Story from London Life Vol.1 No.4
Jane's Revenge On Roberta
"Come along Jane" said my mother, "take your punishment without all this fuss and get it over. Dick's been brave about his and I hope Charlie will be the same." Dick's tear-streaked face didn't suggest much bravery, and Charlie showed no more relish at what was coming than I did!
In addition to my mum and dad, there are four of us in the family — our elder sister Roberta who is twenty now and is soon to marry; then I and Charlie who are twins; and Dick the youngest at fourteen. As long as we could remember, Roberta had always annoyed the rest of us with her nauseatingly priggish good behaviour. She boasted that she had never been whipped by our parents because she respected and honoured them, whereas I and my brothers were always in trouble and often at the receiving end of the cane, and — in Roberta's opinion — deserving stern punishment for our bad behaviour.
The day before yesterday, a Saturday, mum, dad and Roberta had gone up to London by train to attend a flower show and after that to have a meal with Roberta's fiance Trevor Taylor and his parents before returning home by an evening train. I didn't take much to Trevor, but his parents were well off, so Roberta and mum and dad were naturally very keen for the marriage to go through.
Well, when they got back from London it did not need more than a glance in the garage from dad's eagle eye to see that his precious new car was not exactly in the position in which he had left it, and that the front offside wing was scratched and dented. There followed a nasty cross-questioning of us three by mum and dad, with Roberta smirking in the background, and it all came out. After they had left for London we had managed to find the ignition key. We had started the car and had driven it in reverse down the drive, and then backwards and backwards a few times before the inevitable happened, and Dick, when his turn came round, clipped the wing smartly against the garage door post, doing the damage that dad had been so quick to detect.
At least we hadn't taken the car on the road and we were given credit for that degree of restraint; but mum and dad were naturally hopping mad that they couldn't leave us three for more than a few hours without our getting into a scrape. As we had feared and expected, we were sentenced to a caning — Charlie and me to ten strokes each because, as the elders, we ought to have known better, and Dick to six as a reminder not to become involved in our pranks in the future. The punishments were to be inflicted the following evening, Sunday, at bedtime which would give us twenty four hours to reflect on our sins and think about what was coming to us. On such occasions the usual routine was for us to be given an early supper by ourselves, then to have our baths and change into pyjamas or nightgown, and then troop down to the sitting room where mum and dad would be waiting, as they were on the evening I'm writing about.
Dad had unlocked his bureau and had taken out one of his canes — a nasty three-foot rattan with a curved handle. Mum moved an armchair into the middle of the room. Dick was ordered to undo his girdle and let his pyjama trousers drop to the floor. (Nakedness was no surprise in our family as we all often went to a nearby sunbathing and nudist club in the summer, and we often went about the house without clothes as our parents have progressive ideas in this respect.) Dick, knowing the form, then bent over the back of the chair, while mum knelt on the scat of the chair and held out her hands so that Dick could grasp her wrists to steady himself. Charlie and I looked on, waiting our turn. Apprehensive as I was, I could not help but be interested to see the effect produced by such occasions on my brothers: they are both well developed physically, and so too am I, but the excitement of a caning showed itself in Dick and Charlie as boys in a way that was deeply interesting to me as a girl. Well, Charlie bent over the chair back, and his physical state was temporarily concealed. Dad beckoned to me and Charlie to stand in such a position that we could see every stroke as clearly as possible, for he wanted all stages of the punishment to make a lasting impression on us.
He raised his arm, and the cane cracked down crisply across Dick's bare buttocks, instantly making a straight pink line on the white flesh. "One!" called mum. Down came the cane again, about half an inch below the previous stroke. "Two!" cried mum. Dick stirred uneasily but uttered no sound. Dad, enraged over the damage to his precious car, was determined to evoke some reaction from Dick, and so the third and fourth strokes, each of which mum carefully counted, had more steam in them, overlapping the previous two strokes and making Dick utter a groan. Mum comforted him and bade him hold tight. Dad's fifth stroke was delivered with full force and a fresh groan arose from Dick's lips, but I could not help noticing that the look on his face was not only one of pain but also of excitement which the sixth and final stroke seemed to bring to a climax. As Dick released his grip on mum's wrists and stood up, I could see that he no longer displayed the physical evidence of excitement that had been so noticeable before the caning started. I guessed that the experience had not been altogether unpleasant to Dick, and this was confirmed when he gave me a surreptitious wink as he pulled on his pyjama trousers and came over to stand with me and Charlie.
Now it was my turn. As I've already told you, I didn't relish the prospect and mum had to coax me to take the punishment and get it over. Usually dad caned the boys and mum caned me, which was some consolation as Mum's canings were naturally not as severe as dad's. I backed away when mum told me to lift my nightgown above my waist and bend over the chair. Mum threatened to call in Roberta to help her if I made any more fuss. That was something I could definitely do without, so I yielded to the inevitable and draped myself over the chairback, and gripped dad's outstretched wrists to help me to hold myself still. Mum made Dick and Charlie draw near to see the effect of the caning at close range. The little brutes were of course delighted to do so, as my exposed position bent double over the chair with my nightie round my waist and my pink and shapely buttocks pointed ceiling-wards revealed moist, curl-fringed details of my anatomy that they were always keen to scrutinise!
Mum, not being so methodical and systematic as dad, applied the first four strokes one after the other at high speed with no pause between each stroke. The shock of stinging pain made me writhe like a cut worm, but I kept a firm grasp on dad who murmured words of encouragement to me to be brave. The fifth and sixth strokes were much more effectively applied by mum, who paused to count twenty between each stroke, and each time brought the cane down on the lines of the previous strokes, making me yell out and begin to stand up.
"Jane, bend down again at once," Mum said, "you've still four strokes to come!" "No, I won't," I said rebelliously, "I'm too old to be caned like this!" "Oh, is that so, my fine lady," said mum sarcastically, "it seems to me from your immature prank with dad's car that you are still quite young enough to be whipped and that you have really got to be made to feel the kiss of the rod if this punishment is to be effective. Charlie, call Roberta in to help me!"
Roberta was delighted to be called in. She had always loved lording it over us younger ones, and for her to take a hand in a family caning was a great treat to her. I'm well developed for my age, but Roberta, more than three years my senior, was much more fully grown, tall, well built and with fine 36-24-36 statistics. From that you can guess that she is much stronger than mum.
"Now, Roberta," said mum, "Jane still has four strokes to come, and I want you to make her really feel them. Your dad and I are sure that Jane is the ringleader in the car business, and as Jane has been trying to avoid her punishment it is all the more important that she should be genuinely sorry for her misbehaviour."
I realised that if I made any more fuss there was a risk that dad himself might apply the final four strokes to my long-suffering bottom. I certainly didn't want that, so I meekly pulled up my nightie and bent over the chair again, while Roberta eagerly took the cane from mum.
Roberta's first stroke was not very accurate, landing below the folds of my buttocks on the top of my thighs, and stinging abominably. God may have designed buttocks specially for whipping, but he certainly didn't intend thighs for that purpose! "Careful, Roberta," said mum, "make sure you hit her bottom only. If you hit her thighs you may break the skin." Roberta's next stroke was right on the fullness of my rounded posterior, and by now, despite the pain a pleasing sense of warmth was pervading me. Spontaneous contractions pulsed rhythmically through my buttocks and I had the feeling that the deep cleft between them was opening and closing with each contraction. It was only with great effort of will that I stopped their pulsing beat for I had a suspicion that Roberta, being no stranger to physical contact with the other sex, would guess what voluptuous sensations I was experiencing and would re-double her efforts to hurt me out of spite.
Roberta's next move was a shrewd one. She had stepped back a pace on my left side so that the silk-bound tip of the cane landed accurately and very painfully in the middle of my right buttock. She then walked round to my right side and made the tip of the cane land with devestating effect on the middle of my left buttock. My voluptuous sensations came abruptly to an end! A self-satisfied smile spread over Roberta's face. The bitch, I'll get even with her, I vowed to myself. My nightie was pulled down over my reddened and stinging bottom and I was made to stand beside Dick while Charlie took up his position over the chairback, with his pyjama trousers down, and gripped mum's proffered wrists.
Dad had been much impressed with Roberta's potential expertise in the handling of the rod, and wished to give her a chance of more practice. Roberta had always been dad's favourite, and she could never do wrong in his eyes. So he decided that he and she would take it in turn to administer the ten cuts that had been awarded to Charlie. Dad went to his bureau and took out his second cane which was just like the first one in length and weight. (Dad was very proud of his canes and took great care of them: sometimes in the evening when we were all looking at TV, dad would sit amongst us, puffing his pipe, and oiling and polishing his canes and rubbing saddle soap into the soft leather cat o' nine tails that he sometimes used for minor punishments.)
To get Charlie into a better position he was made to stand up again while a second armchair was pushed up back to back against the first chair so that the combined widths of the two upholstered backs formed a broad base on which Charlie's bare bottom could be presented equally conveniently to both dad on his right side and Roberta on his left. By now Charlie had developed an embarrassing sign of physical excitement which he had to conceal as best he could with his hands until he was bending again over the chair backs.
This physical manifestation had not escaped the notice of mum, dad and Roberta, but no comment was made. Mum and dad were mainly keen to administer a just and well-deserved punishment and did not, unlike Roberta, mind if the person punished should at the same time derive a little harmless sensual pleasure from the experience. (Quite by chance I had discovered not long ago that mum and dad often indulged in private spanking games themselves and greatly enjoyed them, but they would have been greatly peeved if they knew that I had discovered their secret. How I discovered it is another story that I might tell you sometime. Their private spanking propensity all fitted in with the pleasure they obviously took in caning us three younger children. Roberta on the other hand, never herself having been caned, had no knowledge either of the disciplinary value of the cane nor of the pleasure one could obtain from it.)
Dad, standing on Charlie's right side, delivered his first stroke on the exposed posterior — a well judged blow which served temporarily to check the rhythmic contractions flickering across the firm hillocks of Charlie's flesh. Roberta smiled, gently tapped Charlie's buttocks with the tip of the cane to get her aim, and then raised it and slashed it down as hard as she could. A surprised and pained look spread over Charlie's face, for Roberta's stroke was as hard as dad's. Charlie's sensuous feelings abruptly faded!
Dick and I had to move our positions so that we could get a better view of proceedings as dad and Roberta swung away at their work. Charlie gritted his teeth and was given a little murmured comfort from mum as he gripped her wrists. Charlie shed a few tears but did not cry out. His compact, well-rounded buttocks became a dark shade of red as the succession of well-applied strokes from dad and Roberta filled up all the space on his bottom. Pain had wholly replaced pleasure on Charlie's face by the time the tenth stroke was reached, and when he clambered off the chair backs he had no need to use his hands to conceal anything!
Charlie pulled up his pyjama trousers and we three stood in a row while dad delivered his final lecture on our wickedness in tampering with his confounded car that had got us into such trouble. Mum cleared her throat as if to add something, and then relapsed into silence. Roberta gave a superior sneer and said that if we had modelled ourselves on her we would not have got ourselves into the scrape we were now in.
We trooped off up the stairs, rather stiffly as is always the case after a caning. As soon as we were out of earshot of mum, dad and Roberta, we crowded into Charlie's room and closed the door. Up came my nightie and off came their pyjama trousers so that we could examine and compare each other's weals and look at our own in the mirror. This was always a rather exciting ritual after each punishment session. Part of the ritual also was to anoint each other with witch hazel to allay the pain and reduce the swelling. Gently massaging in the lotion was always a lovely experience both for the massager and the massaged, and we all began to get quite worked up as you can imagine. Dick and Charlie spent a quite unnecessary length of time in examining the weals on my buttocks, and when they had finished with me I had had witch hazel rubbed into all sorts of places that the cane had never been near! But I did not stop them, as I must admit that I enjoyed it as much as they did. But we dared not go on too long in case mum and dad came up and found that we had not gone to our beds. But before we separated for the night I told Charlie and Dick that I was determined to get my own back on Roberta and that I had a scheme that I wanted to carry out the next evening, Monday, for which I would need the assistance of both Charlie and Dick. They promised to do whatever I wanted, as they were as keen as I to have revenge on Roberta. We went to our own rooms. I slept on my tummy, and I expect the others did too.
Monday dawned. Our bottoms had largely returned to their usual colour, apart from a few blue weals, and we could sit without discomfort, from which you can guess that mum and dad are not sadistic users of the cane. We went about our day's activities in the garden and house (it was school hols at the time), and all the while I savoured in my mind the revenge to be inflicted on Roberta. My scheme was based on the fact that mum and dad were to be out that evening having supper with friends, while Roberta was as usual sewing her trousseau for her marriage to Trevor Taylor later in the year. Roberta presided over supper and we three did our best to chat amiably with her to avoid her suspecting that something was afoot. After we had cleared the table and watched TV for a bit, Dick and Charlie, by previous arrangement with me, said goodnight to Roberta and went upstairs. I said casually to Roberta, when we were alone, that I had something special for her in my room and I asked if she would come up so that I could give it to her. She wanted to know what it was, but I said it was a surprise and that she must come up and get it as I couldn't easily give it to her downstairs. Roberta, suspecting nothing and no doubt imagining that it was something for her wedding, followed me up to my room. Everything went as planned. Roberta entered. The two boys, hidden behind the door, leapt out, slammed the door, locked it and pocketed the key. Roberta was our prisoner!
"What is going on, Jane?" said Roberta in a rage. "How dare you!" "You'll soon find out what is going on," I said, "and if you try and get away we three are quite enough to stop you. So just sit down and listen to what I've got to say." She allowed herself to be pushed into a chair while Dick and Charlie stood guard over her.
"Roberta," I said, "for years you have made life miserable for us with your priggishness, your overbearing attitude and your bullying. The way you took advantage of last night's punishment session was the last straw. If you had had any decency you would have refused to help in the caning of me and Charlie. You are always boasting that you have always been well-behaved and that you have never been whipped. If you had been soundly caned from time to time you would have been a much nicer person than you are now. But now we three are going to make up for it by giving you a spanking that you'll remember for a long time!"
Roberta's astonishment and rage at these words were a delight to behold. "How dare you!" she spluttered, "let me go at once. When mum and dad hear about this they'll give all three of you the hidings of your young lives!" "Oh, no, they won't," I said, because they are not going to hear about it either from you or from us. For a start, please lie face down on the bed and pull your skirts above your waist."
"Jane, you must be out of your mind! I'll do no such thing," she stormed. "Oh, no?" I said, "Perhaps you'll change your mind when I tell you that one night last week I saw you and Bev Holroyd necking in the back of his car up that dark lane — it was more than just necking or deep petting, it was all the way, judging by the state of your clothing. If Trevor and his parents got to hear about it, they would break off your engagement at once. And I know that Bev would be ready to confirm that he had been necking with you as he rather fancies you and he doesn't like Trevor one little bit!"
"You bitch, Jane," said Roberta with a scared look on her face. "You wouldn't dare to tell mum and dad and Trevor about me and Bev having a fling, would you?" "Oh, yes, I would and I will too," I said, "unless you take your medicine now and change your attitude to me, Charlie and Dick. Which is it to be? Either we spill the beans about you and Bev, which will mean the end of your wedding prospects with the well-heeled Trevor, or you take a good spanking from us and that will be the end of the matter."
Roberta thought deeply and realised that she was in a cleft stick, with the prospect of a shiny and fashionable white wedding disappearing in a puff of smoke. "You must give me an hour to think about it," she said. "That won't wash," I said, "mum and dad may be back before then. It's now or never." She saw she had no escape and began to drape herself face down on my bed after pulling up her skirt round her waist. Under her skirt she wore very thin expensive-looking tights and a pair of black nylon panties as the tights alone would have been too revealing for Roberta's modesty.
"Now, Charlie," I said, "I think we'll make a slight adjustment. Arch your bottom in the air, Roberta; and Charlie, push a couple of pillows under her middle to make her target area stand up well. It's up to you, Roberta, to keep your position without moving, as we don't want to use force by having to hold your hands and feet."
You may well wonder what instrument I planned to use for the punishment. I knew I couldn't get at Dad's canes as they were locked in his bureau; and mum had only a silly little toy cane with a blue ribbon tied in a bow at the handle — just for decoration and not use — which hung on the wall above her bedhead. My scheme was to start on Roberta's bottom with my clothes brush and then to finish with my little pony riding switch which I kept in my wardrobe along with my cap and other riding clothes. You may not think that the clothes brush would be much use for effective spanking, but perhaps you've never been spanked with one — I have and I know how it can sting! Mine is of polished mahogany, about a foot long and two and a half inches wide across the flat back of the brush end, with a nicely shaped handle to give a good grip. My pony switch is not one of those cruel lashes of tempered steel wire covered with plaited binding: it is simply a thin swishy cane about eighteen inches long with a small leather-covered knob at the handle end and a double flap of soft leather bound to the tip of the business end to avoid the tip of the cane splitting and doing damage.
"Roberta," I said, "you are going to get nine whacks with my clothes brush, that is three whacks from each of us, and then we are each going to give you three strokes with my riding switch, making a total of eighteen strokes. If you try to avoid it or make any fuss we are going to increase the punishment, and if we have to do that I can assure you that you'll regret it, so be warned!" The look of rage and apprehension on Roberta's face was a sight to behold!
I started by standing on Roberta's left side and brought the back of the clothes brush down on her nylon-covered posterior as hard as I could, producing a crisp smacking noise as it landed fair and square. The length and width of the weapon was such that a large part of the whole area of her bottom was covered with the stroke. Roberta's face creased in pain and exasperation, but she uttered no sound. To increase the suspense I walked slowly round to her right side and repeated the medicine: Roberta started to open her mouth to say something and then thought better of it. I walked back to her left side and gave her my third blow, and she could not suppress a low moan.
Now it was Dick's turn. Being the youngest of us, he had been most bullied by Roberta and he relished the chance to get some of his own back. He started on Roberta's right side. Being inexperienced, his first blow was not very well aimed or effective and it had no visible effect on Roberta. This won't do, I thought, so I made Dick take a few practice whacks at the cushion on my dressing table stool and shewed him how to use wrist work to achieve maximum speed of the brush at the moment of impact. While this was going on, the changing expressions on Roberta's face revealed her growing alarm. Dick resumed on Roberta's left side and shewed by the crack with which he brought the brush down on her shapely mounds that my instruction in technique had been effective. Dick's third stroke from her right side was just as good, and by now I guessed that Roberta's bottom must be tingling very warmly, although her underclothing prevented us from seeing the precise effects.
Charlie's turn followed, and he licked his lips at the pleasant thought of getting even with Roberta for the pain she had caused him during the whipping session in the sitting room on Sunday evening. He held the brush to Roberta's nose so that she could get a foretaste of it and then, taking up his position carefully on her left side, and using a wrist action which I envied, he brought the brush down on her bottom with a crack like a pistol shot. That really brought Roberta to life, I can tell you! She rolled off the propping pillows in fury and pain, and stood up, her skirt dropping down. "I won't endure any more of this," she cried, "I'm a grown woman now and this game has gone quite far enough!" "Oh, you think it's a game, do you," I said, "but we three don't agree with you. We'll give you the choice again — either you take the rest of the punishment with no more fuss, or we spill the beans about you and Bev. You know what that will mean — no posh wedding and bridesmaids and confetti and reception and honeymoon, and no easy comfortable life with a well-off husband. Instead you'll have to take a job to earn your living, and try and find someone else silly enough to want to marry you."
This struck home. Roberta knew she was cornered, and she could not face up to the prospect of losing Trevor and all that it meant. With a sour and baffled look, she began to pull up her skirts. "That won't be enough now, after all the fuss you've been making. Take off your tights and panties. We'd like to see how effective we've been so far, and we intend to make sure that the remainder of the punishment is something that you won't forget in a hurry." "I'll do nothing of the sort," stormed Roberta, "I'm not going to have these great louts gaping at my exposure!" "That's just what we want to do" grinned Charlie, "and Jane's told you what'll happen if you refuse." She saw there was no escape and, kicking off her shoes, her hands went under her skirt to peel off her tights and black nylon panties. She then lay down again on the pillows, tucking her skirt between her legs in the vain hope that she might be allowed to keep it there for protection. I yanked her skirt tail from between her legs and pulled it up over her shoulders. We gathered round her very handsome bottom to see the effects of our efforts so far.
Looked at from any angle, Roberta's posterior is a delight to behold. From the side it sweeps up in a steep gradient from the small of her back through a perfect curve over the crest of her buttocks and then down to the delicious folds marking the beginning of her thighs. Viewed from above the shape is that of a perfectly symmetrical pack-of-cards heart. Seen from her feet as she lay on the bed, it looked like the twin domes of an oriental mosque. But the sight that really held our attention was the blush of rosy pink that suffused the whole of her buttocks wherever the mahogany of the clothes brush had kissed her sensuous flesh. Only the inner recesses of the charming cleft that divided her bottom had escaped. I put my cheek near her skin and could sense the glow of warmth that arose from it.
"Now, Charlie," I said, "finish off your spell with the brush to complete the first stage." Charlie this time stood on Roberta's right side, and his second stroke was as effective as his first had been. The brush back cracked crisply on her bare flesh, the pink changed to a darker hue of red, and Roberta writhed. She writhed even more after Charlie's third, delivered from her left side. She knew better than to try and struggle or escape, but gritted her teeth and clenched her fists until the knuckles whitened.
For the riding switch we decided to alter the batting order, Dick to go first, then Charlie, and last it would be me for the grand finale — a pleasure that I anticipated with no little pleasure. As Dick was inexperienced, I put the dressing stool cushion down beside Roberta's face so that she could see it while Dick made several practice shots with the switch until he could be sure of getting the target every time. Roberta's expression while this was going on was a study!
Dick's first stroke with the switch, although delivered with enthusiasm, wasn't very good either as regards accuracy or strength, for the cane slanted across the mound of her right buttock and then down across the upper part of her left thigh. But it was enough to draw a squeal from Roberta and to imprint a thin red stripe across the area already pinked by the brush and to make a pleasing pink mark on the white of her thigh. We could see the muscles of her posterior flicker under the flushed skin as she tensed herself for the next stroke which Dick gave her from the left side. This was a much better effort: the cane whistled through the air and with a crisp crack a neat line appeared across the top of each buttock. Dick was now warming to his congenial task, and his third and final stroke, delivered from Roberta's right side, landed exactly on the line of the second stroke. Roberta squealed again, her hips lifted from the pillows, and her hands instinctively began to move from above her head as if to protect the area we were assaulting so vigorously.
"Keep your hands away, Roberta," Charlie cried, "or we'll double the whipping!" This was enough to make her snatch her hands back and grip the rails of the bed head to steady herself for the rest of her ordeal.
Charlie could hardly wait to take the switch from Dick. He swished it menacingly over Roberta's head to give her a taste of what was coming. Then taking up his position on her left side he landed a sizzler dead straight and exactly parallel to the line left by Dick's second and third strokes. Roberta didn't like this at all, and her squeak of rage and pain was quite comical. I'm afraid that Charlie, Dick and I just giggled, for we were thoroughly enjoying Roberta's discomfiture. Charlie's next stroke with the switch made another neat red line half an inch from the first; and his final blow, delivered from her left side, was a masterpiece. Instead of bringing the switch vertically down on her, he sliced sideways so that the weapon landed on the lower part of the curves of her buttocks just above the folds where the buttocks join the tops of the thighs. This was virgin territory that had escaped the attention of the brush back.
She began to move as if to get off the bed. "I warn you, Roberta," I said, "if you don't take the rest of the punishment from us you'll lose your precious Trevor. So keep quite still for the last three strokes which I'm going to give you. And just to show that you accept them voluntarily and meekly you can jolly well kiss the switch before I finish roasting your pretty pink bottom with it." Roberta angrily raised her head and kissed the rod, and then submitted herself to the final stage. I fingered Roberta's bottom and planned where my three strokes were to be placed. My first, from her right side, landed exactly between Dick's second and third strokes and Charlie's first. I then walked round, and gave my second stroke as hard as I could to land between Charlie's first and second. It was a real sizzler and must have stung her like anything. I stayed on her left side for my final stroke for I intended to land it between Charlie's second and third strokes. His third stroke, you will remember, was on the lower curve of her buttocks just above the fold where the thigh begins so I had to be very careful and accurate. As in Charlie's case, it meant bringing the switch sideways rather than downwards, so I placed the switch against her flesh on the chosen line in order to get my aim. As the switch gently touched her skin she shuddered and looked round to see what I was doing. What she saw did not reassure her. In readiness for the final stroke she tensed her buttocks and I could see her cleft close into a thin line.
I held the switch at full length with my arm straight and my eye firmly on the ribbon of pale skin sandwiched between the pink stripes on the lower curve. My arm swept out to my right, and when it reached its full extension I bent my wrist so that the switch was pointing backwards. Then I drove my arm forwards with all the power at my command (I play a lot of tennis and my forehand drive is pretty useful, though I say it myself) and as it approached the target area my wrist came into play and the switch landed with a crack like a rifle shot exactly on the chosen line. It was a good stroke, and one which mum and dad would have applauded if they had known anything about what was going on. A dark red line shewed itself at once and Roberta shot in the air with a howl and landed half on the bed and half on the floor, clutching her hands to her injured posterior, and with tears in her eyes.
"Let that be a lesson to you, Roberta," I said. "We've had our revenge. I'm sure that Charlie and Dick enjoyed it as much as I did." They nodded vigorous assent at this. "And remember that in future we expect your attitude to us to be very different from what it has been in the past. Do you promise to be nicer to us?" Roberta stammered a promise, but there was more than a trace of hostility in her look, which is perhaps hardly surprising in view of the cavalier treatment she had just had at our hands! "If you don't mend your ways," said Charlie, "we can still give you another whipping and you can't refuse to take it because we can still tell on you about you and Bev Holroyd, and you wouldn't like that, would you?" "Oh, very well, I'll do my best to be nicer to you," she said angrily, "though it's beyond me why I should be nice to you horrid creatures after what you've just done to me. What would Trevor say if he could see my bottom now?" "That's very interesting, Roberta," I said, "so you let Trevor see your naked bottom, do you — though perhaps it's hardly surprising as you let Bev enjoy the same privilege! I think it would be a very good thing if Trevor could see it now, and he would then know how to deal with you after you are married!" Roberta tossed her head angrily and said nothing.
Turning to Charlie and Dick I said "Be off, you two! You've had your fun, and I'm not going to have you playing the amateur masseur on your eldest sister's person. That's a job for me." The boys departed reluctantly and closed the door. I made Roberta lie again on her tummy on the bed with her skirt once more raised above her waist. The pink caused by the clothes brush was already beginning to fade, but the strokes of the riding switch shewed as a series of neat raised ridges, really quite decorative in their own way, although Roberta would not have appreciated it. I stroked her gently and kissed the weals. With my lips I could feel a glow of warmth radiating from her charming bottom. Then I administered some witch hazel which took away the string and after that slowly rubbed in cold cream. Already the pinkness and weals were disappearing. It was a sensuous experience which I was unashamedly enjoying, and I saw by the changing and softening expression on Roberta's side-turned face that she too gained pleasure from what I was doing. Her buttocks began to move in rhythm with my massaging fingers, and when I paused for a moment she made an impatient movement for me to resume my attentions. I made a mental note to try and find an opportunity to tell Trevor that he should have Roberta eating out of his hand if he gave her a good whipping whenever she needed it, but that he must follow up the chastisement with cold cream and hot love!
It was now getting late. Mum and dad would be back soon, and Roberta would have to be downstairs to greet them, so I helped her on with her panties and tights and kissed her good night as she left the room. As soon as the sound of her steps on the stairs had died away my door opened again and in came Charlie and Dick, grinning from ear to ear. "Jane," said Charlie, "why on earth did you pet and pamper Roberta like that after the punishment we had just given her?" I gaped in surprise. "How ever do you know what I was doing to Roberta after you two had gone?" I asked. "Oh, we did the usual thing," said Dick, "we stood on chairs in the corridor and looked through the fanlight above the door. We often watch you when you are undressing. It was great fun when you kissed her bottom and we saw how excited she got when you massaged her. I bet Trevor would have enjoyed watching!" Charlie said "Next time we get a beating from mum and dad, Dick and I will kiss your bottom for you and then we'll see if you start wriggling like Roberta when we rub in the witch hazel and cold cream and massage you. I bet you'll like that!"
"How dare you, you cheeky monkeys," I cried. "If I catch you at it, you'll be sorry — I'll get mum and dad to give you such a beating that you won't be able to sit down for a week."
Later, when I was tucked up snug in bed, I thought back with pleasure on the whipping we had given Roberta and wondered if there would ever be an opportunity to repeat it. I had certainly had my revenge on her, but in addition I had discovered new and very real pleasures in corporal punishment and so too, I think, had Roberta. My guess is that, soon after she and Trevor are married, she will begin to look for reasons for him to take a cane to her behind. After only one experience Roberta is well on the way to becoming an addict!
-