and given a dozen quick smacks on the seat of her skirt. The same thing had happened to some of the other girls and it was all in fun anyway, so it hadn't been too shaming, but this was very different.

Kelly began to spank. Although she smacked with vigour and enthusiasm it was by no means as painful as the spanking Lucinda had taken from Mytton three days earlier, and her first reaction was to lie quietly, showing little response. Then she realised that she must be disappointing Kelly and the spectators by her impassivity, and when Kelly paused, as though wondering whether to continue, Lucinda quickly began to squirm and moan. 'Please, Kelly!' she gasped, 'That really hurts! I didn't think you'd spank so hard!'

'A half-hearted spanking is no use at all,' said Kelly. 'You have to learn your lesson, Lucinda.' It sounded like something Kelly had heard many times when her own bottom was suffering. She started to spank again and Lucinda wriggled and yelped and kicked to everybody's great satisfaction. It wasn't all acting. Kelly's spanking technique might have been inexperienced but her slaps still stung, and by the time she said breathlessly, 'That's it, you can get up now,' Lucinda's shapely rump was very sore.

'I thought you took that very well,' said a quiet voice beside her. It was the man who had been named to her as Frank Kay. During the introductions he had just been a hand to shake, a face to glance at before passing on to the next. Now she saw him as an individual, a stocky man a few years older than herself with a square, pleasant face and an air of good-humoured self confidence. His smile did not seem to be mocking her, but rather inviting her to share his amusement at the unlikely, bizarre, often downright ludicrous antics of the human race in search of pleasure.

'Thank you,' she said. 'Of course I've had plenty of experience – and I expect you'd be delighted to give me more!'

She became embarrassingly aware that her knickers were a forlorn little tangle of fabric around her ankles. 'There doesn't really seem much point in putting these on again for a while,' she said, and stepped out of them.

Frank stooped and picked them up. 'I'll take care of them for you,' he said.

'Somehow,' said Lucinda, 'I don't think this is the first time you've pocketed a warm pair of panties from a girl with a well-smacked bottom!'

Frank grinned. 'It isn't. Although I'm usually the one who's been doing the smacking.'

'The girls you spank,' said Lucinda. 'Is there... are they...'

'If you mean, is there a deep, meaningful relationship,' said Frank, 'the answer is no. Brief, casual encounters, that's all, great fun but nothing serious. And anyway they usually come to an end after the first spanking.'

'You find the girls resent it?'

'Usually they're more startled than resentful,' said Frank. 'But even the ones who seem to enjoy it don't generally stay around for a repeat performance.'

Lucinda shook her head. 'You'll get into trouble one day, Frank. It only needs one girl to turn nasty.'

'You're right,' he said. 'What I need is a steady relationship with a nice girl who understands what it's all about and enjoys her part in it as much as I enjoy mine.'

'Anyone special in mind?' asked Lucinda, casually.

'Lucinda,' he said, 'when I saw you across Kelly's lap and your knickers came down, I thought, that's a bottom I would he happy to tan frequently and thoroughly.'

'Oh Frank,' she said teasingly, 'you say the most romantic things. Ow!' The concluding yelp came as a vigorous bottom-slap stung through the thin material of her dress.

She glared at him indignantly, but then his hand returned to her bottom, not punishing this time but stroking, caressing, gently squeezing. She became aware of the most delightful sensations, glowing, throbbing, spreading. 'Oh Frank!' she sighed. 'Oh, that's nice.'

'Can you two leave the lovey-dovey stuff till later?' enquired Jim Mytton, drily. 'There are more bottoms to be tanned at this meeting.'

Blushing vividly Lucinda moved away from Frank, trying not to catch anyone's eye.

'You enjoyed spanking Lucinda, did you, Kelly?' asked Marjorie. 'Well now it's your turn. Weren't you among that crowd of young rowdies who filled the car park of the Birley Arms with broken glass?'

Kelly looked crestfallen. 'I don't know how you found out about that,' she blurted. 'It was just a bit of fun that got out of hand.'

'Really? Well, tonight, Kelly, your elders and betters are going to take you firmly in hand. To begin with, you can take off your skirt.'

Kelly quickly obeyed, displaying diminutive black bikini pants beneath her white top. Marjorie picked up a leather paddle from the table. 'Touch your toes, Kelly.'

Again, Kelly obeyed immediately. Little muscles were jumping in her long, shapely bare legs. Her firm, apple-round buttocks were the focus of every eye.


Marjorie swung the paddle and tough leather cracked resoundingly upon bare feminine flesh. Kelly gasped but stayed in position. Crack! The paddle landed again. A louder gasp, and Kelly's outstretched fingers turned into clenched fists.

Marjorie missed nothing. 'I told you to touch your toes, Kelly!' The fingers uncurled again, touched Kelly's trainers. 'You are going to learn obedience before I've finished with you girl, indeed you are!' Crack!

A fourth impact of the paddle across Kelly's shapely seat and then Marjorie commanded, 'Stand up!'

Kelly did so, looking puzzled rather than relieved. Marjorie handed her the paddle. 'Now go to every person in the room in turn, Kelly, hand them the paddle and ask them to give you four stingers.'

Kelly looked around at the assembled, expectant members, hesitated for a moment and the approached Jim Mytton. 'Please, sir,' she said, 'will you whack my bottom four times with this?'

'Certainly Kelly.' Mytton took the paddle and waited for her to touch her toes again. 'Your cheeks are looking nice and rosy already. I'll warm them up a bit more for you.'

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Four thwacking impacts of the paddle upon Kelly's near-naked bottom, each bringing a shrill yelp from the unfortunate culprit.

'Stand up, Kelly. Now, what do you say?'

'Th-thank you, sir,' mumbled Kelly, head downcast.

'That's right. Here's the paddle. Who's going to be next?'

Kelly stood in front of Lucinda. Somehow she managed a wobbly smile. 'Here's where you get your own back, Lucinda. Please lay on really hard, or Marjorie will say they don't count.'

She bent over, hands downstretched. Lucinda looked at the leather-scorched curves, obviously very hot and sore already, and remembered the delight with which Kelly had welcomed the chance to spank her. 'You'll have to excuse my inexperience, Kelly,' she murmured, 'but I'll do my best for you.'

She gave Kelly four hard, deliberate strokes of the paddle, pausing after each to let the fiery sting reach its peak before whacking the next one across Kelly's squirming bottom. When Kelly stood up there were big tears rolling down her face and it was an obvious effort for her to whimper, 'Thank you, Lucinda.'

Lucinda watched as the girl went from one to another, offering the paddle, dutifully bending over to present her delightful posterior for punishment, howling, weeping and pleading as the paddle did its disciplinary work but always, somehow, managing to miserably stammer out her thanks for the punishment. When she finally returned the paddle to Marjorie she looked extremely sorry for herself.

'So far so good, Kelly,' said Marjorie, approvingly. 'Now I shall just put you across my knee and take those absurd little panties down.'

'Oh no!' wailed Kelly. 'Oh please, Marjorie, don't smack my bum, not yet! Let me cool off for a few minutes, please, just a few minutes, that's all!'

'Come here, you silly girl!' said Marjorie, impatiently, and sitting down she pulled the weeping girl across her broad thighs and peeled her briefs down. 'Making such a fuss about a sore bottom at your age! I've half a mind to take the back of a hairbrush to you – and I will, later! For now, five minutes under my hand will teach you to respect other people's property.'

'I'm sorry, Miss!' blubbered Kelly, squirming under Marjorie's firm grasp. 'I won't do it again, I promise I won't! Waaaah!'

Five noisy minutes later, Kelly was sobbing her heart out in a corner, hands on head. 'Now,' said Marjorie, cheerfully, 'who's next?'

'I want to smack Helen!' announced Jane Morris. 'It's about time – I haven't punished her for two meetings.'

Lucinda looked at Mrs Morris in some surprise. She was a plump, bespectacled, amiable little woman who looked like the winner of the home-made jam contest at the village fete. Anyone less like a strict disciplinarian was hard to imagine.

'How do you want me, Jane?' asked Helen.

'Stand on that low stool,' replied Mrs Morris. 'Now lift your skirts. Right up, dear, let's all see your knickers!'

Blushing and reluctant, Helen displayed very shapely legs in tautly suspendered stockings, topped by bare white thighs and pale green French knickers. Mrs Morris calmly unclipped the suspenders and rolled the stockings to Helen's ankles. 'And now, Helen,' she said, 'I am going to smack your legs.'


It did not, at first, sound a formidable threat, but as Lucinda watched the tender flesh of thighs and calves redden under Mrs Morris's methodical slapping, saw Helen wince and heard her gasp, she realised that it was more of an ordeal than she had supposed. Soon Helen was squirming and hopping on the stool, performing an odd little dance of shame and pain, while the smacking went inexorably on. When Mrs Morris stopped smacking, it was only to pick up a martinet, and soon Helen was weeping bitterly as the biting thongs lashed her crimson thighs and calves.

When the whipping was over, Mrs Morris noticed Lucinda's fascinated stare and nodded pleasantly to her. 'People do seem to concentrate on the bottom when they're punishing,' she said calmly. 'That's all very well, but other parts of the anatomy should not be neglected. Remember that when you come to correct someone.'

'Usually,' said Lucinda, ruefully, 'I'm the one who's corrected!'

'Speaking of which,' said Frank, 'has your bottom cooled down after Kelly's spanking?'

'A little,' said Lucinda, warily.

'Have you ever been walloped with one of these?' said Frank. He held out an eighteen-inch plastic ruler.

'As it happens,' said Lucinda, as calmly as possible, 'I haven't.'

'Then this is a good time to try it,' said Frank. He took her by the wrist and led her to the padded trestle.

'Over you go, Lucinda,' he said. Very aware of the watching, amused faces, she obeyed.

'You'll find a bar low down on the other side,' he said. 'Keep hold of it. It will help you to stay in position. Jumping up without permission automatically means six strokes of the Lochgelly tawse across your bottom, and the original punishment starts again from the beginning.'

'Thanks for telling me!' said Lucinda. Her face burned as she felt her dress turned up to expose her naked bottom and legs. She had already suffered the indignity of a spanking before people she had only just met. This would be worse; she would be making a squirming, pleading, weeping exhibition of herself without even having deserved punishment.

'I won't decide on a specific number of strokes,' said Frank's voice behind her. 'I'll just whack that lovely rear end of yours until it's hot enough to make toast on. Your thighs too, remembering Jane's advice. I've a feeling we're going to have a long and interesting relationship, Lucinda, and I'd like to have some idea of what you can take.'

'And when you've got her nicely roasting, Frank,' said Helen's voice, 'I will take over. Jim says her bottom wriggles very nicely under the cane and I want to see for myself.'

Lucinda grasped the bar firmly and took a deep breath. By coming here she had invited punishment, offered herself as a willing victim. Now it only remained to endure and, in that incredible, inexplicable way, to enjoy her ordeal.

First the plastic ruler, smacking and stinging her wincing buttocks and her quivering thighs, again and again and again to the very borders of endurance, while she yelled and implored and wept. Then a brief pause, sobbing, gasping, half convinced that she must, after all, have done something wrong and desperately trying to remember what it might be, 'I'm sorry!' she moaned. 'I'm truly, truly sorry!'

'That's what I like to hear,' said Helen's voice. 'The genuine sound of true repentance which only a well-tanned bottom can inspire. And now, Lucinda, I am holding a brand new rattan cane, which I am going to apply to those rosy checks of yours with considerable severity. Jim gave you six of the best, didn't he? Well I'm going to cane your legs as well, so I think we'll say ten this time.'

'Please, Helen,' moaned Lucinda. 'I'm not a very naughty girl, really I'm not!'


And then the cane slashed across her naked, ruler-roasted buttocks. Helen took her time and the torment seemed never ending, but despite the anguish of her exquisitely hot and sore bottom and the incredible pain of a wickedly wielded cane biting into the tender flesh of plump, bare thighs, Lucinda managed to hold onto the bar until she was told she could get up.

They made her stand facing the wall afterwards with her hands on her head and her dress pinned up to expose her punished bottom and legs, they warned her that she would go back across the trestle if she spoke or moved without permission, but even in that position of disgrace Lucinda felt a secret pride. She had endured to the end, she had proved a worthy member of SPOC. She thought that Frank would be pleased with her. That seemed very important.

Behind her she heard Kelly taking the second stage of her punishment, howling across Marjorie's lap, naked from the waist down, receiving the hairbrush spanking she had been promised. She heard Frank say, 'Hold your hands out, Kelly,' and then the crack and the yelp as Kelly took the first of six scorching strap strokes upon her palms and fingers. And finally Kelly pleading, 'Not the birch! Please, please, don't birch me!'

'You shall be birched, Kelly,' said Miss Foster's voice.

'Most soundly birched! And Helen shall go across the table at your side for an equal dose. A dozen apiece to begin with, I think, and then I shall decide how many more you need.'

The heartfelt soprano duet of birch-inspired eloquence seemed to go on for a long time, but when it was over Lucinda was allowed to turn around, in time to hear Jim Mytton say 'Marjorie, you've been getting away scot free so far. I reckon you're overdue for a damn good hiding!'

Marjorie smiled. 'What have you in mind, Jim? Knickers down and a good smack-bottom? I'm rather in the mood for that.'

'That's not a punishment for you!' said Mytton, good-humouredly. 'It's just fun and games. No, I think we'll try something different. Strip, Marjorie. Everything off.'

She hesitated for only a moment before starting to unbutton her shirt. 'This is something new,' she said. 'I don't think we've had anyone punished completely naked before.'

She took off the shirt, kicked off her shoes, unzipped her jeans and removed them.

'You can keep your socks on,' said Mytton.

'That would seem more indecent somehow,' she said. She took them off, reached back and unhooked her bra. At least my tits are in reasonable shape,' she said, as her full breasts swung free.

'Fancy your blush going that far down,' said Mytton. 'Get your drawers off, Marjorie.'

'You bastard!' she said, and threw her knickers at him.

He caught them, grinning, and handed them to Frank. 'Add those to your collection, lad.' He picked up two narrow leather straps. 'Hold your wrists out, Marjorie.'

'You want me on the rings?' she said. 'All right – but I won't be fastened. Put the straps away, Jim.'

Mytton stepped to a wall rack and looked round at the watching group. 'You've heard of women being whipped at the cart's tail back in Tudor times?' he said. 'Most people think it was done with a kind of cat o' nine tails. Usually it was with one of these.' He showed them a wooden handle with a long, heavy leather strap attached. 'It didn't cut the back to pieces like a cat would,' he said. 'Though it sometimes drew blood because they did the entire whipping on the back. I'm going to spread it out a bit. That's why I didn't just have Marjorie strip to the waist.'

'And bloody chilly it is standing here without a stitch on!' she said. 'If I'd known this was coming I'd have asked you to turn the heating up.'

'You'll soon be a damn sight warmer,' he said. 'On the rings, Marjorie.'

She walked to the wall and stood facing it, one hand grasping each steel ring. They all looked at the white, unblemished flesh of arms and back and buttocks and legs.

'Ready, Marjorie?' said Mytton. 'Here we go, then.'

He swung the whip and the leather thong cracked across her back at shoulder level. She jerked and cried out sharply. The whip left another weal, just below the first. This time she choked the cry down to a gasp, but she writhed where she stood with her nipples pressed against the brickwork. He gave her four more strokes, working downwards, and by the time the last one landed she was moaning loudly and her forearm muscles stood out as she gripped the rings. Then he started again, from the top. As the whip landed on flesh already swollen and throbbing she shrieked. By the time the second set of six lashes was over Marjorie was howling out sobbing entreaties, but she still clung desperately to the rings.


Mytton stepped back. 'Now someone else can warm her backside,' he said. 'How about you, Lucinda? You've taken a lot more punishment than you've given so far. Anyway, it used to be the job of schoolteachers to make sure naughty girls couldn't sit down in comfort.'

'Before my time, I'm glad to say,' said Lucinda. 'The idea of beating children never appealed to me. Having a grown woman offering her arse for punishment is another matter. Twelve of the very best on the way, Marjorie.' She swung the whip hard to crack solidly across the meatiest part of Marjorie's generously curved buttocks.

* * *

'Frank,' said Lucinda, some time later, 'I hope my fidgeting doesn't annoy you, but to tell the truth I can hardly bear to sit down!'

Frank smiled at her as she sat, or rather wriggled beside him in the car. 'That's the usual effect of a girl's first visit to SPOC. I hope you haven't found it too – er – exciting.'

'It won't put me off coming to the next meeting, if that's what you mean. Three weeks between meetings will be just the right interval for the marks on my bum to fade and for me to anticipate the next time. Anyway, I couldn't abandon the friends I've made – and one in particular. Why are you stopping the car?'

'It's a road junction,' pointed out Frank. 'If we turn left it leads to your flat, where I escort you to your door, shake hands and drive away. If we turn right, it leads to my home, where other things may happen.'

'Do you usually invite girls home on the first meeting, Frank?'

'Only very special girls.'

Lucinda smiled. 'You mean pretty girls with good figures who've shown they don't mind having their bottoms tanned?'

'Such girls,' said Frank, sadly, 'are all too rare.'

'And when such a girl visits you, is there a good chance she'll be soundly spanked and sent to bed, no matter how sore she may be already?'

'Not sent to bed,' said Frank. 'Taken.'

'Frank,' said Lucinda, 'I already know you're a good man with a plastic ruler. It would be very interesting to discover what you can do with your open hand when you've got a girl comfortably settled down bare-bottomed across your lap, and plenty of time to make a good job of it.'

'Even if her bottom is very sore already?'

'Especially since her bottom is very sore already. Drive on, Frank. Turn right!'