Thorn's Spanking Stories

Pippa Part 7

2010-03-02T10:03:00.000-08:00

Pippa was tremendously excited when she found me the next day. She recounted all that happened the day before and the story that Charlotte and Lucy had told her. I had met the twins already and liked them very much. I hadn’t in my wildest dreams imagined that they would be enjoy being spanked like Pippa did.

‘But they look so sweet and innocent.’ I protested.

‘Don’t I then.’ said Pippa fluttering her eyelashes.

I laughed and gave her a gentle poke in the ribs. ‘You look pure as the driven snow when you don’t do that.’ I said. ‘I just never imagined Lucy and Charlotte…’

‘No neither did I.’ admitted Pippa ‘But I caught them red-handed .. or should I say red-bottomed … so there’s no doubt.’

‘Do you think all girls like having their bottoms smacked.’ I asked.

‘I shouldn’t think so for one moment.’ said Pippa
‘Shame.’

Now she cuffed me. ‘You can stop imagining spanking Lucy and Charlotte right now.’ She said severely.

I laughed and then gave her a quick squeeze. ‘It’s alright my love I’m perfectly content with applying my art to your pretty bottom.’
‘Oh you’re an artist now are you?’ she said ‘Then when are you going to get around to your masterpiece?’

‘Do you think the twins might be amenable to this afternoon?’ I asked.

‘I’ll speak to them at lunchtime.’ Pippa smiled, giving me one of her naughtiest looks. ‘Come over anyway, if I can’t let you give me a good spanking, I’ll make you tea instead.’

‘Couldn’t we have both?’ I said cheekily.

‘Greedy! We’ll see’ she said. She gave me a cheeky smile over her shoulder, and a little wiggle of her hips as she flounced off towards her lecture.
Oh I was looking forward to that afternoon. But Pippa had been very astute, she had seen the gleam in my eye when she had told me about Lucy and Charlotte. If I was honest with myself I would have to admit that the thought of punishing either, or preferably both, of those pretty twins was an enticing thought. And yet, I knew it was not something I would ever do against Pippa’s will. She was the girl I loved, and all that really mattered to me was that she was happy. I watched her disappear into the university library, feeling, once more, like the luckiest man alive.
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How I managed to concentrate at all during that lecture I can’t imagine. Certainly the sparse notes that I took were not worth the paper that they were written on. My mind was on other things, most particularly what would happen that afternoon. It had been a long time since Tom had spanked me. Over a year ago I had enjoyed that wonderful fortnight at Hambleton Hall. The final act of that holiday had been the school game we had played up in the attic. Then Tom had taken the cane and given me twenty-five hard strokes across my bare bottom. Twenty-five strokes that had taken me on to a wonderful orgasm that still made me shiver whenever I thought of it, and believe me I had thought of it often over the last fourteen months. And now we were to reawaken that aspect of our relationship that had lain dormant for so long. I found myself thinking anxious thoughts… would it still excite me as it had in the past? Would Tom still enjoy punishing me? Perhaps my pain threshold would be lower than before and I wouldn’t be able to take so much? I tried to put those worries aside - in a few hours time Tom and I would discover again whether this was the strong erotic motor of our relationship or not, I would have to be patient until then.

I found Charlotte and Lucy at lunchtime in the refrectory. Thankfully they were sitting alone and so I was able to talk to them.

‘Could we have the staircase door closed for a while this afternoon… Tom’s coming over?’

I must have sounded rather over eager for both twins giggled.

‘You’re very keen Pippa! I don’t know if its convenient.’ Lucy smirked.

Charlotte saw the expression on my face and gave her sister a sharp dig in the ribs. ‘Don’t tease Lucy… of course it’s alright Pippa … we’re both in this afternoon and we weren’t planning on going anywhere, we’ll lock the door after Tom has arrived.’

‘Thanks.’ I said gratefully.

I should perhaps explain that it was a long held tradition at Summerville that if a staircase door was closed then the residents of that staircase were not receiving visitors. Only if the door at the bottom was open would visitors go up and knock on one’s door. It was a system for ensuring that you could get a little privacy, especially if you needed to get some work done. Closed staircases were very common around exam time!

I thought carefully about what I should wear. I had brought my old school uniform with me - that held many special memories, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to play a role that afternoon. My riding things were a possibility, they too had a good resonance of a very exciting afternoon. But riding clothes in the absence of a horse felt a bit false. In the end I decided that smart and sexy was the look to go for. I found out my prettiest lingerie. A black silk basque, with matching knickers and stockings. They were beautiful things that made me feel good to wear. I put on a simple black dress and high healed shoes, combed my hair through until it was a shiny blonde curtain and put a simple pearl choker around my neck. I checked my appearance in the mirror - rather beautiful if I said so myself.

Tom was dead on time. He came upstairs and knocked on my door. As I let him in I saw Lucy go down to close and lock the staircase door. She gave me a wink as she passed.

Tom kissed me gently on the lips and then stood back to look at me.

'You look totally stunning Pippa.’ He said ‘More beautiful than ever.’

I felt the colour rise to my face at this compliment.

‘I do try.’ I said as lightly as I could manage.

Tom pulled me towards him and kissed me again, passionately. He ran his hands down my back and squeezed my bottom.

‘What would you like to do?’ he asked softly.

‘It’s up to you.’ I replied ‘I’m totally under your orders…. Sir.’

I felt his cock harden against me.
_________________

‘Totally under your orders sir.’ What a lovely phrase that was and she said it so deliciously.

I took a step back from her and sat myself on her sofa. She was looking so lovely today, she had dressed herself in a simple black dress, but it was the perfect choice for it gave a wonderful contrast to her fair skin and blonde hair. She wore her hair down and it shone like gold in the sunlight coming from the window.

‘I want you to begin by taking your dress off.’ I said

‘Yes sir.’ She replied.

She turned her back on me and slowly unzipped her little dress. Then in one swift movement she let it fall from her shoulders to drop completely from her and to land in a crumpled heap around her ankles. I took a deep breath. If I thought she had been looking lovely before, now she looked totally stunning. She was wearing black lingerie, a basque edged with fine lace, suspenders attached, matching knickers and fine silk stockings. She turned back to face me, her eyes smiling and the ghost of a wicked smile on her lips.

‘Beautiful.’ I said softly.

I let my eyes drink in her loveliness once more.

‘What shall I do to please you sir?’ she asked, her clear blue eyes looking into mine.

‘I think those knickers had better come down.’

‘Yes sir.’

Again she turned her back on me. She placed her thumbs in the waistband of her panties and began to ease them down. She did it wonderfully slowly, teasingly slowly, inching them down, gradually exposing her pretty bottom.

‘Bring them here.’ I said

She bent down and retrieved her knickers from around her ankles then stepped forward with them in her hand. I took them from her and she stepped back from me. Her knickers were very damp.

‘ Naughty girl.’ I said ‘You’ve made your knickers all wet. Come here.’

Obediently she stepped forward. There was the golden triangle at the juncture of her thighs. I ran my hand up the inside of her thigh then slipped my fingers between her legs. She widened her stance a little and gave a soft moan as the tip of my finger caressed her clitoris. She wriggled her hips as my fingers played.

‘Stand still you naughty girl.’ I said sternly.
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I couldn’t stand still, not with his fingers playing with me down there. I was already feeling aroused simply through putting myself under his control and undressing for him, now I was very excited indeed.

‘What happens to naughty girls who can’t stand still?’ he asked me.

‘Mmmmm’ I gave a little moan as he inserted a single finger inside me. ‘They… they get punished sir.’ I said.

‘And how do they get punished Pippa?’

‘By having their bottoms spanked.’ I said, feeling my arousal increase even further as I said the words.

‘Turn around.’ He ordered.

I turned away from him, my back to him. He stroked the backs of my legs above my stocking tops and then rubbed his hand between my legs again. With his other hand he began to spank me… quite gently at first… but then a little harder… and then really hard. All the time his fingers played with my pussy and I’m sure he could feel how worked up I was getting. After a few moments he paused. My bottom was already smarting but I wanted more.

‘Go through into the bedroom and lie on your tummy.’ He told me.

He gave me a few moments to follow his instructions and then I heard him follow me through. I turned my head to look at him. He was now semi-naked, dressed just in his shirt, nothing else. His cock was erect. He knelt on the bed behind me and his hands were on my legs. I let him manouvre me as he wanted; I was totally under his will. He parted my legs and made me lift my bottom.

I waited for the next smack to land, but it never came. Instead, suddenly I felt his warm breath on my pussy and then the most incredible sensation as he used his lips and tongue on the place where his fingers had been playing before. This was a totally new experience that had me moaning and writhing within a few seconds; it was the most incredible sensation.

He kissed me like that for what seemed like hours but was only a minute or two. He spoke again.

‘Turn around Pippa, on your Tummy.’

I turned around on the bed, still face down. He was kneeling and his cock was almost in my face. I knew what he wanted me to do. I ran my fingers around the head of his cock then opened my lips and took him into my mouth, now it was his turn to groan with pleasure.

He managed to speak through what seemed like gritted teeth. I suppressed an urge to giggle.

‘I’m going to give you twenty hard smacks on your bottom.’ He told me. ‘If you haven’t made me come by the time you’ve had them then I will give you kisses again while you count to twenty.’ It was a wonderful idea. His hand was on my bottom again and a moment later it smacked down hard, very hard. I had noticed this before … the more excited Tom grew, the harder he spanked me!

Twenty times his hand came smacking down on my naked cheeks. All the time I played with him in my mouth, running the tip of my tongue around the head of his cock, feeling his response with every smack he gave me. He must have been trying very hard for despite my efforts he didn’t come.

He was true to his word. He turned me over onto my back and kissed the inside of my thighs. Then with his head nestling between my legs he went to work on me again. I counted to twenty…. Very slowly if I am honest… I was enjoying this very much indeed.

Twice more we changed places that afternoon. Finally he came, his cock spurting in my mouth as his hand smacked my bottom very hard. I came almost at the same moment… the effect of my hot bum, combined with a well kissed pussy producing an orgasm of rippling intensity.

He held me in his arms and kissed me tenderly.

‘I think you promised me tea as well.’ He said with a broad grin.
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It was the first time I had ever done that - kissed her in that intimate way. I had thought about it before, especially after Pippa had taken me in her mouth. I wasn’t sure how she would react to it - whether she would like it or not. I needn’t have worried. She was already highly aroused, and I could tell that I was doing the right thing almost from the moment my lips touched her pussy. She was lovely to kiss down there, soft and wet and I just loved the way she squirmed and wriggled and moaned as I went to work with my tongue and mouth.

It was lovely too to redden her bottom again. It had been a long time since I had had that particular pleasure. She reddened very quickly, probably because her bottom was so sensitive after so many months away from being regularly spanked. The best bit though was that it was every bit as exciting as it had been before. I had been slightly anxious that it wouldn’t be the same, and that is why I had used only my open hand and not any other implement.

As we sat in bed, drinking our tea I thought of all the fun we would have over the coming term. Oxford would be even more perfect than it had proved to be already.
_________________

Not long after Tom had gone, that very same afternoon there was a knock on the door. Charlotte and Lucy were there and I invited them in.

I made some more tea and cut them both a slice of cake and we sat around my little table. I could tell that they were bursting with curiosity but didn’t quite know how to raise the subject. We talked about everything - the weather, the university, parents, home until at last Lucy was able to contain herself no longer.

'How was it with Tom?’ she asked and then blushed red in embarrassment at the way her question had rushed out. I couldn’t help but giggle.

‘It was lovely thank-you Lucy.’ I replied.
‘Did you… you know…?’ she said
‘Oh Lucy, there’s no need to be so coy about it, we all know what was going on. Yes Tom, gave me a jolly good spanking, which I badly needed. It was very exciting and afterwards we made love. Is that what you wanted to know?’

Lucy blushed again. ‘Yes .. thanks Pippa.’

I suddenly felt ashamed at my rudeness. ‘Oh Lucy, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to sound curt.’ I said ‘Yes it was very very special and really I’ve got you two to thank for making it possible. I think we would have spent the whole term getting very frustrated if you and Charlotte hadn’t been in on our secret.’

Lucy smiled. ‘It’s alright, I shouldn’t have been so nosy, it’s just that from our room it did sound very exciting. Does Tom spank you hard?’

‘Yes, I suppose he does.’ I admitted.

I saw Charlotte shift in her chair. I recognized that movement and the way a little colour was coming to her cheeks. It was exactly how I got when I was getting excited.

Now Charlotte spoke. ‘Pippa, Lucy and I have been talking things over. We couldn’t help but hear what you and Tom were up to. We know it’s rather cheeky, and you can say no if you want to.. and we shan’t be upset…. but…’

I knew what was coming.

‘But… we both wondered… if you might let Tom spank us as well.’

Lucy cut in hurriedly ‘We’re not trying to take him away from you, he’s your boyfriend we know that, but you see neither of us have ever been spanked by a man… it’s something we’ve talked about a bit.’

'Be honest Lucy… we’ve talked about it incessantly.’ Charlotte interrupted.

‘And we just wanted to experience it… even if its just once. It must be very different to being spanked by your own sister.’

I sat back and thought for a moment. I didn’t quite know how to react. I remembered how I had felt when Tom had caned Claire, the mixed feelings of satisfaction and envy. But of course, back then, Tom and I were at the very start of our relationship, we had made love for the very first time only the day before. Now eighteen months on we were far more established and secure. Perhaps it would be fun to involve Lucy and Charlotte - perhaps it would be worth trying just once.

‘I think before I give you an answer I would need to speak to Tom.’ I said. ‘I’m not saying no, but neither am I saying yes… not quite yet.’

‘That’s OK.’ said Charlotte ‘I don’t think we were expecting an immediate answer.’ She looked a little uncomfortable.

‘Would you like another cup of tea.’ I said trying to reduce the tense feeling that was now in the air.

Lucy giggled at the sudden change of subject and a moment later we were all giggling. I gave them both a quick hug.

‘I’m glad we discovered each others little kink.’ I said ‘I think we’re going to be great friends.’

_______________

Pippa broached the subject with me almost as soon as we met. We had gone for a stroll along the banks of the river, enjoying the last of the Autumn sunshine.

‘Tom, can I ask you something?’ she said

‘Of course you can. What is it?’

‘Well the twins have asked me whether you would agree to spank them as well as me.’

I was a little taken aback for when the same subject had come up only a couple of days before Pippa had seemed to reject it out of hand - now it was her who was broaching it.

‘What do you think?’ I asked, playing for time.

‘I think… I think I wouldn’t mind.’ She said slowly.

I could hear the hesitancy in her voice. I took both her hands and turned her to face me.

‘I know what’s worrying you Pippa.’ I said ‘You’re afraid that I might fall for one of them instead of you. Well there’s no need to be concerned about that at all… I love you… no-one else… its quite simple.’

She gave me a grateful hug and a kiss on the end of my nose. ‘I love you too Tom Elliot. But its not just that… it’s … well do you remember caning Claire… and how that made you feel?’

How could I forget caning the pretty Claire Deschamps - the only other girl I had ever punished besides Pippa?

‘You mean… the way it got me excited?’ I asked

She nodded.

‘Let me be honest with you Pippa. If I were to spank Lucy or Charlotte that would probably get me aroused too. But that’s where it would end. I wouldn’t want to touch them or kiss then or do any of the things I do with you. Those things are just for us…and if you want to keep spanking in that category as well.. that’s ok by me.’

She slowly shook her head. ‘No I think we could have some fun with Lucy and Charlotte… and I know you well enough to trust you. I think if we make it more formal than erotic then it will be fine. They were great with us the other day… in a sense we are in their debt.’

‘Not quite to the tune of five pounds.’ I smiled giving her bottom a little pat.

Pippa giggled ‘No not quite that special sum.’

Pippa Part 6

2010-01-31T12:40:00.000-08:00

I went up to Summerville College, Oxford, in the Autumn of 1963 to read History. Summerville was, of course, a women’s college, none of the colleges at that stage had gone co-educational and would not do so for at least another decade. Oxford in the early 1960s was still a very traditional place. The college gate was locked at 11pm and woe betide any girl who was caught with a young man in her rooms after that time.

Nevertheless, I was wildly happy. At last I could be together with Tom, who was now entering his second year at St. John’s. I had also been lucky in the draw for rooms. I had been given a very nice set comprising of a lounge cum study and a large bedroom with a view out onto the first courtyard. It was a staircase shared with just one other room, the room in question being the property of a pair of twins Lucy and Charlotte Greenwood. I had better describe Lucy and Charlotte for they feature heavily in this part of the story as well. As I have said, the Greenwood sisters were twins; twins but not identical. Lucy was the smaller of the two standing just over five foot three, Charlotte was an inch or so taller. Lucy was dark haired, her hair straight and cut shoulder length. Charlotte had fair hair, not as blonde as mine and with a slight wave at the ends. As a result of their different colouring the twins didn’t look at all alike and most people who knew one of them didn’t realise that the other was a sister, let alone a twin. But that difference in looks didn’t mask the fact that each in her own way was very pretty. Not only that, but they were also lovely people and we very soon became chums. I quickly discovered that both had been at Cheltenham and had known Tom’s sister Jenny, despite her being a good few years older than them.

It was great to be back with Tom. The very first day, after Mummy and Daddy had left, he insisted on taking me all around Oxford, showing me the sights, and helping me to get my bearings. We went back to his room at St. John’s for a coffee… for a coffee and a first proper kiss! It had been a long time but the fire was still very much there. Suffice it to say that one thing led to another and we made very good use of his narrow college bed, albeit very quietly, since the sound of lovemaking would very quickly be heard and recognized by his neighbours.

Afterwards as we lay in bed he ran his hands over my bottom.

‘You have got the most magnificent bum Pippa.’ He told me.

‘Compliments will get you everywhere.’ I giggled ‘I bet I know what you’d like to do to it!’

‘Sadly not here though.’ He said ‘Far too noisy.’
‘We’ll have to find a way.’ I said ‘I’ve been longing for a good spanking all year!’

I felt his cock stiffen at those words.

‘Pippa you are incorrigible.’ He said smiling broadly.

‘And that’s why you love me so much.’ I replied with a giggle. I stroked his cock into hardness again. ‘For now, you’ll just have to imagine you’ve already had me at the mercy of your stingy cane and that I’ve got a nice red bottom. Let’s make love again!’
___________________

It had been a frustrating year with Pippa still at school and me at Oxford. But we had made the best of it, seeing each other whenever we could. The vivid memories of that previous summer had sustained me through much of it but now at last I had Pippa again, Pippa in the flesh rather than in the imagination… a thing much to be preferred.

I met up with her the afternoon she arrived at Summerville. After her parents had gone I showed her around the town. I could hardly believe we were together at last. Simply holding her hand as we walked through the streets made my heart beat faster. She was as beautiful as ever. Her arms still brown from the summer, her long blonde hair bleached blonder still by the sun. I felt myself to be the luckiest man alive.

We ended up back at my college for coffee. I’m not sure we drank much coffee in the end. One kiss led to another and one blouse button undone was soon me undressing her completely. We lay naked in bed and made love gently and tenderly. We had to be quiet to avoid coming to the attention of others, but actually it was a rather special way to renew our relationship which had been on hold all year.
__________________

The chance to do the things we enjoyed - the things that the need to be quiet prevented us from doing came a few weeks later.

That chance arose from a totally unexpected quarter. I was sitting in my room, drinking a cup of coffee and reading up for my next tutorial. It was around ten o’clock on a Tuesday morning, a time when normally I would be attending a lecture. But today the lecture had been cancelled because Dr Hanson was unwell, so I had time to myself.

I’m sure I would never have found out about them had it not been for that fortunate cancelled lecture. I suspect that Lucy and Charlotte thought that they had the staircase to themselves and that there was no danger of being overheard. Whatever the circumstance, my reading was interrupted by an unmistakable sound - the sound of someone having their bottom soundly spanked.

I got up and went to the door. The sound was louder out there and was definitely coming from the direction of Charlotte and Lucy’s room. I crept across the landing. They had left the door ever so slightly ajar, and I couldn’t resist peeping.

The sight that met my eyes had my heart in my mouth in an instant. Lucy was stretched face down over her sister’s knee and Charlotte hand was coming down hard and repeatedly on Lucy’s bottom. Lucy’s skirt was bunched up around her waist, her knickers around her knees and already her bare cheeks were taking on that rosy hue that I had come to enjoy so much myself. Lucy’s eyes were closed and her mouth a little open, there was an expression of tender pleasure on her face.

I knew what I must do. If I tried to talk to them later then they would deny everything. There was only one possible course of action. I pushed open the door.

‘Hi there!’ I said brightly.

Charlotte and Lucy froze into a stunned tableau. The shocked expressions on their faces were so funny that I just had to giggle. Lucy was the first to recover. She got up quickly from Charlotte’s knees, hastily pulling up her knickers and smoothing her skirt into place.

Charlotte looked up at me with anxious eyes.

‘That’s torn it.’ She said ruefully ‘You won’t tell will you Pippa?’ she said, the worry clear in her voice.

I entered the room and closed the door behind me.

I smiled at them both encouragingly. ‘I’m not going to tell on you, you silly pair. We’re friends aren’t we? And friends don’t tell tales on each other. However, if you make me a coffee I’ll tell you a story about myself that you might be rather interested to hear.’

Charlotte made me a fresh mug of coffee and when I had taken a sip of it I began to tell them. I told them about Westland Hall, I told them about the saga of the five pound note. I told them about the two times that Tom had applied the slipper to my bottom. I didn’t reveal the fact that Tom had caned me nor the other things that had gone on the summer after Tom had left Westland Hall. But what I did do was to describe just what the effect of being punished was for me, how excited and aroused having my bottom spanked always made me feel.

‘And it’s the same for you isn’t Lucy… ‘ I said softly ‘I could tell by the look on your face.’ I gave her an encouraging smile

Lucy smiled back at me. As I had recounted my story the expressions on both girls’ faces had turned from apprehension to relief. Now Lucy smiled with the smile of someone who has just had a great weight lifted from her shoulders.

‘Oh Pippa, yes!’ she said gladly ‘Yes, that’s exactly the effect it has on me too. And Charlotte too.’

Charlotte grinned rather guiltily but nodded her head in agreement.

‘We thought we were the only ones.’ said Lucy. ‘We thought we must be weird or something.’

‘We’ve always kept it a secret up ‘til now - we never thought anyone else would understand.’ Charlotte spoke for the first time.

‘Well I understand.’ I said. ‘I understand perfectly.’

‘It must be lovely having a boy spank you.’ Charlotte said wistfully.

I nodded my head. ‘It is, especially when it’s a boy like Tom that you care about very deeply.’

‘I’m very envious.’ Charlotte said.
‘Tell me how it all started for you.’

Charlotte looked across at her twin. ‘Do you want to or shall I?’

‘No Charley, you tell the story.’

‘Ok. Well it was when we were both in the lower sixth at Cheltenham. You know what it’s like at school, even when the food is half decent you’re always hungry. Probably because of the amount of phys ed they have you doing all the time.

Well it was after a netball match. Lucy and I were trailing along behind as the rest of the team were heading back to the changing rooms. It was the last lesson of the day so there was no hurry. We had noticed it every time we passed it, a wonderful cherry tree growing just the other side of the school wall. The cherries were perfectly ripe, just asking to be picked. Well, we were hungry and supper seemed like hours away. It didn’t take a moment to climb up onto the wall and sitting there, to pick a handful of cherries each. We had both just put the first cherries into our mouths when we were startled by a voice below.’

‘It was an older lady. Not elderly… in her fifties I guess.’ Lucy picked up the story now. ‘She was really cross. She ordered us down from the wall at once. We didn’t have much choice. We were in our school netball kit and it was obvious where we were from. If we had run she would have telephoned the school and we would have been in serious trouble. We both dropped to the ground and stood there rather shame faced. She told us that her name was Miss Hart and that we were to follow her up to the house. Once inside her drawing room she gave us a very stern lecture, telling us how very naughty we were and that we were wicked little thieves. Then she asked us what would happen if she reported us to the school.’

‘I answered that.’ Charlotte broke in. ‘I told her that we would certainly be in trouble and would probably be sent before the headmistress. I remember the Miss Hart’s next words very clearly indeed; she said “And then you shall be beaten I expect.” She said it with a rather gloating air as though she was very pleased that that would be our fate. She was disappointed when I assured her that, to the contrary, we didn’t have corporal punishment at Cheltenham Ladies College and that we would probably be put in detention. “That won’t do at all’ she said “I shall have to deal with you myself”’
‘You can imagine how we were feeling by then can’t you Pippa?’ Lucy said.

‘Yes, I remember it very clearly with Tom.’ I replied, calling to mind exactly the state of nervous apprehension I was in when Tom announced that I was to receive the slipper.

Lucy took up the story again. ‘I was first. She put an upright chair in the middle of the room and sat down. Then she called me over. “I am going to give you the spanking you deserve young lady, get over my knee.” Well, I was shaking like a leaf but I knew I had to do what she said, so awkwardly I bent over her lap. I’m sure Miss Hart had spanked someone before, for in a trice she had me properly positioned over her lap. She lifted my skirt but thankfully didn’t try to pull my knickers down; I was very grateful for that small mercy. She didn’t give me much time to think about it but started smacking my bum really hard. It was quite a shock I can tell you. I had never been spanked before. Had you Pippa, before Tom?’

‘No’ I answered ‘I don’t think many nice girls like us do get spanked these days.’

‘In some ways it was worse for me.’ Charlotte said ‘I had to watch Lu being punished, knowing that it was my turn next. Lucy was being very brave, she didn’t cry, which made me determined not to cry as well. That resolve was pretty soon put to the test, for a few minutes later it was me over Miss Hart’s knee. I couldn’t believe how much it hurt. Within moments my poor bottom was smarting like mad. I don’t know how many she gave me - it felt like hundreds!’

Lucy giggled ‘You always exaggerate it was more like twenty - thirty at the most.’

‘Well, however many it was I was pretty sore by the time she stopped. She gave us another lecture and then at last let us go. On the way back to school Lucy was pretty quiet. I could tell she wanted to tell me something but didn’t quite know how.’

‘You see, Pippa, we’re very close really, we usually tell each other everything so Charley could sense when I was holding back at her. The thing was that the spanking had produced rather unexpected feelings in me and I didn’t quite know how to ask Charley if she felt the same.’

‘Which was funny because exactly the same thoughts were going through my head too. How was I going to admit to Lucy that although my poor botty was stinging like crazy I was also all worked up.’

‘Well eventually when we got back to our room we both admitted the truth. It made us giggle at first, but a week later we were both dying to get spanked again. Of course we could have gone stealing cherries again, but that might well have got us in trouble at school. In the end we decided to do the obvious thing… I would spank Charley and she would spank me.’
‘Weren’t you afraid of someone hearing you?’ I asked.

‘Not really… when you’ve been at a school a long time you know the places to go to get a bit of privacy.’ Lucy said. Charley giggled.

‘Do you remember spanking me in the school chapel after evensong?’ she said grinning. ‘The poor old chaplain would have had a heart attack if he had come back and found us!’

‘Wish it was as easy here.’ Lucy sighed.

I smiled ‘Well, it is now. We have the staircase to ourselves, with the door locked at the bottom, no-one will be able to hear a thing. Just let me know when you want to and I’ll make sure the door is closed and the coast is clear, if you two could do the same for me and Tom?’

Both twins grinned ‘It’s a deal.’ They said in unison.

Train to St Petersburg

2010-01-26T09:59:00.000-08:00

Imagine a train crossing a snowy Russian landscape. Imagine a man on that train; a middle-aged man, with hair starting to turn grey at the temples, an intelligent looking man with shrewd blue eyes. Now imagine a girl; a Russian girl with raven-black hair, eighteen years old, a beautiful girl sharing a compartment with that man. Not an everyday occurrence maybe but not too an usual a thing.

But there is something strange about the scene for the two of them are not sitting talking, neither are they ignoring eachother, each lost in their own private thoughts. No, the girl is face down over the lap of the man, her skirt is bunched up around her waist, her knickers down around her knees. In her small, soft hand she holds a pocket watch and as the hand second hand ticks round to mark off another minute she murmurs some words in Russian. As soon as he hears the words the man brings his open palm down hard on the girl’s bare bottom, reddening the area he spanks, an area that is already red. Six times the man’s hand comes down and the girl moans softly and writhes across his lap.
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Lara knew there was a mistake the moment she boarded the train in Moscow. It was a journey she had made many times before, the overnight sleeper to St. Petersburg. She had flown into Moscow three days before to spend some time with her brother before making the train journey north to her mother’s house in St. Petersburg. She always liked to travel on the famous Red Arrow train, the Krasnaya Strela. It was her brother who had booked the ticket for the train and therefore he who had made the mistake. Lara always travelled first class in the Spalny Vagon and invariably when the ticket was purchased it was for both berths in the compartment giving her the luxury, and security of travelling alone. This time, that had not happened and Lara, checking her ticket found that only one berth had been reserved. Her brother had compounded the error by booking the ticket in his own name, which was why it was that when Lara entered the compartment she found that, not only did she not have it to herself, but also that she would be sharing with a man. Of course, she could have made a fuss, but she was experienced enough to know that complaining would have got her nowhere, indeed it might end up making things worse and she would have to endure the journey in the crowded, communal atmosphere of ‘Platskartny’, third class. So she said nothing, merely smiled a brief greeting to the businessman who was sitting on the edge of his bunk reading a newspaper. He acknowledged her greeting with a nod of his head.

Lara stowed her things in the under-bunk locker already having made her mind up that she would stay fully dressed and sleep on top of the bunk; she had no intention of getting changed for bed in front of this stranger. So she kicked off her shoes, lay on the bed and got out the book she had brought for the journey; it was a Thomas Hardy novel that she had first read at school. She lay back to read as the train pulled out of the station and began its journey through the night.

For the first hour there was silence between them. Lara read her book, occasionally glancing up to sneak a sly look at the man who still seemed absorbed in his newspaper. Eventually, it was he who spoke first, breaking the tension and when he spoke he did so not in Russian but English.

“Are you English?” he asked.

Lara shook her head and replied in Russian “No I’m Russian.”

‘That’s a difficult book for a Russian girl,’ he commented.

Lara smiled “I’ve spent the last seven years in England, at boarding school there. My English is as good as my Russian.”

“An English boarding school? An interesting choice for a Russian girl. I take it that our own schools aren’t good enough for you?”
Lara flushed slightly, sensing the hostility in the question. “No, it’s not like that. I didn’t have any choice in the matter. My father died when I was very young. He left a lot of money in trust for my education and stipulated that he wanted me to go to school in England. I come back every holiday but now school has finished and I’m back home for good. This is home, Russia is my motherland.”

“What is your name?” the man asked, regarding her with his cold blue eyes.
“Larissa Talenski,” Lara replied. “But everybody calls me Lara.”

“So Lara Talenski… did you enjoy your English education?”

“Yes,” Lara replied, with a smile, hoping that he might smile too. “I made a lot of good friends and learned a lot too.”

The man maintained his emotionless expression. “It is good to learn,” he commented, “Good to learn those things that make for character and self-discipline. Did you learn those things Lara Talenski?”

Lara was starting to feel very self-conscious under the intensity of his questions. “I guess so…” she replied, feeling herself blush a little under his unremitting gaze.

“They treated you strictly?” the man asked, “Do they still use the cane in English schools?”

Lara felt herself blush even more. “It was strict, yes. But corporal punishment was abolished years ago. And I’m very glad about that!” she tried to lighten the tone but he was having none of it.
“A pity. Girls like you need strong discipline.”

Lara felt a flash of anger run through her. “What do you mean? Girls like me? You don’t know me. You have no idea who I am or what I am like.”

The man smiled for the first time, but the smile held no warmth. “That is where you are wrong Lara Talenski. I know you very well. You are rich and spoiled and arrogant. As was your father before you.”

“My father?” Lara gasped “But…”
“Vladamir Talenski. I knew him well. Rich, spoiled, arrogant. He deserved to die young.”

The anger that had flashed up inside Lara now burned fierce and clear. How dare he insult the memory of her father… her ‘Daddy’… the man she had never known but had idolized all her life. Before she knew what she was doing she was on her feet. She drew her hand back and slapped the man full across his face, catching him again with the back of her hand as she brought it back for a second blow. She never got to slap him a third time for his reactions were lightning fast and suddenly he had her wrists in his hands, his grip like steel.

“That was a very foolish thing to do Lara Talenski,” he said softly “Very foolish indeed.”

Lara tried to pull her wrists away but he was far stronger than she.

“You have no idea who I am, who you have just assaulted do you?”

Lara felt the hot anger drain away to be replaced by a cold fear. She shook her head.

“Does the name Mikael Dmitriov mean anything to you?” he asked. Lara’s soft gasp told him that she recognized the name only too well. This man was the businessman her mother worked for. The man on whom her mother depended for her livelihood. It was a good job, a highly paid job and it was a job that her mother needed.

“Please, I’m sorry… I just lost my temper…. please... for my Mother’s sake,” Lara begged.

“Your mother is a good woman. And it would be wrong for her to suffer on behalf of her daughter. It is not her fault that an expensive English education has failed to teach you self-restraint and self-discipline. It is you, not her, who must be disciplined.”
Dmitriov released Lara’s wrists. “Stay there and don’t try to run away.” He ordered. He got up from his bunk and opened the door of the compartment. He was gone only a matter of moments, gone to have a quiet word with the carriage attendant, the provodnitsa.

He closed the door as he re-entered the compartment. “Now we won’t be disturbed,” he said.

Lara, stood there, shocked, frightened, feeling incredibly vulnerable. “What are you going to do?” she asked him in a trembling voice.

“I am going to treat you as your Father should have done.” He sat on the edge of the bunk, his feet on the floor. “Come here Lara… over my lap.”

Lara looked at him incredulously. Surely not….? Surely he wasn’t suggesting….? But she was eighteen… not a child. “I… I don’t understand,” she stammered.
“I am going to spank you Lara. Spank you like a little girl.”

“No please…” Lara begged, horrified at the thought. “Please… I’m sorry… you don’t have to punish me.”

“Oh but I do Lara. And I think you know that I do.”

His voice was soft but there was menace in the tone. Suddenly Lara knew that there was no way out, that she would have to submit, to let him do what he wanted to her. She felt tears come to her eyes, and brushed them away with the back of her hand. She stepped to his side and awkwardly bent forward. He guided her across his lap so that she was lying across him her face in the pillow at the end, her legs up on the bunk. She didn’t resist as she felt his hands go to the hem of her long skirt. He lifted her skirt all the way up, bunching it around her waist. The air was suddenly cool on her bare legs at the tops of her stockings. He let her lie there for a moment, but Lara knew he would not leave her like that. Sure enough she felt his fingers go to the waistband of her knickers. She wanted to scream, but knew it would do her no good. The only person who could help her was the provodnitsa and she had, no doubt, been richly rewarded for turning a deaf ear.

Lara felt her knickers come down. He slid them down to her knees then ran his flat hand over the curves of her bare bottom. Lara recoiled from his touch, but there was nowhere to go.

He began to spank her; quite gently at first. The smacks landing rhythmically, building up a beat. Gradually they got harder, more uncomfortable. And then, all of a sudden, very hard indeed. Stinging slaps that made Lara gasp with pain and writhe her hips. Stinging slaps that warmed her bottom and left it smarting and sore. Ten, twenty, thirty times he brought his hand down hard on Lara’s bottom turning it from white, to pink, to a rosy hue of red.

Then he stopped. And where he had just been hurting her now he rubbed.
Lara turned her head to look at him, relieved that it was over. It had been painful and humiliating, but bearable nonetheless. He saw her look and gave her that mirthless smile again.

“Don’t imagine that we have finished Lara, that was merely the appetizer for the main course.”

Lara felt her stomach turn over. She looked on as he reached into his jacket and took out an old-fashioned pocket watch. He passed it to her.

“You are going to keep the time Lara Talenski. Each time a minute is reached you are going to say “Please spank me” and I will then give you six hard smacks.”

“And what if I don’t?” Lara said petulantly.

“I don’t think you really want to be responsible for placing your mother in such jeopardy all for the sake of a little defiance do you?”

Lara quickly shook her head.

“Do as you are told then.”

Lara focussed her eyes on the watch face. She looked as the hand ticked slowly round, marking off the seconds. As it reached the twelve she said the required words.

“Please spank me”

She gasped as his hand came down hard on her bare bottom, igniting the pain again. She counted the smacks in her head…one…two…three…four…five…six! Oh it hurt so much! Then his hand was on her bottom again, caressing and rubbing the area he had just chastised. That was a much more pleasant feeling and Lara moaned a little as the soft stroking started to arouse her.

She remembered to look at the watch just in time to see the minute was up. She drew in her breath.
“Please spank me,” she said softly
He smacked her again. Six more hard slaps, reddening her pretty white cheeks. And then the stroking and the caressing. Lara felt feelings she had never experienced before. Sore and humiliated and yet strangely safe. Her poor bottom on fire, but a deep-seated pleasure starting to burn inside. The hand ticked round to the twelve again.

“Please…. spank me,” she murmured
The response was another six hard smacks. Lara writhed and kicked up her heels, then subsided as the hand caressed and soothed again. She was so sore and yet now, in a moment of pure self-knowledge Lara recognised that not only did she deserve this punishment, she needed and welcomed it. She knew too what her words must be as the hand marked off another minute.

‘Please…spank me… Daddy,’ she said softly.
___________

Imagine a train crossing a snowy Russian landscape. Imagine a girl, her skirt around her waist, her knickers around her knees. Her bottom, very, very red. And still three hours to St. Petersburg.

Pippa Chapter 5

2010-01-26T02:50:00.000-08:00

It was amusing watching Pippa at dinner, she found it a real struggle to sit still, I guess her poor bottom must still have been smarting badly the way she wriggled on her seat. Thankfully I was the only one who noticed it.

The next few days were spent in Mother’s company. We drove into Norwich and Pippa bought herself a pretty new dress. I was glad to see that with her father restored to his former position money was no longer such a problem for her.

Our next chance to be alone came on the Friday and again it was Father’s suggestion.

‘Why don’t you take Pippa and Mother out on the river, it’s time that boat had an outing.’

‘Oh no thank you.’ Mother demurred. ‘I’ve got far too much to do today than to spend time gadding around on the river.’

‘I’m sure Pippa would like to go boating wouldn’t you?’ Father asked.

She gave him one of her radiant smiles. ‘I’d love to if Tom doesn’t mind rowing.’

‘Of course I don’t mind.’ I said ‘Do you think cook would pack us up a picnic and then we could make a day of it?’

‘I can’t see her objecting, she always had a soft spot for you Tom.’ my father grinned. ‘Go on the two of you and see if she’ll oblige.’

Cook was of course agreeable and so it wasn’t long before Pippa and I were making our way down to the boathouse carrying the picnic basket between us. She had changed into the dress that she had bought herself earlier in the week and looked good enough to eat.

We loaded the picnic into the little skiff and then I clambered in and held out my hand to support Pippa. She giggled girlishly as the boat wobbled under her, but she managed to gain her seat in the stern of the boat. A moment later I had pushed off from the bank, had taken the oars and started rowing upstream, figuring that downstream would be preferable on our return journey when I would be more tired.

Pippa lent back and let her fingers dabble in the water. She closed her eyes and a dreamy look settled on her face. I was content to row us steadily up the river, enjoying the glorious morning, the beauty of nature all around us, and the contentment of being with the one person who set my pulse racing.
Pippa opened her eyes and looked around her.

‘Oh Tom, this is just so lovely. It’s real Wind in the Willows stuff, I almost expect to see Mr Toad or Ratty or Mole.’

‘It is rather splendid isn’t it, and I think I know just the perfect place for our picnic.’

It took another forty-five minutes of rowing to get to the place I had in mind. It wouldn’t look much to anyone who didn’t know it, just a small wooded island set midstream. But I knew that hidden by the trees was an open grassy area that offered total seclusion and privacy. I tied up the boat, helped Pippa ashore and then led her through the trees and out into my sun-dappled clearing.
________________

Tom was clever. He must have discovered this place ages ago and had thought of it immediately when the river outing was suggested. It was perfect, a lovely soft grassy island, screened by the trees at the waters edge.

I helped Tom spread the picnic rug on the grass, then pulled him down onto it beside me. I ran my fingers through his hair and kissed him deeply, revelling in having him to myself again. We lay there entwined, just kissing and caressing, no more than that; I think we both wanted to wait until later to take things further.

Lunch was delicious. Cook had done us proud and there were all sorts of savoury delights to be enjoyed, with fresh fruit for dessert. We both lay back after the meal and enjoyed the feel of the sun on our faces and that wonderful sensation of being nicely full but not totally stuffed. It was probably the exertions of rowing followed by the good food but within five minutes Tom was fast asleep. I let him sleep for a little while, whilst I just sat and looked at his handsome face, thinking back to the moment when I had seen him for the first time on the steps of Dalton’s House and had mistaken him for a teacher. I blushed again at the thought of my silly mistake.

But then my thoughts turned to all the other things that had passed between us and the mischievous streak in me that usually lay buried well beneath the surface came to the fore. I quietly stood up and picked up one of the cups we had used earlier. I stole down to the river bank where the boat was tethered and filled the cup with cold river water. Desperately trying to suppress my giggles I crept back to where Tom was sleeping. Very gently I started to drip water from the cup onto his face. It took just a few drops for him to stir into life. As soon as I saw his eyes starting to open I gave him the rest of the cup… full in the face! He shot up into the upright coughing and spluttering. I was convulsed with laughter and threw myself down onto the rug beside him.

‘You looked so funny!’ I giggled.

‘Did I indeed…. You’ll look even funnier over my knee Pippa Hamilton!’

I felt my heart pound . ‘Go on then… dare you.’ I challenged him.

It was an unnecessary dare, he would have done it anyway. He grabbed me around the waist and although I kicked and struggled it wasn’t long before he had me face down over one leg, pinioned there with his other.

His hand was on my bottom, stroking and caressing before he started to spank me.

‘Say you’re sorry.’ He said

‘Shan’t’ I replied defiantly.

His hand cracked down on my bottom. Four sharp smacks on the seat of my skirt.

‘That doesn’t hurt.’ I taunted him.

‘Doesn’t it indeed!’

He reached back and went to lift my skirt but I whipped my hands back and tried to stop him. He caught both my wrists in his large hand and trapped them in the small of my back. Now with my hands safely out of the way and his leg holding me down he could disrobe me at his leisure. He took great delight in slowly lifting my skirt and then running his hand over my white knickers.

‘You beast!’ I said.

He laughed and began spanking me again. A little harder this time and ten smacks instead of just four. He paused.

‘Ready to apologise Pippa?’ he asked.

‘Never!’ I said vehemently.

‘Then I’m going to have to pull your knickers down aren’t I?’

‘Oh no not bare!’ I cried ‘Please not my bare bottom… anything but that’

I felt him suppress a laugh at this preposterous pleading, then his fingers were at the waistband of my knickers and there was nothing I could do to prevent them being pulled all the way down to my knees (not that I wanted to prevent him of course, but it was fun to pretend.) I gave a gasp of mock horror.

Now his hand was on my bare bottom. He teased me a little, running his finger down the cleft between my cheeks. It made me shiver when his fingertip skirted my little bum hole and then continued its journey southward. I was already very wet.

He lifted his hand and after a teasing moment of hesitation brought it down on my bare bum. I wriggled against him as I felt the sting. He concentrated on my left cheek to begin with….a dozen hard smacks that left it hot and smarting, then repeated the process on the other side.

‘Well Pippa, let’s hear the apology then.’ He said.

I shook my head ‘Won’t.’ I said petulantly like a spoiled child.

‘You are a naughty unrepentant little minx’ he said severely. ‘And you leave me no choice.’

I wondered what he was going to do. From my prone position I watched him pull the picnic basket towards him. He reached into the bottom, a grin on his face. A moment later I saw the reason for the grin. Hidden in the bottom of the picnic basket was the old slipper from Westland Hall. That slipper had very strong memories. It was the implement he had first used to punish me when I had admitted to stealing the five pound note. It was the slipper that he had used on my bare bottom when angrily he spanked me for failing to repay him the money he had leant me. It was a very special slipper. It made me go all gooey and wet just to see it again.

He rested it on my bottom, then lifted it high and brought it cracking down. It was just as I remembered it, a real burning sting. A few smacks with that left me hot and excited. It only took eight smacks to bring me to a state where I longed for him to fuck me, but Tom was determined to turn my bottom bright scarlet. A dozen more times he brought the slipper cracking down on my bouncing red cheeks. By the time he paused I was desperate for it.

‘Apologise.’ He said

‘Let me go and I’ll say sorry properly.’ I said.

He released my hands and I rolled over onto my back. I opened my legs in invitation. He didn’t need inviting twice….
________________

Our fortnight together was rapidly passing. The river and the picnic had been wonderful and all that had gone on afterwards had been as satisfying as anything that had passed between us before. The slipper had been an inspired idea. I had taken it from Westland Hall at the end of term in the hope that Pippa and I might get the chance to play with it again and that hope had been very much fulfilled. There was a second item I had brought with me and as the days went by without another opportunity to be alone with Pippa and to use it again I grew increasingly frustrated.

Finally on the day before Pippa was due to go home there came our opportunity. Father had gone up to London and Mother had a charity meeting to attend in Ipswich after lunch.

During the meal she asked if Pippa and I would do her a little job.

‘I was just wondering whether you two young things would be awfully sweet and clear out the two attic rooms for me?’ she asked. ‘There’s a lot of old things that need sorting through.’

‘Of course we will do it, won’t we Pippa?’ I said immediately

‘Yes of course.’ She agreed readily.

So after lunch when Mother had departed and the house was quiet we made our way up to the top story of the house. We always referred to it as the attic but it was in fact the old servants quarters. I had jumped at the chance at sorting through it for there were a few things that I remembered from my last visit up there. They were in the largest of the rooms if I recalled correctly.

I pushed open the door and smiled, yes this was what I remembered. There were a few cardboard boxes to move first and then all would be revealed.

‘Help me to shift these.’ I said to Pippa.

The boxes weren’t heavy and it was the work of just a few moments to move them out of the room. We had a quick look through them and confirmed that they contained mostly junk that could be discarded. That job done I led Pippa back into the room.

‘What are we doing back in here?’ she asked ‘The rest is just furniture isn’t it?’

‘Ah, but you wait and see what sort of furniture it is.’

I pulled the dust cover off the first to reveal a large desk. The second item was a pair of wooden chairs but it was only the third item that gave the game away. When the dustcover was taken off it was unmistakable - a classic school desk with a hinged top. Opening the lid revealed a couple of dusty but serviceable exercise books. Pippa looked at me with round eyes.

‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ she said softly.

‘Are you thinking that we might play at schools?’

She gave me her naughtiest smile and nodded her head.

‘Where on earth has all this come from?’ she asked.

‘Until the nineteen-thirties this house like most other country houses had a schoolroom where the children of the house were taught… this is the furniture from that old schoolroom.’

I went over and removed another dustcover revealing a blackboard, still with a stick of chalk and board rubber nestling on the shelf beneath it.

‘So would you like to play?’ I asked.

‘Oh yes.’ She said emphatically. ‘It’s just a pity my uniform is at home.’

‘That needn’t be a problem.’ I said ‘I think if you look in the room where you found the riding clothes there should be some old school things of Jenny’s.’

Pippa grinned again. ‘Ok…. Meet you here in ten minutes.’
______________________

I was in a state of nervous excitement as I ran down the stairs to the box room we had raided for the riding things. Jenny had been at Cheltenham Ladies’ College and so it was their bottle green uniform that I was looking for. It didn’t take me long to find the things that I was looking for - a white blouse, a pleated skirt, a blazer and a tie. From my own room I fetched my black stockings, my white suspender belt and a set of simple cotton knickers and bra. I was trembling as I put them on. There was a full length mirror in the room and I checked my appearance before heading off. There was just one detail to attend to. I found a green hair ribbon and tied back my long hair into a pony tail - then I was ready.

I took a few deep breaths as I went back up to the attic. The attic room door was closed now and I knew immediately what Tom intended for me to do. I lifted my hand and rapped on the door.

‘Enter.’ I heard him say.

He had gone and changed too. Instead of his casual country clothes he was wearing a dark suit and tie - it made him look older and sterner. He was seated behind the teacher’s desk

‘You sent for me sir?’ I asked in my best little girl voice.

‘Yes Miss Hamilton I did.’ He said coldly ‘What have you got to say for yourself.’

‘Sir?’

‘Don’t come the innocent with me young lady… you were seen… in town… out of bounds.’

‘Oh.’

‘Oh indeed Pippa. Do you have an explanation for your disregard of school rules?’

‘I … I… had to get something from the shops sir.’

‘That is no excuse girl. Neither you, nor any other girl has leave to be out of school and in town. Especially not for the purposes of shopping.’

‘I’m sorry sir.’

‘Oh you will be sorry Pippa, very sorry indeed.’

‘Sir?’ I tried my best to sound worried, but in truth was finding it hard to suppress a smile. Tom was playing this so well and I knew where it was heading… the slipper on my bare bottom again!

‘I warned the whole school what would happen to the next girl I caught out of bounds, it seems I must make good my promise. Do you recall what I said Miss Hamilton.’

I shook my head ‘No sir.’

‘I told everyone that the next time I caught a girl out of bounds she would be punished severely…. she would be caned.’

I was genuinely surprised, I never thought he would have a cane… he must have taken it from school when he left. My hand flew to my mouth.

‘Oh sir… no please… not the cane! Anything but that.’ I begged

‘Be quiet girl. I’m not debating the point with you. I don’t make threats that I don’t intend to carry out. You are lucky with your track record this term that you haven’t been caned before. You’ve had this punishment coming to you for a very long time indeed.’

Yes, I thought, three months since I had it last… and what an experience that had been!

Tom continued ‘Pippa Hamilton, I am going to cane you on your bare bottom, for the offence of being out of bounds.’

I gave a little gasp. ‘Does it have to be bare?’ I asked.

‘Are you arguing with me girl?’

‘No sir… I wouldn’t dare.’

‘Come over to the blackboard’ he ordered.

I stepped across and he handed me the chalk.

‘ I want you to write on the board that you are a very naughty girl who deserves to have her bare bottom thrashed.’
I gulped ‘Yes sir.’

With a very shaky hand I wrote I AM A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL AND I DESERVE TO HAVE MY BARE BOTTOM THRASHED.

‘Write it again.’ He said. ‘Keep on writing it till you’ve filled the board.’

It took my three minutes and ten repetitions to fill the blackboard with my wobbly script. He was busy behind me as I wrote.

‘Stand and look at it.’ He ordered ‘I want you to think about what you’ve got coming to you.’

I was already thinking about it and my knees felt weak at the thought. I was also very aware of just how wet the contemplation of my caning was making me.

I felt him lift the back of my skirt but this time made no effort to resist him. My skirt was lifted all the way, neatly tucked up, and then my knickers tugged down to just below the tops of my stockings.

‘Put your hands behind you.’ He commanded. I did so and immediately he placed the cane in my fingers.

‘Hold it across your bottom.’ He said

I held the cold rod across the centre of my cheeks. It was cold now but the effect it would be producing in a few moments time would be quite the reverse. I gave a little tremble of anticipation.

‘Read the words on the board.’ Tom said.

I cleared my throat and then in my best Roedean tones read aloud the dreadful words ‘I am a very naughty girl and deserve to have my bottom thrashed.’

'All the words.’ He ordered.
_______________

Pippa looked beautiful standing there. The school uniform gave the whole scene a delightful authenticity. Pippa’s blonde pony tail hung down her back, her skirt was bunched up around her waist and her knickers were a white band that had now slipped down to her knees. The effect of her stockings and suspenders was to frame her bare bottom and to focus attention on its perfect shape.

‘I am a naughty girl and deserve to have my bare bottom thrashed.’ She said in her clear voice. Her fingers tightened on the cane as she repeated the words over and over again, and I could see that she was trembling.

I took the cane from her hands and led her by the elbow over to the school desk.

‘Bend over.’ I said

She bent forward and over the desk. She kept her feet well in and together, dipping her back and lifting her bottom to present a wonderfully rounded target.

‘I want you to count the strokes and ask for the next.’ I told her.

‘Yes sir.’ She replied.

I flexed the cane in my hands, feeling its natural suppleness and flexibility. I placed it across the centre of Pippa’s bare cheeks. She stiffened in anticipation. I waited a moment… took a deep breath… drew back my arm…. then brought the cane swishing down. It left an instant red stripe. Pippa gave her distinctive double gasp and moan.

‘One sir… thank you… may I have another?’ she said softly.

I lifted the cane then brought it down for a second time. She wriggled slightly and gasped again.

‘Two sir… thank you ….may I have another?’

I gave her six strokes before I paused. They weren’t the hardest of strokes but they were enough to produce some nice red lines on Pippa’s peach of a bottom.

I stepped forward and pulled her knickers down to her ankles. She lifted one foot and then the other so that I could remove them completely.

‘Oh my bottom’s so sore sir.’ She said.

‘It’s going to be sorer still by the time I’ve finished with you girl.’ I told her.

I put down the cane for a moment and ran my flat hand over her punished bottom, gently caressing the area where the cane had kissed.
___________

I was aflame. The burning lines across my bottom were setting my whole body alight with desire and arousal. His cool hands on me only emphasised how hot I was. Between my legs I was shamefully wet.

He picked up the cane again.

‘Widen your stance’ he said

I moved my feet apart. He tapped the inside of my thigh with the tip of the cane and I opened my legs even further… totally exposing myself to his view. But I didn’t care, I wanted him to see the effect he was having on me.

_______________

I could see how excited she was. Her pussy was pink and wet and the inside of her thighs glistened too. I ran the tip of the cane up her leg again then let it play along the lips of her pussy. She moaned softly. I drew the cane down the inside of the other leg… right down to her pretty ankle and then lifted it to strike once more.

I caned her harder this time. Proper strokes that echoed around the half-empty attic. It took her longer to count each one as she fought to control herself. I had the satisfaction of seeing her have to draw up her leg to ride the pain, and twice she did that little stamping dance that always looked so pretty when performed by such an attractive girl.

I brought the cane down hard again.

‘Twenty-three.. thank you…’ she turned her head to look at me. ‘Harder please sir.’

_____________________

I don’t know what made me say that… but I was so delirious with pain and excitement that I hardly knew what I was saying. The cane was brought down so hard it took my breath away…. I writhed like mad and pressed myself against the hard surface of the desk.

I heard my voice speak again. ‘Twenty-four… thank you sir… another… harder.’

It was the twenty-fifth that did it. That brought me to an earth-shattering orgasm. It began across my smarting bottom, travelled up between my legs through the centre of my pussy and exploded inside my head. I gave a sharp, shrill cry of ecstasy and slumped forward over the school desk all my energy spent, my bottom smarting like mad, but a glow of satisfaction running through me.

_______________

I helped Pippa to stand and she turned to face me. She lifted her face and I kissed her full on the mouth. I held her close, her body pressed against mine. I stroked down her back and gently caressed her hot little bottom. She sighed and rubbed herself against me.

As our kiss ended she sunk down onto her knees. With eager fingers she released my cock from my trousers. She licked her lips and then took me into her mouth. It was just like the last time, an amazing exquisite sensation. I was already highly aroused. Caning Pippa, hearing her ask to be caned harder, seeing her reach her orgasm had almost brought me to mine. With Pippa’s tongue playing around the head of my cock I couldn’t last long. I rang my fingers through her fair hair as I jerked and spurted. She held me tight then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked up at me with wet lips.

‘I think that was almost as nice as last time.’ she grinned. ‘I’ve been thinking about it ever since. I’m jolly glad you brought that cane home with you.’

‘So am I!’ I said wholehearted

We spent the rest of the afternoon doing the job that Mother had asked us to do, having first, of course, changed back into our original clothes. I think Mother would have found it rather surprising to have returned home and discovered Pippa in Jenny’s old school uniform and me in my best Sunday suit!

And so we came to our very last evening together. It was a rather morose little dinner party, but Mother did her best to keep the conversation going. I couldn’t keep my eyes off Pippa. Dressed for dinner she looked as beautiful as ever. Somehow she contrived too look totally sweet and innocent as well. To see her sitting there making polite conversation it was hard to believe that this was the same girl who are few hours earlier had been bent over an old school desk, her bare bottom lewdly on display begging to be caned harder! The only indication one might have got that all was not as it seemed was the way she couldn’t quite sit still and the little winces she gave as her weight shifted onto a particularly sore spot.

We watched some television after dinner and then all retired early. I gave both Mother and Pippa a chaste good night kiss and then made my way up to my bedroom.

I didn’t need any rocking, almost as soon as I turned the light off I was fast asleep.

It must have been about midnight when I suddenly awoke with a start. A hand went over my mouth to stop me shouting in alarm. A small soft hand…

________________

I lay on my front in bed totally unable to get to sleep. My bottom was still sore, I’m sure I could feel each and every cane line. But the effect of that was to leave me in a state of barely controlled arousal. Somehow the smarting lines produced a response in me that meant that while the sensation lasted I was constantly moist between my legs. After an hour of lying there I succumbed to temptation and slipped a finger in to rub myself gently.

One finger wasn’t enough though. It brought a little release, but not the release that my body longed for. I wanted Tom, wanted to be in his bed, his cock inside me like it had been in the meadow and beside the river.

I got out of bed and made my way stealthily out onto the landing. I mustn’t be caught but felt fairly confident that I wouldn’t be; the house was quiet now and Tom’s bedroom was remote from his mother’s.

I crept along the corridor and up the stairs to Tom’s door. Silently I let myself in. He was asleep, his breathing deep and soft. With the moonlight stealing in at the curtains I could see his face. Oh how I wanted him. I sat on the bed and gently ran my fingers over his face. He awoke with a start and I swiftly got my hand over his mouth to stop him crying out. His eyes widened as he saw who it was. He pulled back the bedclothes and I slipped into bed beside him

_________

Pippa was soft and warm in my arms. We didn’t speak, we didn’t need to, we both knew what we wanted. We kissed and she moved against me. Her fingers were on my cock and I slipped my own hand between her legs. She was already hot and wet. I cupped her bottom with the other hand, feeling the marks I had left there. She gave a soft moan and pushed her pussy against my fingers. I lifted her nightdress and gently kissed her pert breasts, first one and then the other, caressing the tips of her hard nipples with my tongue.

She straddled me, and guided my cock into place. I held her hips as she started to move on me, thrusting up into her as she pumped down on me. We moved together in perfect symmetry the only sounds our gasps and moans.

I moved my hands behind her, running down her back and then squeezing her bottom - gently at first and then harder. This made her give a wonderful high pitched moan and I squeezed again, feeling her body notch higher in excitement as I did so.

We made love for what seemed like an age. Twice she brought me to the edge before finally she made me come with a rapid series of movements that had me thrusting up into her with hot spurts. She came almost at the same moment… she bit her lip and her bottom clenched and unclenched and from the back of her throat there came a moan of an almost animal like quality. She collapsed against my neck, smothering my faces with kisses.

We slept in each others arms that night, waking at dawn, for Pippa to steal quietly back to her own room. It had been a night to treasure in my memory.

Spanking Games

2010-01-09T03:29:00.001-08:00

I have just launched a new (very basic) site for the spanking games that I have designed. The first game is now published. You will find it here.

http://sites.google.com/site/spankinggames/home

Pippa Chapter 4

2009-12-22T15:36:00.000-08:00

The summer holidays stretched before us. Eight weeks for me, twelve for Tom. Usually I loved the summer break, all those lovely days of freedom. But this year my pleasure was tempered by the thought that I would be apart from Tom. We had grown so close over the last term, we were each other’s first love and we longed to be with one another with the intensity that only first love can produce.

The first two weeks of the holiday seemed interminable. Back at home with Mummy and Geoffrey (my younger brother) we did all the things that I usually enjoyed. But every activity without Tom seemed hollow and useless. I suspect I was a pain to be with, but Mummy was very good and never got cross with me, I think she understood what I was going through.

That was why when the letter came, it was Mummy who persuaded Daddy that I should be allowed to go. The letter was from Tom’s parents asking if I might like to go and stay with the family at Hambleton Hall, their house in Suffolk. I was on tenterhooks whilst I listened to Mummy and Daddy debating the merits of whether I should be allowed to accept the invitation or not. When at last Daddy gave his consent too, I gave a whoop of delight and immediately sped upstairs to start packing my things.

I took the train from Liverpool Street station in London. Three hours journey out to Stowmarket. It was a lovely journey, a beautiful summer’s day with the countryside looking gorgeous in all its rich colours. All was well with the world and my heart was bubbling over because soon I would be back with my love.
_________

Pippa was looking radiant when she stepped onto the platform. I had borrowed the Jaguar to pick her up in and in my determination not be late had arrived a full forty minutes before the train was due to arrive. I had spent those forty minutes pacing up and down the platform getting myself in a stew with worry that after a gap of a fortnight Pippa might not be as lovely as I remembered her.

I need not have worried. She was just as beautiful as before. She had caught a little sun over the last few days, her nose was marked with pretty freckles and the fair hair on her brown arms was soft and downy. She dropped her suitcases on the platform and ran to me. I swept her up in my arms and swung her around.

Put me down you silly man!’ she exclaimed, grinning broadly. I gave her a gentle kiss on the lips then did as she asked. I picked up her luggage and led her out to the car.

She was impressed with the Jaguar and even more impressed that I should be driving it.

‘When did you learn?’ she asked eagerly.

‘Oh… over the last year… whenever I’ve been home Father has let me take it out for a spin.’

‘Gosh you are lucky.’ She said.

‘Even more lucky now you’re here to enjoy it with me.’ I said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. She leant across and kissed my cheek.

‘I love you Tom.’ She said softly.

I pulled the car over to the side of the road, pulled her towards me and kissed her properly. It was as wonderful as I remembered, her soft mouth on mine, her tongue busy between my lips. She broke away.

‘Mmmmm… I hope we can have lots more of those.’ She smiled.

I smiled too. ‘I’m sure we will… when we get a chance to be alone.’

‘Do you think your parents will allow that?’ she asked.

‘Well… they are very modern really. They won’t want to chaperone us… but I can’t see them letting us share a room.’

She giggled at the thought. ‘No I can’t say my mum and dad would be too keen on that either.’

‘Don’t worry Pippa.’ I told her ‘I’m sure we’ll be able to find a few places out of sight and earshot of others.’

‘Oh you have some noisy activities in mind do you?’ she asked with mock innocence.

‘I thought my hand might make its acquaintance with your naughty bottom again.’ I said.

‘I thought it might too.’ She grinned ‘I’m still in your debt for what you did for Daddy after all.’

‘It will be my pleasure to receive any payments you might care to make Miss Hamilton.’ I said. She leant over and kissed me again.

‘Come on let’s go.’ She said ‘Your parents will be wondering where on earth we’ve got to.’
____________________
Tom’s house was beautiful; a typical country house set in acres of woodland, meadows and pastures. It made our house in London look very modest by comparison. It would have been easy to be overawed apart from the fact that Tom’s parents made me feel so relaxed and at home.

The first couple of days were spent with the whole family and although I was aching to be alone with Tom the days were full and enjoyable. There was so much to see and do it was impossible to be bored. The weather was very kind to us as well; we enjoyed those clear blue days that are usually so rare in a British summer. The colours and scents of the open countryside wrapped us all in their sensory embrace.

At last, on the third day, we had the chance to be on our own.

‘Do you ride Pippa?’ Tom’s father had asked at breakfast and I had replied that horse riding was something I really enjoyed but hadn’t had much chance to do of late.

‘Then we must get you back in the saddle as soon as possible. You can take her out and show her the whole estate Tom, it’s best seen from horseback.’ Tom’s father said enthusiastically. Tom gave me a broad wink.

‘Oh but I haven’t brought any riding things with me.’ I said, suddenly downcast.

Tom’s father chuckled ‘I don’t think that will be a problem, I’m sure we can find something of Jenny’s to fit you.’ Jenny was Tom’s elder sister, now working in Edinburgh.

‘Come on.’ Tom said ‘We’ll go and have a look.’

‘The second box room I think dear.’ Said Tom’s mother, a beautiful but rather vague aristocratic woman.

Tom and I left the dining room and ascended the flights of stairs up to the dusty box rooms. Tom’s mother may have been vague but she was right about where Jenny’s old clothes might be. The second box room was a treasure trove of cast-offs, and amongst them were a few pairs of jodhpurs, riding boots, hacking jackets and blouses. Tom held out a few items. ‘Here try these.’

‘Turn your back.’ I said, suddenly shy of him. He grinned but did as he was asked. I took off my summer dress and tried the largest of the blouses. It was a smaller size than I would normally have taken, but apart from being a little tight over my breasts would certainly suffice. The same was true for the jodhpurs, again they were a little smaller than I normally took with the result that they were fitted me very snugly over the bottom. I didn’t think Tom would mind. When I had slipped on a pair of boots I told him he could turn around. He did so and one look at me brought a broad smile to his face.

‘Pippa you look ravishing.’ He said. ‘Turn around.’

I turned so that he could see the rear view and he gave a low whistle of appreciation. ‘The perfect bottom, displayed to perfection.’ He commented dryly.

I felt the colour rise to my cheeks as I remembered all the attention my ‘perfect bottom’ had achieved at his hands. As though to read my thoughts he lifted his hand and gave me a sharp slap on my bum.

‘Ohhh’ I gasped. ‘Not here Tom. Everyone will hear.’

‘I’m sure we can find a secluded spot on our ride.’ He commented, his eyes sparkling.

‘Then we’d better get going and see whether we can.’ I smiled back at him.

Once Tom was changed we went out to the stables. Word had already been sent to the groom and two horses were already saddled and bridled. The groom had hard hats and crops for us both. Tom took the crop but refused the hat. ‘I want to feel the wind in my hair!’ he exclaimed.

That was an attractive thought, so tying back my blonde hair into a pony- tail I too declined the hat and took just the crop. We climbed up into the saddle and trotted out of the yard and down towards the meadow.

It was a beautiful ride, first through the lush meadow, then down through the woodland bridleways and at last out into the open countryside. Tom leaned across to me.

‘Race you to the fence line.’ He said.

‘Ok you’re on.’ I replied, digging my heals into the horses flanks even as I spoke.

With that little head start I was in the lead for the first thirty seconds. It was exhilarating, the horse galloping beneath me, the wind tossing my hair and streaming it out behind me. My lead didn’t last long, Tom was very soon gaining on me. And before we were halfway he had pulled up so that we were racing neck and neck. I urged my horse on but it was no use, with an extra spurt of speed he pulled away from me and with a shout of triumph gained the fence line a second before I did. He slipped from the saddle, the horse’s bridle in one hand, the riding crop in the other.
_______________

I loved to see Pippa in the saddle. She was a natural horsewoman and on that beautiful day, with her golden hair streaming behind her she looked like utter perfection. Cheekily when I challenged her to race she got a flying start on me. The only advantage that afforded me was a wonderful view of her jodhpured bottom as she leant forward over the horse’s neck, urging him to go faster.

But I was riding a horse I knew and that is always an advantage. Pippa raced well but I was certain the victory would be mine. In the end it was a close thing and I gained the fence line just a second ahead of her. I slipped from the saddle and let my panting horse take a well-earned rest. Pippa dismounted too and came over towards me.

‘Victory to Tom.’ She said, with a wicked smile on her face. ‘What would he like as a prize?’ she looked pointedly at the crop that I was holding, but I didn’t need the hint, that thought had been in my mind when I had suggested the race.

‘I think my reward should be to apply a few strokes of this to the seat of your jodhpurs.’

She smiled. ‘I guessed you might be suggesting that. That sounds like a suitable prize, where would you like me?’

I felt my heart racing and my excitement beginning to mount once more.

‘How about bending over the fence.’ I suggested.

She nodded her assent and walked over to the fence. Standing on the bottom rail she was able to position herself perfectly, doubled over and gripping the rail just above the one where her feet were placed. Those jodhpurs were even more tightly stretched now, showing off her lovely derriere, yet surprisingly revealing no panty line.

I took the crop and swished it through the air. It was a little like the cane, but with a different weight and balance. I took careful ain then lifted it high and brought it down smartly across her bottom. Pippa gave that lovely double gasp and sigh that I remembered so well.
_______________

It was immensely exciting to be on the receiving end again. I knew what prize Tom would ask for and could feel myself beginning to get wet and excited even as I asked him what it might be.

Bent over the fence, my heart was in my mouth and I could barely keep still from the excitement. The last time had been back in May, nearly three months ago. I had fantasised about it virtually every night since then, and now my fantasies were becoming reality once more.

There was a swish behind me, a loud crack and then that familiar burning line across my bottom that seemed to eat into me and set my whole body on fire. He gave me a second stroke and I shuddered with excitement, my bottom smarting like mad but that addictive rush of pure arousal turning pure pain into pure pleasure. He gave me six more strokes before pausing.

‘I think that will suffice for now.’ he said dryly.

I levered myself into the upright and turned to face him. He was standing holding the crop, a broad smile on his face and a massive erection straining at the front of his trousers.

I licked my lips teasingly.
_______________

‘You’ve made me all hot.’ She said teasingly. ‘I think I might have to take off my jodhpurs to cool down.’

I couldn’t say anything but simply nodded my head. The naughty minx could see the effect she was having on me and was loving every minute of it.

She kicked off her boots then turned so that her back was to me. She undid her jodhpurs then slowly and enticingly began peeling them down. It was only after a moment that I realised that she was wearing no knickers. As her jodhpurs were lowered her bare bottom was revealed in all its glory, her white skin marked with red stripes where the crop had kissed her.

‘You naughty girl!’ I burst out ‘You aren’t wearing any undies.’

She turned her head and grinned at me. ‘The jodhpurs were too tight for knicks so I did without.’

‘My god you deserve a few more strokes for that!’ I exclaimed.

‘Only if you can catch me.’ she said with her naughtiest smile. ‘Catch me if you can.’ She giggled and before I knew it had swung herself bare-bottomed into the saddle. I was so taken aback that it took me a moment to gather my wits sufficiently to regain my mount. But once on horseback I was after her.

If I had thought she had made a splendid sight before, that was nothing compared to the view Pippa afforded me now. Once more bent forward over the horses neck her bottom was high in the air. But now it was her naked bottom, those lovely white cheeks red striped. I spurred my horse forward, gaining on her with every stride.

I drew almost level and raised the crop. But instead of using it to urge my horse to greater efforts I stretched across and caught Pippa a stinging blow across the middle of her bare cheeks. Her horse didn’t let up the pace and neither did mine. Again I stretched across and brought the riding crop cracking down. Three more times I cropped her before we got to the other side of the field and had to reign our horses in to the halt.

I thought Pippa would dismount but she didn’t. She didn’t look at me but stretched herself forward on the horse so the she was almost lying on him, her face buried in his mane. She kicked her feet from the stirrups and offered her bottom in pure submission. I didn’t need any more encouragement. I reigned in my mount alongside hers and standing in my stirrups brought the crop down hard on her pretty rear. I whipped her hard, eight severe strokes, each one leaving a red and angry stripe. She moaned softly and then turned her pretty face to mine.

‘Two more please Tom. Hard ones.’

I did as she asked. Two strokes as hard as I could make them. She gasped and writhed and clenched her bottom cheeks together and when she turned to look at me again her eyes were wet with tears. She swung a leg over the saddle and slid down to the soft grass.
I dismounted too and took her in my arms. We kissed, her tongue in my mouth, my hands running down her back to caress her hot bottom. Then her hands were busy with my trousers and in a moment she had them down to my knees. She pushed me down onto the grass on my back and a moment later she was astride me.

She was wild with passion now. ‘Fuck me Tom, fuck me.’ She murmured.

She was so wet my cock slid in easily, a fortuitous thing for we had never made love properly before. She gave a low moan as I entered her and gripped my arms hard. Then she was riding me, her hot bottom pumping down, my hard cock thrusting up into her. That it didn’t last long was not a problem. This was our coming together at last and it was better than I could ever have imagined.

_____________

I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was the heady summer day, maybe the fact that Tom looked so gorgeous standing there, maybe the fire across my bottom that was making me burn with desire. But suddenly I knew that I wanted Tom to chase me and catch me and take me.

Riding the horse, bare-bottomed was an incredible sensation, only adding to my excitement. As Tom drew nearer on his horse I lifted my bottom to show him the red stripes that I knew turned him on. It was a wonderful shock when he took that as an invitation to whip me with his crop even as we rode. It was desperately exciting knowing that he had caught up with me and that the crop would keep on stinging with every stride until we reached the edge of the field.

But it wasn’t quite enough. After all this time I greedily wanted more. Wanted to feel the crop sting me and sting me again. As my horse stood still I leant forward over his neck and offered Tom my bottom again. He didn’t need telling but gave me eight real stingers. He paused and I still wanted more so I simply turned and asked him for two good hard ones. Those two certainly hurt like mad, but by then I was too aroused to care. I slipped down from the horse and he followed me.

We made love on the soft sweet smelling grass. The first time for us both. Virginity lost, no not lost… but joyfully cast away!

Pippa Chapter Three

2009-11-01T11:55:00.000-08:00

I had used the cane before but never on a girl, Claire Deschamps was the first girl I ever caned. It was a totally different experience to caning a boy. With a boy it was a businesslike affair. ‘Trousers down, bend over, whack, whack, whack, thank-you very much, off you go.’ With Claire it had been a drawn out erotically-charged experience from beginning to end.

I did not have the same feelings for her as I did for Pippa, but I challenge any eighteen year old boy not to get an erection when a girl lowers her knickers, lifts her skirt and bends over to present her very attractive bottom for chastisement. And Claire did have a nice bottom, rather fuller than Pippa’s but a very inviting target nonetheless. It was a joy to lay beautiful, accurate stripes upon and with each stroke I felt myself getting more aroused. I couldn’t believe my good fortune when after seven strokes she stood up and we had to start again.

Claire Deschamps was the first but Pippa Hamilton was the second.

When Claire had gone she walked slowly over to me and there was that same passion in her eyes that I had seen the day before. She ran her hand over my cock that was imprisoned inside my trousers. ‘You enjoyed caning her didn’t you?’ she said softly.

‘I might have done.’ I said a little defensively.

She gave a little giggle ‘I’m afraid this is a bit of a giveaway.’ She stroked my cock again. ‘Do you think caning me would be even more exciting?’

I didn’t know quite how to respond. Was she suggesting I might like to or was this just a rhetorical question? I decided it must be the latter. ‘I couldn’t think of anything more exciting than caning your pretty bottom Pippa Hamilton.’ I joked.

I might have been joking, but she wasn’t. She kissed me then said almost matter-of-factly ‘Then you might well get the chance to do just that.’

I was taken aback. ‘Are you serious Pippa?’

‘Absolutely serious.’ she assured me, then she giggled again and gave me a little kiss. ‘Oh Tom you look so worried. I know it must seem strange but when you were caning Claire I suddenly felt awfully envious of her, I wished it was me who was being caned, wished it was the sight of my bare bottom that was turning you on.’

‘When do you want me to do it to you.’ I asked, trying hard to hide the eagerness in my voice.

She gave another little giggle, but now there was a little tension in it too. ‘Well I’ve got an idea. You’re still five pounds down, and there’s no way I can pay you back the money. So I wondered if you would like me to pay it back in kind over the next few weeks.’

I could see the way her mind was heading. ‘Sort of a penny a smack?’ I said with a smile.

She giggled ‘Something like that. How about a penny for a smack on my bare bottom with your hand. sixpence for a smack with your slipper and two shillings for a stroke of the cane?’

The thought made me laugh too. ‘That sounds like a very acceptable deal. Would you like to make the first repayment now?’

‘Yes please.’ she gave me her radiant smile and tossed her pony tail.

‘Cane?’ I asked hopefully.

She laughed again. ‘I said you liked that. But no, I think I want to save that for last - for the final payment, something to look forward to. No I think that this afternoon I think I’d like to spend a little while over your knee while you give me a good spanking.’

I grinned. ‘How much would madam like to repay?’

She thought for a moment and then gave a sly smile. ‘I think I could probably afford a whole pound.’ she said, her eyes shining.

A whole pound! Two hundred and forty pence to the pound - this was going to be some spanking!

‘One pound’s worth of smacks?’ I queried ‘Are you sure?’

She nodded her pretty head. ‘Yes Tom, quite sure.’

I took her hand and led her compliantly over to the chair that still stood in the middle of the carpet; the self same chair that Claire had been bending over only a few minutes before. I sat down and pulled her over my lap. She settled across my knees with a soft contented little sigh. I took the hem of her skirt and slowly lifted it to reveal her stockings and knickers. Last time I had yanked her skirt up roughly and pulled her knickers down in the same hasty manner - now I could take my time and did so. I eased her knickers down her legs. She wriggled from side to side to allow me to bare her. I ran my flat hand over her wonderful bare bottom. Her skin was soft and warm to the touch, white and unblemished now soon it would be red and hot under my attentions. My cock hardened in appreciation and anticipation.

I began mildly and slowly. A few mild slaps to each cheek, then a little harder and faster. I increased the intensity and the pace over the next few smacks until by the time I had given her the first twenty I had got into my rhythm. As I started to redden her skin Pippa started to give little gasps and moans. She wriggled and squirmed on my lap, a most delicious sensation for me. A couple of harder slaps made her cry out and kick up her heels but she made no attempt to stop me. I continued to spank her, mixing harder smacks with gentle ones, covering every inch of her bare bottom.

I paused after giving her a hundred and rubbed her red bottom. She sighed and squirmed and parted her legs slightly. I caught a glimpse of that golden fleece between her legs and the wet pink lips of her pussy. That brief glimpse was enough to assure me of what I already knew... that she was excited as I was. I stroked the backs of her legs and then the insides of her thighs. She parted her legs a little more and I moved my hand upwards to stroke her wet lips. She moaned softly. With my fingers just grazing her sex I began to spank her again. I kept my hand still but it wasn’t long before she was bucking and pushing herself against my fingers. That only inflamed me to even greater efforts and the final dozen smacks I gave her must have been very hard indeed. They left my hand red and stinging so I can only guess how they left Pippa’s bottom feeling. As the last smack landed she gave a long high pitched gasp of pleasure and writhed across my knee, her bottom clenching and unclenching and her wet sex pressing down hard against my fingers as she came. She slipped off my knees and knelt on the carpet looking up at me with those lovely blue eyes. Her hair was mussed and her face flushed with excitement and she looked more sexy than I had ever seen her before.

‘Thank-you Tom.’ she said softly and then before I could say anything she had unzipped my fly and was caressing my cock with her slender fingers. In the state I was in it was little surprise that I too found my relief within a very short time indeed.

That spanking I had from Tom was the most painfully delicious experience of my life. I expect I would have reached orgasm even without his hand to press against, but with his fingers playing there it was almost inevitable that I did - it was quite a struggle not to let myself go until right at the end but I was glad that I managed it.

The first pound of my debt was paid off that afternoon, but of course there was still another four pounds owing. It would have been easy to blow it all in a day or two with a couple of mammoth sessions but I didn’t want to do that - I wanted to make it last - to keep it special. And so it became a regular feature of our week; every Thursday evening I would go up to Tom’s rooms and discharge another part of my debt to him. I kept a record of the amounts and the punishments -

1. £1 - 240 smacks

2. 5s - 10 smacks with the slipper

3. 10s - 10 smacks with the slipper and 60 hand smacks

4. 5s - 60 hand smacks

5. 2s 6d - 30 hand smacks

6. 2s 6d - 30 hand smacks

Easter holidays

7. 10s - 20 smacks with the slipper

8. 5s - 60 hand smacks

9. 15s - 20 smacks with the slipper and 60 hand smacks.

And so by the fourth week of the summer term I owed Tom just £1. It had been a lovely few months. The erotic flame between us burned as strongly as ever, but we were very discrete. I guess the only one who knew was Claire, and she wasn’t going to be telling. The relationship between Claire and myself had changed completely after her caning. If anyone can be said to have really benefitted from a good thrashing then that person was Claire Deschamps. Overnight all the haughtiness, arrogance and spite had disappeared and she became a delightful member of the sixth form. Even now I still count her as a friend.

I also enjoyed all the other aspects of life at Westland Hall. An especial delight was the Drama Society, which for its Summer Term production was putting on Shakespeare’s ‘A Merchant of Venice’, in which I was to have the significant part of Portia.

Tom, of course, didn’t have time for amateur dramatics, he was revising hard for his A levels that he would take in the fifth and sixth weeks of term. With the performance of the play scheduled for the Friday night of the fourth week I knew that the day before had to be the day to pay off my final debt. I knew that Tom had been itching to try out his cane on my poor bottom, now, at last, he would get his chance!

So it was that on Thursday 29th May, I made my way up to Tom’s rooms, butterflies in my stomach

and my knickers already damp with excitement. I knocked on the door and heard him call out. He was sitting in the window looking out over the playing fields basking in the early evening summer sun. He grinned when he turned and saw that it was me.

Pippa looked especially entrancing that evening. Her face had caught the sun a little and gave her a slight colour that went well with her long fair hair, it also brought the freckles out on her nose - a fact that she didn’t like to be reminded of. She was biting her lip a little and there was a light in her eyes that I now knew betokened the fact that already she was excited.

Normally we chatted and gossiped for a while before anything happened but today it was clear that there was to be no small talk.

‘Tom, I think its about time I finally paid off my debt.’ she said.

‘Ok.’ I said. ‘Have you decided how you want to do it?’

She gave a smile and her eyes sparkled. ‘Well... I think I’ve made you wait long enough now... it had better be the cane.’

I felt a surge of excitement course through me. The caning I had given Claire had been one of the things that had prompted us both into developing this aspect of our lives. Pippa had said to me after she had witnessed Claire’s chastisement ‘Do you think caning me would be even more exciting?’. The answer to that question was an emphatic ‘yes’... but up till now she had kept me on tenterhooks - every time choosing something other than the cane when she paid off her weekly debt. Now at last I was getting to get the chance to put red lines on that pretty bottom.

‘A pounds worth of the cane?’ I asked her.

She nodded her pretty blonde head. ‘Yes please Tom...’ She hesitated, I waited, there was something else I could tell.

‘Go on’ I encouraged her.

‘Can I ask you to do something... I’m afraid it may sound silly so promise you won’t laugh.’

‘I promise.’ I assured her.

‘Well.... when you caned Claire one of the things about it that was so exciting was the way you scolded her before you punished her.... would you do that for me?’

‘You want me to tell you off?’

She nodded mutely.

I smiled ‘Ok, you deserved a caning for the original theft, but I was lenient on you. Why don’t we turn the clock back? I could give you a good telling off for that. ’

She gave me a little smile. ‘Yes Tom. I think that would be perfect.’

‘As well as being exciting?’ I teased her.

She ran her tongue over her lips. ‘Yes.’ she said ‘As well as being very exciting. Why don’t I start outside the door?’

I nodded and with another naughty smile over her shoulder she vacated the room, closing the door behind her. She gave it a few moments before knocking.

I took a deep breath to steady myself then called out. ‘Enter.’

I went back into Tom’s study. He was standing as he had been all those weeks ago when he had confronted Claire, hands on hips, stern expression on his face. He spoke softly.

‘I would like an explanation from you young lady.’

‘About what sir?’ I asked. It was funny, I hadn’t intended to call him ‘sir’ it just came out, but when I had said it I knew it was right. He noticed it, I’m sure, but didn’t comment on it.

‘About the five pound note that has gone missing from Trevor Bedford’s dorm. I think you know exactly what I am talking about.’

I felt myself tremble again, immediately I was back in the feelings of guilt that I had experienced when Tom had spoken of the theft the first time. I bit my lip to steady myself.

‘I.... I... I admit it.’ I said shakily. ‘I stole it.’

‘I know that Pippa, the question is, why?’

‘I can’t tell you sir.’

‘You mean you won’t.’

I nodded my head.

‘Thieving is a despicable thing whatever reason you might have. It won’t be tolerated here at Westland Hall. You have disgraced this house, this school and the very uniform you are wearing. You, young lady, deserve to be severely punished.’

‘Yes sir, I do.’ I said softly. I looked up at him and saw the flicker of a smile on his lips. I noticed his cock harden in his trousers.

‘I am going to give you a choice Pippa. We can report this to the headmaster or we can deal with it here and now.’

‘Oh please don’t report me.’ I said imploringly. ‘I’ll take your punishment sir, whatever it is.’

‘Very well.’ now he was smiling. ‘I am awarding you ten strokes of the cane on your bare bottom.’

I nodded my head. ‘Yes sir.’

‘You can fetch me the cane, its on the top shelf of the bookcase.’ He had obviously moved it to a new position since the last time. I went over to where he had indicated. The bookcase was tall and I had to stand on tiptoe to reach the top shelf. I felt his eyes on me as the back of my gymslip rode up as I reached for the cane. I turned to face him, holding the cane in both hands.

‘Turn and face the bookcase.’ he ordered. I did so, still holding the cane in front of me. I felt him close behind me, felt his hands lift the back of my gymslip and then felt his fingers go to the waistband of my knickers. I gave a little shiver of excitement as he slowly pulled my knickers down. He didn’t take them right down to my ankles but left them, a white band of cotton, just below my stocking tops.

‘Put the cane behind you, across your bare bottom.’ he said softy into my ear, his breath warm on my neck.

I did as he asked holding the cane in both hands behind my back, pressing it into my bare cheeks. He stepped back from me and I heard him give a low moan of pleasure... I obviously made a rather exciting picture in his eyes!

‘Ask for your punishment.’ he said.

I remembered how he had made Claire do this - how it had charged the atmosphere as she was made to ask again and again to be caned.

I cleared my throat. ‘Please punish me sir.’ I said softly.

‘Again.’

‘Please cane me sir.’ I said a little louder, feeling a ripple of excitement run through me as the words came to my lips.

‘And again.’

‘Please, please cane me sir.’ I begged ‘I’m very naughty, and I really deserve to be punished.’ I was very aware of the wetness between my legs that these words provoked. I hoped they were exciting Tom too, I’m sure they were.

‘You are a naughty little thief Pippa. What are you?’

‘A naughty little thief sir.’ I echoed.

‘What level of discipline do you need Pippa, what level of discipline does a naughty little thief deserve?

I swallowed hard. ‘Severe sir.’ I murmured ‘Very severe.’

‘Louder.’

‘Very severe sir.’ I said, shivering with excitement as I did so.

‘Turn around.’ he ordered

I did so, still holding the cane behind me, pressing it into my bottom.

‘Hold the cane out.’

I brought it out from behind my back and offered it to him.

‘Kiss it.’

I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘You heard me... kiss the cane.’

I brought the slender stick up to my mouth and kissed it gently. I looked up as I did so, catching the passion in his eyes. Those eyes had a look of wicked encouragement which I couldn’t resist. I continue to kiss along the length of the cane, then took the tip of it into my mouth and sucked, all the time keeping my eyes on his. The suggestion I was making would be enthusiastically accepted once he had punished me.

‘Hand the cane to me.’

I did so. The end of it glistened where it had been in my mouth.

He flexed the cane in his strong fingers.

‘Bend over and grasp your ankles.’ he ordered.

Placing my feet apart I bent forward and took hold of my ankles. He lifted my skirt and bunched it over my back baring me completely. Standing there, bare bottom high in the air, I felt deliciously vulnerable.

He spoke again. ‘You will take ten hard strokes Miss Hamilton. You will count each one aloud, thank me for it and ask for the next. You will not move, nor rub your bottom until I give you permission. Is that understood?’

‘What if I forget sir?’ I asked.

‘If you forget Pippa, then all the strokes you have had up to that point will be forgotten as well.. and we’ll start from number one again.’

I knew he meant it for he had been true to his word when he had caned Claire. I shivered with apprehension and excitement. He placed the cane across the middle of my bottom. He drew it back. There was a short pause, then a swish, a crack and a fraction of a second later a burning line of pain across the centre of my bottom. A line of pain far more intense than anything I had yet experienced. For a moment I couldn’t speak. I felt my eyes fill with tears, then I gasped as the pain across my bottom was answered with equal intensity with a surge of excitement that started between my legs, travelled up through my whole body and exploded inside my brain.

It took me a few more seconds before I could say the required words. ‘One sir..... thank-you... may I have another?’

He made me wait for what seemed like an age before swishing the cane down again. It must only have been about thirty seconds but it felt like hours. I willed him to cane me again and my wish was granted. For a second time the cane bit into my flesh.

Five seconds later I gasped ‘Two sir.... thank-you.... may I have another?’

He caned me slowly and accurately. Laying on each stroke with a measured hand. Bringing me every time to that peak of pain and pleasure that was almost unbearable but completely addictive. I didn’t want him to stop. I didn’t want him to stop and there was a sure way to make him continue. Just as Claire had done on the seventh stroke, so I did for the ninth, as soon as it had landed I shot up and clutched my hands to my bottom.

Tom put the cane down and turned me around to face him. I could see the concern in his eyes, for a moment he thought he had gone too far, but he could tell from the look in my face that that was far from the truth.

The way Pippa shot up and frantically rubbed her bottom made me immediately think that I had taken her beyond her limits. Certainly she had taken a good caning. Her white bottom was marked with deep red lines that would take days to fade away completely. It made a most beautiful picture that gave me the strongest erection I can ever remember. I turned her around to face me and saw almost immediately that my fears were groundless - she was excited as I was. I stayed in character.

‘I told you not to move didn’t I girl?’

‘Yes sir.’ she said softly. Oh how I loved that ‘sir’.

‘Did I give you permission to stand up?’

‘No sir.’

‘Then we both know the penalty don’t we.’

She looked at me with those big blue eyes. ‘You’re going to start from the first stroke aren’t you sir?’

‘I am.’

She bowed her head in submission then lifted the back of her skirt, bent forward and presented her red bottom for further punishment.

‘Move your feet further apart.’ I ordered.

She did so, parting her legs properly and affording me the perfect view of her blonde pussy, her lips wet with excitement. I reached forward and ran a stiff finger up between her legs to find that little nub of flesh that experience had taught me was the key to really making her moan with pleasure. I rubbed gently provoking the expected response.

‘What a naughty girl you are Pippa.’ I commented ‘You’re all excited.’

‘I am sir...... perhaps I deserve to be caned harder?’

‘Perhaps you do.’ I managed to say, feeling my own arousal heighten even further.

I stepped back and raised the cane. The key to an effective caning is not the height to which one lifts the cane but the amount of wrist action one applies - a bit like playing squash - and I was a good squash player. Now I made that skill tell, bringing the cane down with a wicked flick of the wrist. The stroke brought Pippa up onto her toes and it took her even longer than usual to find the breath to say ‘One sir.... thank-you... may I have another.’

I gave her another, in the same manner. And another. Nine stinging strokes to follow the nine she had already received. Nine stinging strokes that left her bottom marked with a series of red lines. Nine stinging strokes that brought me to a pitch of fevered excitement.

And now the final one. We both knew what that meant. The final stroke, the hardest stroke. I saw Pippa’s fingers whiten as she gripped her ankles even tighter, heard her breathing become faster and shallower as she anticipated the stroke.

I made her wait a little longer, lining up the stroke by placing the cane across the middle of her red bum. Then I slowly drew back my arm..... paused at the top of my swing.... then at last brought the thin cane swishing down hard right across the full centre of Pippa’s spread cheeks. The mark it left was of the deepest red. I heard her gasp and moan. Her knees trembled and her bottom involuntarily clenched and unclenched, but like the obedient girl she was she stayed down in position even as she came.

‘Ten sir.. thank you sir.... thank you.’ she said softly.

‘Good girl... you can stand up.’ I said.

She straightened up. There were tears on her face, but she smiling. She took my hand and led me through into my bedroom. Before I was in charge, now she was in control. She made me kneel on the bed in front of her. Then, lying on her front she reached forward and unzipped my fly. She took my cock in her fingers then with a wicked grin on her face placed a kiss on the very tip of it. I groaned in ecstacy. She reached back and lifted the skirt of her gymslip. Her knickers were still around her knees so her punished bottom was beautifully displayed.

She kissed my cock again, giggling as it jumped in her hand. She looked up at me. ‘I want you to spank me, while I kiss you. Spank me until you come.’

‘Penny a smack?’ I asked
‘Not this time.’ she giggled ‘I’ve nearly paid my debt.’

Then she stopped giggling for she had taken my cock in her mouth and her tongue and her lips were busy with other work. It was the most incredible sensation. For a young man of eighteen years old it was as though every fantasy I had ever entertained was combined into one. I lifted my hand and smacked it down hard on her red bottom. I didn’t care if I was hurting her - I was doing what she had told me to do and with every smack and her mouth on my cock I drew closer and closer to orgasm.

It didn’t take very long. Perhaps six or seven times my open hand cracked down onto Pippa’s red bottom before I came in a gasping, surging spurt.

She looked up at me with wet lips. ‘I rather enjoyed that Tom.’ she said sardonically ‘Did you?’

My bottom was still very sore the next day as I got ready for the performance of ‘A merchant of Venice.’ but I didn’t care. In fact I revelled and delighted in my soreness for it was a souvenir of the best evening of my life. I had fantasised for many weeks about being caned by Tom but the reality was far better than my daydreams - far more painful but far more exciting too.

I tried not let thoughts of Tom interfere with my performance and for the most part was successful. Certainly I didn’t mess up any of my lines and the response from the audience at the end was warm and enthusiastic.

Tom was waiting for me at the dressing room. He gave me a hug and then took me by the arm. ‘Come with me.’ he said softly and urgently.

‘Tom.’ I said to him in a low whisper ‘I can’t yet... I’m a little too sore for any more of the cane just yet.’

He laughed, just like he had laughed that very first time we had met. ‘Oh Pippa, you goose, I’m not talking about that. I’ve got something to show you.’

Still in my costume, but curious now to find out what this mystery might mean, I went with Tom, back out into the school hall that was rapidly emptying. What on earth was all this about?

And then I saw. Then I knew. Standing there, with a big grin on his face, was my Papa, my beloved Daddy. I ran to him and flung my arms around him, tears flowing freely now.

We held each other for a long time.

‘You were very good darling.’ he said at last. ‘I’m glad I was here.’

‘Oh so am I, so am I, but what has happened, when were you freed? When were you acquitted?’

Father gave a smile. He gestured over to Tom who was standing a few feet away, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘You have that young man to thank Phillipa.’

‘Tom?’ I didn’t understand ‘What had Tom done?’

My Father chuckled. ‘He never told you did he? You never asked who his father was?’

I shook my head.

‘Well, my pretty empty headed daughter, if you paid a little more attention to current affairs you would know that Tom’s father is Sir Richard Elliot, Lord Chief Justice. Tom wrote to his Father when he heard about my plight and it wasn’t long before my appeal found its way back to the courts and justice was done.’

I turned to Tom and hugged him to me.

‘Oh Tom.’ I laughed ‘How can I thank you?’

‘You think it might be worth another fiver?’ he said smiling.

‘A fiver at least.... more like a fifty!’ I grinned.

Pippa Chapter Two

2009-09-28T06:53:00.000-07:00

The image of Pippa Hamilton over my knee, her skirt bunched up around her waist, only her thin white knickers covering her pretty bottom, was an image that stayed with me throughout the week. I saw Pippa a couple of times, particularly in our shared English class but she did her best to stay out of my way and avoid speaking to me. I knew she would have to speak to me in the end, when she gave me the five pounds she owed me so I wasn’t especially concerned.

The business with Trevor Bedford had been concluded satisfactorily. I told him that the money had been anonymously handed in to me and that in future he must take care to keep it more safely. His thanks were profuse and I was glad he didn’t have the curiosity to press me any further on the manner in which the money had miraculously reappeared.

I was sitting in my room the next Thursday evening. Pippa had avoided me all day, but I knew she would seek me out that evening, for the week I had given her was up. Sure enough at around eight o’clock there was a tentative knock on the door.

‘Come in’ I called.

Pippa came in. She closed the door quietly behind her and leaned against it.

‘Pippa.’ I said ‘Lovely to see you. And in better circumstances than the last time you were in this room.’ I gave her an encouraging smile.

She walked over to me, biting her lip.

She looked at me with those big blue eyes. ‘I haven’t got it.’ she said simply.

I was momentarily taken aback, then I was angry. I had done this girl a favour by not reporting her to Thompson, I had been lenient in the punishment I had given her, I had covered for her by providing the five pounds, and lied for her to little Trevor Bedford. And now she had the temerity to stand in my room and say ‘I haven’t got it.’

I pulled open my desk drawer and grabbed the slipper. ‘Right girl you’re for it now.’ I said hotly.

I swivelled my chair round and took her by the wrist. She didn’t resist as I pulled her over my knee. I pulled up the back of her skirt, bunching it up around her waist. I didn’t hesitate this time, she was going to get a proper spanking. My fingers went to the waistband of her knickers and without giving her any warning I tugged them roughly down to her knees. She gave a choking sob but didn’t try to stop me. She lay across my lap her bare bottom fully exposed and vulnerable, but I didn’t pause to admire her loveliness, I was too cross. I lifted the slipper high and smacked it down hard. It left an instant red mark on her white cheek. I did it again and again. Covering every inch of her bottom with hard, unforgiving smacks of the slipper. She bucked and writhed across my knees, gasping and crying. It was only when she was sobbing openly that I stopped. Her bottom was scarlet, I must have given her thirty or forty smacks at the very least. My arm was sore, so I could only imagine how her bottom felt. My anger had subsided, and as it had gone down my cock had gone up. Now it was pressing hard into her soft tummy.

I drew her to her feet, stood up and turned her around to face me. There were tears running down her face. She put her arms around my neck and pressed herself against me. Her knickers dangled from one ankle. She didn’t say a word but kissed me full on my mouth, thrusting her tongue in between my teeth. I responded in kind, stroking the soft nape of her neck as we kissed.

‘Oh Tom.’ she murmured.

I stroked down the length of her back, then lifted the back of her skirt to cup her bare cheeks in my hands. She was hot where the slipper had reddened her bottom. I caressed the area I had just chastised. She gave a soft moan and kissed me again.

We broke apart and she looked up into my eyes. Her tears had ceased now and there was a look of pure excitement on her face. She reached down and rubbed the front of my trousers.

‘I want to touch it.’ she said softly. ‘Can I?’

I nodded mutely.

She unzipped my fly and took her erect cock in her delicate fingers. I groaned as she rubbed it gently. She looked concerned. ‘Am I hurting?’ she asked.

‘No no...’ I assured her. ‘Don’t stop.’

She giggled and rubbed it a little harder. ‘Is that nice?’ she said.

‘Very.’

‘Would you like to touch me?’

‘Yes.’

She took my hand and guided it up under her skirt. She was hot and wet between her legs. She gave a soft moan as I stroked her.

‘Oh that’s lovely.’ she murmured. ‘Oh Tom. Let’s lie down.’

We moved over to my bed and she stretched herself down alongside me. She parted her legs to let me stroke there again. Now with her skirt bunched up around her waist I could see that she was a true blonde, that brief triangle of hair between her legs was almost the same colour as her long pony-tail. She took my cock in her fingers again. We kissed as we continued the mutual caresses. All the time she was making soft little gasps and moans that only enflamed me more.

It didn’t take very long for either of us. She writhed and gasped and arched her back and gave a long soft moan of pleasure. A few seconds later I was jerking and spurting in her hand. We used my handkerchief to clean us both up. We lay in each others arms her head resting on my chest.

‘I’m sorry I had to spank you Pippa.’ I said.

She looked up at me with a smile on her face. ‘I don’t think you are sorry Tom Elliot, I think you rather enjoyed it.’

I must have looked guilty for she gave a little giggle. ‘Don’t worry, it actually had a rather similar effect on me. Is my bum still red?’

She turned over to let me see.

‘Yes’ I told her ‘Very.’

‘Well you did spank it hard.’

‘I was cross with you.’

‘But not cross now?’

‘No not cross at all.’

She nestled against me and I hugged her tight.

‘Why don’t you tell me what this has all been about Pippa.’ I said. ‘There must have been a good reason why you took that money.’
She told me.

-------------------

It was lovely with Tom. I had kissed a boy before but had never gone as far with one as I did that evening with Tom Elliot. He had spanked me to tears, leaving me sore but very aroused. When I stood up I had an overwhelming urge to kiss him, an urge that I couldn’t resist. And so it was that we ended up lying on his bed where I experienced my first ever orgasm that had not been produced at my own hand.

Afterwards as we lay together cuddling he asked me to tell him why I had taken the money. I had told no-one up till then, but suddenly I realised that after what had just happened between us I could trust him. So I told him the whole sorry story including the truth about my poor Daddy.

‘Oh Pippa, you silly goose.’ he said when I had finished my tale ‘Why didn’t you tell me straight off?’

‘I didn’t want you to find out about Daddy.’ I replied.

‘You didn’t need to worry about that.’ he assured me ‘I’m sure you’re right about his innocence, and anyway, I’m not going to be blabbing the news around school .’

‘Thank-you’ I said and squeezed him tight.

‘Now how about Miss Claire Deschamps?’ he said.

‘How about her?’

‘Well I don’t see why she should get away with that horrid blackmail. Have you still got the receipt for the watch repair?’

‘I think so.... its in my locker in the dorm.’

‘Go and get it would you Pippa?’

'Sure.’

I stood up and let my skirt fall down over my bare bottom then reached down and tugged my knickers up. There was a look of slight disappointment on his face as he watched that made me giggle. ‘Don’t worry Tom, I’ll let you play again.’ I smiled.

He laughed too and there was still a smile on his face when I returned a few minutes later with the receipt from Joskins and Fowler. He took it from me and looked at it carefully.

‘May I keep this till tomorrow? he asked.

‘Of course you may.’ I replied.

He gave me a hug and kissed me softly on my lips. ‘You’re lovely Pippa Hamilton.’ he said. I kissed him back ‘So are you Tom Elliot.’ I told him. ‘But I think we both need to do our prep for tomorrow.’

We parted with another kiss.

The next day my dark mood of the previous fortnight had completely dissipated. I had shared my secret with a young man who I knew I could trust. If he had thought me a thief before now he knew the desperation that had driven me to that wicked act. I was sure that Claire Deschamps would get her comeuppance. And I was in love.

All through English I could hardly keep my eyes off him and got twice told off for my lack of concentration. We parted for our next lesson and I bided the hour with an aching I looked for him at lunch but for some unaccountable reason he was absent from the meal.

I found out why that afternoon.

I met him as he was coming back into Dalton’s house. He looked excited. ‘Have you got a few minutes Pippa?’ he asked.

I grinned. ‘Of course I have.’

I followed him up to his rooms. When he had closed the door he pulled out a piece of paper from his jacket pocket - it was the receipt for the watch repair.

‘Joskins and Folwer were very helpful.’ he grinned. ‘They checked their records for me. They confirmed that they had done a repair on a watch for a Miss Deschamps. However, the cost of that repair was nothing like £4 4s 6d. What they charged Claire was not £4 4s 6d but just 4s 6d! She must have added the figure of £4 to the receipt before she gave it to you.’

‘Oh my!’ I exclaimed ‘I knew it seemed awfully expensive, I guess I was in too much of a panic to think of checking it properly.’

‘And that’s what Claire relied on. She knew that horrid bit of blackmail would get you so shaken up you wouldn’t be able to think clearly.’

‘What are you going to do Tom?’

‘I am going to have a word with young Miss Deschamps. More than a word perhaps.’ he added grimly. ‘Would you go and fetch her for me?’

I grinned ‘I would be delighted.’

I hurried to my study, guessing that this was the place Claire was most likely to be. Fortunately, my guess was correct. She was there working on an essay at her desk. She looked up when I entered the room and gave me her usual sneering expression.

‘Claire, the Head Boy wants to see you.’ I told her.

‘What does he want with me?’ she asked.

‘He didn’t say.’ I lied

‘Well he can wait, I’m busy.’

‘He did say it was urgent.’

‘Oh bloody hell, alright.’ she snapped. She slammed her book shut and followed me to Tom’s rooms.

He was standing in the middle of the room, looking very tall and very grown up. He wasn’t smiling now. ‘Come in Miss Deschamps.’ he said. I made to go.

‘No Miss Hamilton, you can stay too, if you please. Sit down Pippa.’

I went over to the sofa and sat down, Claire followed.

‘I didn’t invite you to sit Miss Deschamps.’ Tom said menacingly.

Claire stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. She still wore that haughty expression, but I could see a slight wariness in her eyes. Tom pulled out the receipt and held it up to Claire. ‘Do you recognize this Miss Deschamps?’ he asked.

Claire stared. ‘Yes I do. Its a receipt for a watch repair I had done, so what?’

‘Did Pippa Hamilton give you the money for this bill?’

‘She might have done.’ Claire said evasively.

‘Did she or did she not?’

‘Yes she did, but what’s it got to do with you Tom Elliot? It’s none of your business.’

‘It is very much my business when a pupil at this school and in my house, uses deception, fraud and blackmail to obtain money from a fellow pupil.’ Tom said sternly.

I could see Claire was rattled now but she tried not to show it. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ she sneered.

‘I have checked with Joskins and Fowler. The cost of the watch repair was 4s 6d. You altered the receipt by adding a further £4 to it. You then blackmailed Pippa into paying by threatening to expose the truth about her Father’s situation.’

The colour drained from Claire’s face. She bit her lip and looked at her shoes.

‘I’m right aren’t I?’

There was a moments hesitation before Claire spoke. ‘Yes.’ she said in a very small voice ‘You’re right.’

Tom took a step forward so that he was standing very close to Claire. He tipped her chin up with his fingers so that she was looking straight into his face. He looked very stern.
‘You, Miss Deschamps, have acted in a despicable way. You are a disgrace to the uniform of this school and to its good name. You don’t deserve to be a pupil here any longer.’

Tears sprang to Claire’s eyes. ‘Please Tom, don’t report me.’ she begged.

He stepped away from her and looked at her appraisingly. ‘If I am not to report to you then you must accept my punishment.’

‘I will Tom, anything you say, anything.’ she said, the desperation clear in her voice.

‘Very well then Claire Deschamps this will be your punishment. For the deception and fraud I am awarding you six strokes of the cane, for blackmailing Pippa I am awarding you a further six strokes. Both punishments will be taken on your bare bottom.’

I saw Claire swallow hard and choke back a little sob. ‘Please Tom, not bare.’ she pleaded.

‘I’m not bargaining with you young lady. I’ve told you what your punishment will be. You either submit to it or you follow me to the headmaster’s study and explain your actions to him.’

She glanced across at me looking for support, but I looked away, she deserved all that was coming to her. She looked back at Tom and saw the stern determination writ across his face.

‘I’ll take the caning.’ she said miserably.

Tom turned to me. ‘Pippa would you be so kind as to place a dining chair in the middle of the carpet? I think Miss Deschamps may be needing something to hold onto.’

I did as Tom asked then sat down to watch and listen as he spoke to Claire again.

‘Right Claire, you can fetch me the cane, its in the top drawer of my desk.’

I saw her hesitate for a moment, but then she walked reluctantly over to the desk and pulled open the drawer. Her hands shook as she lifted the cane out. It was about two feet long, thin, and flexible with a crook-handle at one end. She held it as though it was alive and might turn and bite her.

‘Before I punish you you are going to ask politely for your caning.’

Claire swallowed hard and I could see she was fighting back tears. Now with the haughty expression gone from her face she really was quite pretty.

'Please cane me.’ she said quietly.

‘Again.’ Tom demanded. ‘I want you to admit why you deserve the cane.’

Claire took another deep breath. ‘I deserve to be caned because I’ve been naughty.’ she said.

‘You’ve been more than naughty Miss Deschamps, you’ve been a very wicked girl, haven’t you?’

‘Yes’

‘Say it.’

‘I’ve been a very wicked girl.’

‘So what do you deserve?’

‘I deserve to be caned on my bare bottom.’

‘Say it altogether. Say it so that I know you mean it.’

A single tear trickled down Claire’s cheek. ‘I’ve been a...a.. very wicked... girl and... and... I... deserve to be... caned.... on my b...bare bottom. Please.. c.. cane me.’ she managed to choke out.

‘Again louder.’

The atmosphere in the room was electric with tension.

Claire knuckles went white as she gripped the cane in her hands, she bit her lip, then said in an almost steady voice. ‘I have been a very wicked girl and truly deserve to be punished. Please cane me hard on my bare bottom.’

‘Better’ Tom reached out and took the cane from her hands.

‘Take your knickers down.’

She looked at him imploringly, but his expression was implacable. Slowly, she reached up inside her gymslip skirt.

‘Lift your skirt and bend over the back of the chair.’

I watched Claire lift the back of her gymslip then bend over and reach forward for the front legs of the chair. The top of the chair back supported her tummy. She hadn’t pulled her knickers down very far, hardly below the undercurve of her bottom. Tom now remedied that by swiftly lowering them to her knees, thus baring her completely. I saw the tent in his trousers as his cock hardened and felt a little twang of jealousy.

Tom swished the cane through the air and I saw Claire tremble.

‘Miss Deschamps, you will count each stroke aloud and thank me for it. You will not stand up, nor will you rub your bottom until I give you permission. Do you understand?’

‘Yes Tom.’ Claire said softly.

‘I hope you do. Because if you break any of those rules then your punishment will start from the beginning again.’

I saw Claire tighten her grip on the chair as Tom lined up the first stroke by placing the cane across the centre of her bare bottom.

Tom drew the cane back, not far, just a couple of feet. Claire clenched her bottom in nervous anticipation of the stroke. Tom waited until she had relaxed it then brought the cane down with a flick of his wrist. There was a sharp noise like the crack of a rifle and almost immediately a red line was marked on Claire’s white skin. I heard her gasp and watched as she writhed her hips in pain.

‘One..... thank you.’ she said.

The cane was flicked down a second time, leaving a stripe higher up.

‘Ohhhhhhh.... two.... thank-you.’

The third stroke was low, only just above Claire’s thighs. It made her drum her feet on the floor.

‘Owwwwwwwwww!!!!’ she squealed ‘Owwww!!!....... three..... thank-you.’

Those first three were markers and now Tom proceeded to fill in the gaps between them. The next three strokes produced a similar reaction from Claire - the gasp of pain, the frantic wiggle of her bottom and the drumming feet.

Tom turned to me with a smile on his face. His cock was hard in his trousers. He was enjoying this as was I. But my enjoyment of this revenge was complicated by other feelings. The fact that it was exciting Tom was undeniable, and that left me with strange feelings of jealousy. In turn those jealous feelings were also envious ones. In more than one way I wanted to be in Claire’s place, I wanted to be the girl being caned. I wanted to be the one who’s striped red bottom was tuning Tom on. But also, and more strangely, I wanted the cane for the intensity of the experience that it suggested. I could see that it must hurt like mad, and yet there was an intense erotic quality there that was immensely attractive. I wouldn’t have been able to express it like that at the time, all I knew right then was that it looked hugely exciting and I wanted Tom to be doing it to me!

It was the seventh stroke that was the one. Tom flicked it down perhaps a touch harder than before, but that slight increase in severity was enough to bring Claire shooting upwards, her hands clutched to her burning bottom.

‘No more please Tom! It hurts too much!!’ she sobbed.

I felt a shiver of excitement of vicarious fear run through me as I saw Tom’s face. I just knew what his response would be.

‘It’s meant to hurt girl.’ he said coldly. ‘And now its going to hurt even more, since your inability to obey some simple rules means that we have to start all over again.’

She looked at him in horror. ‘Please Tom. Please no.’ she begged.

‘Bend over.’ he said softly.

She stared at him wide-eyed, but didn’t move.

He spoke calmly but there was a real threat in his words. ‘If you don’t bend over immediately I shall ask Pippa to fetch another prefect to hold you down.’

Whether he meant it or not but the thought of another boy seeing her shame and her nakedness was enough to make Claire resume the position.

‘Don’t count.’ Tom instructed her. ‘Simply concentrate on staying down.’

He caned her slowly and steadily. Twelve strokes delivered in a measured manner. Never inaccurately and never softer or harder than he obviously intended. The red marks he left on Claire’s white bottom looked sore but unlikely to last beyond a few days. Sitting down would be uncomfortable for a little while but there would be no lasting damage done, apart from that to Claire’s pride and dignity. Claire for her part wept openly, freed from having to count the strokes aloud she could let her tears flow. It was a thoroughly chastened young lady who finally was allowed to stand and rub her bottom.

‘Now Miss Deschamps I think you have something to say to Pippa.’

I stood up.

Claire turned towards me, sniffing back her tears. It was a very different girl to the one who had haughtily come into the room half an hour before.

‘Pippa, I’m truly sorry for what I did. I was a beast and I deserved to be thrashed.’

It was the most honest and open thing Claire Deschamps had ever said to me. I put my arms around her and hugged her tight. ‘I forgive you.’ I said ‘Lets be friends.’

She smiled weakly. ‘I agree, pax it is.’

I let her go and she turned back to Tom. ‘Thank-you Tom.’ she said ‘I’ve learned my lesson. You won’t have to do that to me again. Can we be friends too?’

He held out his hand and they gravely shook.

‘Well done Claire, you took that bravely in the end. I suggest you sleep on your front for the next few days.’

She tried to smile but she was obviously too sore for that. ‘May I go now?’

‘Yes of course you may.’

Pippa Chapter 1

2009-09-25T06:59:00.001-07:00

It was my final year at Westland Hall. I had started there, a rather shy and academic boy, fresh from my preparatory school, just thirteen years old. Now four years later I was on the verge of manhood, six feet tall, broad shouldered and full of vitality. The shyness had long since evaporated but the academic bent had continued which had had the very pleasant result of my rising to the elevated position of Head Boy.

Head Boy. How I had looked up to that exalted creature when I was a fresh faced junior. How strange, but how wonderful, it now felt to be on the receiving end of that awe and admiration. The position was not merely an honoury one, it brought with it some very real power. I had the ear of the headmaster at all times, the right to impose a large range of sanctions and punishments on my fellow pupils and the privilege of my own set of rooms apart from the other prefects.

Westland Hall was an ancient institution, dating back to the second half of the seventeenth century. In many ways it was a very traditional place but that autumn of 1961 it was at the forefront of innovation. For the school’s board of trustees had decided, in full agreement with the headmaster, that for the first time in the school’s three hundred year history girls were to be admitted as pupils. Not that the school was to go fully co-educational but that a select group of thirty young ladies would be allowed the benefit of education in the Westland Hall sixth form.

It had been a cause of huge speculation and interest throughout the final weeks of the previous term and opinion was evenly divided between those who thought it a jolly good thing and those who saw it as the end of civilization as we knew it. The argument was most hotly contested in my own house, Dalton’s, for we had been chosen to be the only house where girls were to be admitted. The reasons for this choice were fairly clear. As the largest house we had plenty of accommodation that could be adapted to female use, and indeed over the summer vacation the whole upper story had been converted for just that purpose. And secondly in Mrs Thompson, wife of our own housemaster and a teacher in her own right we had a ready made housemistress.
So it was that Dalton’s admitted the first girls to Westland Hall, so it was that on that first day of term I encountered Pippa Hamilton.

Pippa Hamilton, seventeen years old, straight blonde hair held back in a shiny pony tail. Pippa Hamilton in her navy gymslip, her maroon blazer and her straw boater, standing beside an oversize trunk looking around her at the old school. I had never in my life set eyes upon such a gorgeous creature.
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I had never intended to end up at Westland Hall, I had been very happy at Roedean and confidently expected to progress into the sixth form there. That was before the traumatic events of Christmas 1960. I have no wish to go into details but suffice it to say that the demise of Daddy’s business and his subsequent disgrace meant that by the summer term of 1961 it was clear that Roedean was no longer an option and that other plans would have to be made.

It was unthinkable for me to go to the local school but equally clear that any choices we did make about my education would be severely constrained by our straitened financial circumstances. It was then that Mummy had come across the advert for Westland Hall. Girls in the sixth form of a boy’s public school was certainly a novel idea and one that Mummy would never have even considered save for the fact that very generous bursaries and scholarships were being offered. I was a bright girl and my Roedean background undoubtedly helped and so it was that after a few exam papers had been successfully sat I was offered a place at Westland on terms that my mother was delighted with. The uniform was an expense, but an unavoidable one. It wasn’t that different in style to Roedean’s except for one delightful exception; instead of white knee socks we were allowed opaque black stockings! They made me feel so grownup just to put them on. And so it was that in September 1961, in my brand new uniform, I unloaded my trunk from the boot of our Rover and stood looking up, for the first time, at the imposing edifice of Westland Hall.

My reverie was interrupted by a voice, a man’s voice.

‘Hello.’ he said ‘Tom Elliot, how do you do?’

I thought he was a master, although he was quite young. I shook his hand ‘How do you do sir? Pippa Hamilton.’ I introduced myself

He laughed, but it was a pleasant laugh not a mocking one. ‘You don’t have to call me sir’ he said smilingly, ‘I’m not one of the beaks, just the Head Boy. ... And a fellow member of Dalton’s House.’ He looked over at my trunk. ‘Want a hand?’

‘Yes please.. Tom.’ I could feel myself blushing scarlet.

I gave Mummy a quick hug said my goodbyes and then turned to follow Tom as he shouldered my trunk and headed off through an open doorway. He led the way up an imposing wooden staircase to the very top of the house. He stopped on the landing where an older woman stood waiting. She smiled at him. ‘Nice to see you doing the gentlemanly thing Tom.’

He grinned then turned back to me. ‘Mrs Thompson may I introduce Pippa Hamilton? Pippa your new housemistress.’

Mrs Thompson shook me warmly by the hand. ‘Welcome to Westland Hall Pippa, and welcome to Dalton’s. I’m sure you’ll be very happy with us.’ She glanced back at Tom. ‘Thank-you Tom I’ll look after Pippa now, you can see if there’s any other new arrivals who need your assistance.’

A look of slight disappointment crossed his face but he quickly recovered himself. ‘Of course ma’am, be seeing you Pippa.’ He have me another broad smile as he headed back down the stairs.

Despite my natural anxiety at being in a new place I was starting to relax. Tom was nice and so was Mrs Thompson, if everyone was like that at Westland then it would be a very happy two years.

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Much to the surprise of the sceptics amongst us the girls fitted into the life of the school with utmost ease. I think it would have been different if they had been younger, but being sixth-formers, they did have a maturity and a self-confidence that meant they could adapt to the unusual situation quite quickly.

They certainly made a difference to Dalton’s. The house somehow had a better, more relaxed atmosphere. Even the most loutish of my fellows made the effort not to be quite so rude and boisterous when one of the girls was around.

For me, the first few weeks of term were busy ones. I was finding my feet as head boy as well as coping with the demands of my A level subjects. There was little time for leisure but that didn’t mean I wasn’t enjoying myself. I revelled in the responsibility, which I took very seriously and made it my aim to be both fair and firm, particularly towards the more junior members of the school. That isn’t to say that there weren’t some unpleasant moments. Having to deliver a beating to a whole dormitory who had persistently refused to quieten down after repeated warnings, was not a happy task, but one that I didn’t shirk from, for keeping good order in the school was an important part of my role. I met regularly with the headmaster and he seemed pleased with the way I was handling things.

I kept an eye out for Pippa. Like me she was studying for English A level so we did get a fair amount of classroom time together. It soon became pretty clear that she had brains as well as looks. The scholarship she was on was no mistake, she really did have an exceptional mind. She also read beautifully, one could hear a pin drop when she was reciting Shakespeare. In the house she was fairly quiet, not one to draw attention to herself, unlike some of her companions. But neither was she withdrawn or unpopular. She was always friendly towards me, but without giving me any romantic encouragement. I couldn’t say I really got to know her until the five pound note incident.
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My hope that my life at Westland would turn out to be a happy one was certainly born out in those first few weeks. Although there were some snide comments from the boys, these were usually from the more junior members of the school, and so could easily be ignored. I enjoyed the subjects I was studying. The masters were good teachers and the lessons I found stimulating. I especially enjoyed English, a subject where Tom Elliot was one of my classmates. Very early on I sensed that there was attraction there, but did my utmost not to encourage it.

There were just thirty girls at Westland, all resident in Dalton’s under the watchful eye of Mrs Thompson. We were a diverse group, some who had boarded before, others for whom this was their first experience of life away from home. Of course there were those who were a little homesick in the first few weeks, but generally we all pulled together and helped each-other out. I say generally, because there was one notable exception to the rule: Claire Deschamps. With her Huguenot name, her aristocratic parents and her privileged upbringing she thought she was a cut above the rest of us. She had fair hair - habitually worn in a pair of plaits, and a little retrouve nose, which with its upturned end made her look as though she was constantly sneering - which nine times out of ten she actually she was! Claire Deschamps would not have been a problem apart from the fact that we were sharing a study together. In Dalton’s each girl had her own small room but studies were shared one between four. Most of the time we hardly spoke, for it was clear that she considered me beyond her contempt, indeed I don’t believe she had ever said anything to me of substance before that fateful day.

It was a Wednesday evening. Wednesday afternoons were always taken up with school sports and I had enjoyed a game of tennis in the soft autumnal sunshine. I returned to my room to put my things away, and then went to the study to do my prep. Claire was already there, at her desk, reading her book - she ignored me. As I turned to reach up to a high shelf for my dictionary there was a sudden crunching sound from beneath my foot. Surprised, I took a step back and looked down. There on the floor was a rather lovely gold watch. The only problem being that it wasn’t quite as lovely as it must have been in the few moments before I trod on it! Now the glass was broken and the hands were bent.

Claire swivelled round in her chair and saw immediately what had happened. She bent over and picked up the broken pieces.

‘You stupid, clumsy cow.’ she said angrily. ‘Look what you’ve done. That watch was a sixteenth birthday present from my Papa, and you’ve ruined it.’

I was dreadfully embarrassed. ‘Oh Claire, I’m awfully awfully sorry.’ I said. ‘I just didn’t see it on the floor. It was an accident.’

Claire’s mean eyes glinted. ‘Accident or not, you’re going to pay for this.’

‘I’m sure it could be mended, it’s just the glass.’ I said anxiously.

‘We’ll see. Whatever it costs to get it fixed, you’ll be getting the bill.’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’ I said, not wanting to make an enemy of Claire. But really I was quite worried. Unlike many of the girls I received very little in the way of an allowance, it probably wouldn’t cost too much to fix, but it would stretch my limited resources.

Claire put the broken pieces of the watch into her desk drawer and then flounced from the room, shooting me a dirty look as she left.

I tried, over the next few days to put the whole thing out of my mind, hopefully Claire would get it fixed, it wouldn’t come to much, and when her initial anger had subsided she wouldn’t be bothered to charge me for it.

I hadn’t really counted on her true nastiness.

It was the following Wednesday, a whole week later, that she presented the bill to me. She came into my room without knocking and held the watch up in front of me. I could see it had been expertly repaired. I smiled ‘I’m glad its mended Claire, sorry I broke it. I hope we can be chums now?’

She gave me her usual sneer ‘We’ll see about that when you’ve paid up.’

It was only then that I opened the folded slip of paper that she had given me. It was a receipt from Joskins and Fowler, the jewellers in the local town. As I cast my eyes down it, my heart missed a beat in horror. There in bold letters was the amount - £4 4s 6d! I could have bought three perfectly nice watches outright for that sum!

‘I.. I...’ I stammered, struggling for the words to say. ‘I’m sorry Claire I just can’t afford that.’

She looked at me nastily. ‘You’ll pay.’ she said ‘Or else.’

‘Or else what?’ I asked anxiously

She looked even nastier. ‘Or else the whole school will know the reason why you had to leave Roedean. The whole school will know that Pippa’s precious Daddy is languishing in Wormwood Scrubs convicted of fraud.’

My eyes filled with tears ‘You beast!’ I said.

She laughed coldly. ‘Some of us happen to read the newspapers and remember what we read. I might not be as bright as you, miss goody-two-shoes, but at least my Papa’s not a filthy convict!’

‘Its not true! He’s innocent!’ I cried.

‘That’s not what the jury thought’ she sneered.

I saw red and swung my open hand, catching her full across her face. I thought she might retaliate with a blow herself but she didn’t. Her voice was quiet with menace. ‘You’ll pay for that too. You owe me a full five pounds now.’

‘But I haven’t got five pounds!’ I cried

‘You’d better get it. I’ll give you a week to pay, after that everyone will know about your precious Daddy!’

She turned on her heal and stalked from the room. I threw myself down on my bed and sobbed. I had tried so hard not to think about poor Daddy languishing in his prison cell, now it all came flooding back. I knew he was innocent and so did Mummy. Even now, we had the best lawyers working on his appeal and we were confident the verdict would be overturned. But I knew the rest of the school wouldn’t see it like that, especially if it was Claire Deschamps who was spreading the news. But what could I do? Even if I wrote to Mummy it would be no help, she no more had a spare five pounds than I did. Oh what to do?!

------------

I noticed Pippa at dinner that evening. Her eyes were red rimmed and I could see she had been crying. I resolved to get to speak to her after the meal but never got the chance.

The reason I missed my opportunity was the excitement emanating from the junior table at the far end of the dining room. It was the tradition at Dalton’s that mail received during the day was distributed at dinner, and it was clear that someone had got a particularly exciting letter. I got up to investigate.
A small tousled hair boy, Trevor Bedford, was waving something excitedly in the air.

‘What is it Bedford?’ I asked him ‘What’s all the fuss about?’

‘Sorry Tom.’ he gushed ‘But look, my Godfather’s sent me five quid!’

‘Its five pounds, not quid, don’t be vulgar.’ I chided him.

‘Yes Tom, sorry, but isn’t it smashing!’
‘Wonderful.’ I smiled ‘Keep it safely and you can have some fun with your friends on the next exeat.’

They quietened down a little and I made my way back to the prefects’ table.
I thought little more of it till the following afternoon. I was busy working on my prep in my room when there was a knock at the door. I opened it and there stood little Trevor Bedford, tears streaming down his face.

‘Bedford? Whatever’s the matter?’

‘Oh Tom its gone!’ he wailed ‘My five quid... its gone!’

I managed to calm him down a little and get the story from him about how he had left the money in an envelope on his bedside cabinet, and how when he had returned this afternoon, the envelope was still there but the money wasn’t.

The first thing I did was to organise a thorough search of his dormitory, but to no avail. It was clear that he hadn’t simply mislaid it, the envelope was still there on his bedside cabinet as he had said. This was serious, we had a thief at Dalton’s! I considered what I must do, obviously this was beyond my competence, Mr Thompson would have to be told and also the headmaster. I made my way back upstairs to put on my blazer before I went to find the housemaster.

As I turned to go down my corridor who should I bump into but Pippa Hamilton. She saw the troubled look on my face.

‘What’s the matter Tom? You look worried.’ she said.
‘A nasty business I’m afraid. Little Trevor Bedford has had five pounds stolen, poor kid, he’s distraught. His folks are not well off, I doubt he’s ever had so much money in his life, and now it’s disappeared. And I’ve got the unenviable task of letting our housemaster know we have a thief in Dalton’s.’

I saw a mixture of emotions wash across Pippa’s face, horror, and fear... and guilt. I saw her eyes glisten with tears and she clenched her fists as though fighting some inner battle. Then she looked up at me and met my eyes.

‘I did it.’ she said ‘I stole the money.’

--------------------

Since Claire had spoken to me, and handed me the receipt I had been in turmoil. A week, or a month, it made no difference, I would never have the money to pay her back. And when I didn’t she would have great delight in telling the whole school about my Daddy’s disgrace. Oh the shame of it! How would I ever be able to hold my head up in public again?

At dinner, I had no appetite and simply pushed my food around the plate. Nobody was watching me anyway, everybody’s attention was distracted by the commotion going on down at the far end of the dining hall, at the junior table. It wasn’t until Tom got up to quieten them down that I became aware of what it was all about. One of the juniors, a little lad called Trevor Bedford, had received five pounds through the post, and understandably was celebrating this unexpected windfall.

Five pounds! Oh how I wished I was Trevor at that moment. And then the terrible, wicked thought struck me. Trevor couldn’t possibly need that five pounds as much as I did. I knew it was wrong to steal, I had never stolen anything in my life, yet surely the ends justified the means? And one day, when I was rich I would find Trevor Bedford and repay him threefold.

I lay awake that night turning it over and over in my mind. It seemed like the only chance I would get to avert the disaster the Claire Deschamps was determined to bring down on my head. And yet, already I was feeling awfully guilty. I would be a thief if I took the money, and thieves were despicable people.

After a fitful nights sleep I had made up my mind. My second period that day was a private study period, a time when we were allowed to work in the library or in our rooms. Trevor and all of his dormitory would be safely at work in the main school, indeed, if past experience was anything to go by, Dalton’s would be virtually deserted. Taking all my courage in both hands, I raced back to the house before the others and stole quietly into the junior dorm. I thought it might be difficult to find the money, but reality it was very simple. The innocent, trusting child had left it in full view on his bedside cabinet. It was the work of a moment to pick it up and slip it into the pocket of my gymslip. I left the dormitory quietly, making sure I wasn’t seen, then made my way up to my study at the top of the house.

Claire Deschamps was already there, getting some books out of her bag, preparing to write her geography essay. I had no wish to hold onto the stolen money any longer than was necessary. I walked across to her and placed the note on the desk in front of her.

‘There’s your money, alright?’ I said, trying hard to keep the trembling from my voice.

She looked up at my with an expression of cold triumph. ‘Thank-you Hamilton. I knew you would see sense. No need to let anyone else know about poor Daddy quite yet after all.’

I could have hit her again, but bit my lip in an effort to stay calm and said nothing. I picked up my school bag and headed for the library. The thought of spending any longer than was necessary in the company of Claire Deschamps was more than I could bear.

There was a rehearsal for the school play after prep so it wasn’t until just before dinner that I returned to Dalton’s. As I ascended the stairs I met Tom Elliot coming down. He didn’t look his usual untroubled self. In fact there was something clearly worrying him, he looked most distressed.

‘What’s the matter?’ I asked him.

As he explained how Trevor Bedford had had five pounds stolen from him, and how distraught the child was, I felt the colour drain from my face and a great weight of guilt descend on my heart. How could I have done such a wicked thing? And now Tom was worried and upset, and all because of me!

Before I could stop myself I blurted it out. ‘It was me, I stole the money!’

----------------

I stood there, totally dumbfounded for a moment. Pippa Hamilton had stolen five pounds? It was unbelievable. My incredulity must have shown on my face for Pippa spoke again.

‘Really Tom, it was me, and I’m dreadfully sorry.’

It took a moment more before I came to my wits. ‘Come up to my rooms, we need to talk about this.’ I said to Pippa.

She followed me upstairs to my set and I closed the door behind us, motioning her to sit on the sofa. I stared at her a moment, but she wouldn’t meet my eye, she looked down at the floor and twisted her hands in her lap.

‘Why did you do it Pippa? What on earth were you thinking of?’

It was then that she looked up at me and her pretty eyes were already brimming with tears.

‘I can’t tell you Tom, I wish I could but I can’t.’

‘You had a good reason then?’

She nodded miserably.

‘Good reason or not, it was still a wicked thing to do.’

‘Yes, I know Tom, I’m totally ashamed. I know it was wrong, and I shouldn’t have taken it but I just had to. Oh Tom.... what’s going to happen to me? How will I be punished’

How indeed? It was an excellent question. I should, of course, report the whole matter to Mr Thompson and let him deal with it. But I knew what the outcome of that would be - it would mean that Pippa would be expelled from Westland's in utter disgrace. That was unthinkable, for although I had her confession I was convinced that what she had done was an aberration and that thieving was no more part of her character than it was of mine. The fact that she was a girl made things doubly difficult. For the boys my remit to discipline ran quite far. In such a case as this I could use the ultimate sanction at my disposal - the dreaded cane. But could I cane a pretty girl like Pippa, a girl only just my junior?

I cleared my throat. ‘Well Pippa... I just don’t know. If you were a boy it would be simple.’

‘What would you do then?’ she asked, her voice trembling.

‘I would award you six strokes of the cane on the bare bottom.’

I saw her shudder. ‘Don’t worry’ I added quickly ‘I’m not thinking of doing that to you. But quite how to proceed I don’t know. If I handed it all over to Mr Thompson you would sure to be expelled.’

She looked at me in horror. ‘Please Tom, no, that can’t happen, I need this place.’

‘I know, which is why it's such a quandry. Anything else I could award you, like a detention, will mean everyone else having to know why, and that won’t do will it?’

‘No it won’t. And it wouldn’t really be justice if I just got put in detention.’

She was right there. Anyone else would certainly not be getting away with it like that.

She looked me straight in the eye and said in a small voice ‘You shall have to beat me Tom, there’s no other option.’

I nodded slowly. ‘Very well Pippa, I agree, that does seem to be the best course of action.’

I saw her tremble again. ‘Have you ever received corporal punishment before?’ I asked her gently.

‘No’ she replied in almost a whisper.

‘Then I shan’t cane you.’ I said ‘I shall use the slipper instead.’

‘Thank you Tom. Where do you want me?’’

I placed an upright chair in the centre of the carpet and fetched the slipper from my desk. ‘Slipper’ was actually a misnomer for what it was was an old canvas plimsoll with a flexible rubber sole. It was well used. I sat down on the chair.

‘Over my knee please Pippa.’

Hesitantly, she stood up and took the couple of paces to my side. I saw her take a deep breath to steady herself and then lean forward over my lap. She lowered herself down across my knees, placing her hands on the carpet in front of her, her long hair fell forward, hiding her face.

I have to admit that she felt delicious like that. The weight of her soft body across my thighs, her hips pressing against me, her rapid, nervous, breathing. I felt my cock harden in response.

Now I faced another dilemma. With a boy I would have made him lower his trousers and pants, all corporal punishment at Westland’s was taken on the bare. Could I make Pippa do that? In one way I certainly wanted to, the thought of her half-naked was an extremely enticing one, but it would hardy be decent or gentlemanly. But to let her retain the protection of both skirt and knickers was rather too lenient. I compromised. I reached back and took the hem of gymslip skirt. She gave a soft gasp as I lifted it but made no attempt to stop me. I pulled it right up, revealing her black stockings, her suspenders, and her white cotton knickers that were stretched tight over the full curves of her bottom. At that early stage of adult life I was hardly an expert on the female form, but even now looking back, I can safely say that Pippa Hamilton had the most perfect peach of a bottom that I ever saw.

I picked up the slipper that I had placed on the floor beside me and tapped it in my hand.

‘Ready?’ I asked. I felt her tense. ‘Yes’ she replied from behind that curtain of blonde hair.

I lifted the slipper and then cracked it down smartly on her left cheek. She gave a sharp cry and wriggled across my knees. I gave her another on the same place and another... and another. Each elicited a similar response, first the little cry of pain then the wriggle of her hips. In all my masturbatory fantasies I had never imagined anything quite as erotic as this. Slippering this pretty girl was hugely exciting, I’m sure she must have been able to feel my hard cock pressing into her. I repeated the exercise on her other bottom cheek... four smart smacks with the slipper. I could see her skin redden where her knicker leg had ridden up a little and wickedly gave her the last two smacks on that bare area. I was rewarded by a shriller cry and a more frantic writhing.

I stopped.

‘Very well Pippa, that’s it, you can stand up.’

She stood, her hands going immediately to her bottom to rub furiously. There were tears in her eyes but she had managed to refrain from crying. I held out my hand ‘Well done Miss Hamilton, you took that bravely.’

She shook hands and gave me a weak smile. ‘Thank you Tom.’ she said.

‘Right then Pippa, if you can give me the five pounds, then I can return it to Bedford and this whole episode can be finished and forgotten about.'

She gave me a look of pure horror. ‘Oh Tom... I can’t... I haven’t got it.’
‘But how can you have spent it already.’ I challenged her ‘You haven’t had a chance.’

‘Please don’t ask me Tom, but I am telling the truth, I haven’t got it.’ she said, and I could hear the desperation in her voice. Suddenly I felt sorry for her. ‘Ok Pippa, don’t panic. I’ll give Trevor his money back and you can repay me in a weeks time when you’ve had chance to write to your parents.’

She nodded unhappily.

‘Can I go now?’ she asked.
----------------

I had never been spanked before. Not as a child by Daddy or Mummy and certainly never at school. If Roedean had corporal punishment then I certainly wasn’t aware of anyone who had ever suffered it. When I went up to Tom’s room I didn’t know what was going to happen, I hadn’t thought about it, but if I had then I should have known that that was his only option unless he was to report me to the headmaster.

When he mentioned the cane I felt my insides turn to ice. I would have accepted a caning if that was what he had awarded me, but I was very relieved when he said it was to be the slipper.

I felt like a little girl as I bent over his knee. He’s not even a year older than me, but at that moment it felt like he was really a grown-up. I had heard the boys talking so knew that corporal punishment at Westland was always taken on the bare. So as he lifted my skirt I feared the worse, fully expecting that a few moments later my knickers would be down around my knees. I was very grateful that he spared my modesty. Nevertheless, my face was blazing with embarrassment as I sensed him looking at my knickered bottom and my stockinged legs. Indeed, I could feel the effect that that sight was having on him.

Those feelings of shame were momentarily eclipsed when the first smack landed on my bottom. The sting was unimaginable. I had to exert a huge amount of self-control to stop myself from leaping up and grabbing my poor derriere. I pressed myself against his legs and wriggled like mad. He smacked me again and again. Four smacks on one side and then the same again on the other. I could feel his excitement growing as he spanked me. Whether it was that that excited me or whether it was the spanking itself, but by the time he gave me the last couple of smacks - very cruelly on a bare portion of flesh! - I too felt myself becoming aroused. When I stood up my mind was in turmoil and confusion. My bottom was so sore and yet I was also shamefully aware of the wetness between my legs. I fought hard to remain control and managed to thank him properly and shake his hand as one is supposed to, to show there are no hard feelings.

Then, of course, he dropped the bombshell. He asked me for the fiver, so that he could return it to its rightful owner!

What a position to be in. I had been in debt to the horrible Claire Deschamps, now I was in debt to the lovely Tom Elliot, I wasn’t sure which I preferred.

Cinderella

2009-09-03T09:47:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time there was the most wonderfully pretty girl, whose name was Cinderella. Cinderella had cornflower blue eyes, golden hair, the reddest of lips and the most perfect of figures. You might have thought that she would consider herself one of the luckiest girls to be alive, but she didn’t. In fact, it was rare that a day went by when she didn’t curse her ill fortune. For the life that she lived was a life of drudgery; cooking and washing, cleaning and polishing from dawn to dusk, day after day with never a rest. The house she lived in was huge and one of her many tasks was to clean out all the grates first thing every morning and last thing every night. The smudges of ash and dirt so often to be seen on her pretty little nose were why they called her Cinderella.

Cinderella hadn’t always lived like this, she hadn’t been born to the life of a servant. As a little girl she had had a lovely childhood, the only daughter of a beautiful mother and a prosperous merchant. She had had everything a little girl could ever want. But one sad day her mother had taken ill and died. Her father, had not been able to bear the grief and had quickly re-married. But the woman he had married was cruel and heartless and her two ugly daughters as wicked and mean as their mother. It was they who had made Cinderella’s life a misery, they who made her act as their unpaid servant.

“Fetch me that! Bring me this! Make sure that’s clean girl! Hurry up!” They barked orders at her all day long. And if poor Cinderella didn’t obey them at once or if she made even the smallest of mistakes then they would delight in punishing her.

Cinderella sat on the kitchen floor raking out the embers from the range at the end of the day. It had been a horrible day.

It had all started to go wrong at breakfast. Esmerelda, the elder of the two ugly sisters had complained that the porridge that Cinderella had made was not sweet enough. Esmerelda had a very sweet tooth and gorged herelf on cakes and chocolates all day, as a result she was very very fat. She grabbed Cinderalla’s wrist in her large hand and pulled the poor girl towards her chair. Cinderella tried to escape her grasp but the Esmerelda was too strong. Even as she kicked and struggled Cinderella was pulled across Esmerelda’s broad lap. Up went the back of Cinderella’s shabby grey skirt and down went her plain white drawers. Then Esmerelda spanked her. And oh what a spanking it was! Esmerelda’s hands were as large as the rest of her and she smacked Cinderella’s bare bottom very hard indeed!

“Try to feed me revolting food would you!?” she exclaimed as she reddened Cinderella’s cheeks. “If I don’t eat properly I’ll end up as horrid and skinny as you!” Which really was most unfair, for although Cinderella was slim she could never be called skinny.

If you wished to see someone who really was horrid and skinny then you need look no further then Cinderella’s other step-sister, Antonia. Where Esmerelda was rolls of fat Antonia was all skin and bone. She had a sharp pointy face and an expression of weasel-like cunning. And yet she thought herself a great beauty and spent hours preening herself in front of her mirror. One of the things that Cinderella hated most was when Antonia called her up to her bedroom and made her do her hair. It was never easy to please Antonia and inevitably poor Cinderella ended up being punished despite all her best efforts.

That was exactly what happened that afternoon. Just after lunch Cinderella heard Antonia’s shrill cry “Cinderella! Cinderella! Come and do my hair for me!” She ascended the stair with a heavy heart, dreading what was going to happen. Antonia’s hair was dark and lank and greasy. Whatever Cinderella attempted didn’t seem to make any difference to how horrible it looked. Antonia’s pointy little face grew crosser and crosser as Cinderella struggled with her hair. At last her temper snapped!

“You’re trying to spoil my beautiful looks you wicked girl!” she cried. She leaped to her feet, grabbing the wooden hairbrush out of Cinderella’s hand. She forced Cinderella to bend forward over the dressing table. Then just as her sister had done that morning she lifted Cinderella’s plain grey skirt and tugged down her white cotton knickers. A few moments later the hairbrush was beating a tattoo on poor Cinderella’s bottom – and oh it hurt so much! Esmerelda’s hand had been bad enough but this was ten times worse. Cinderella cried and pleaded but to no avail. Antonia was as cruel as she was ugly. She didn’t stop until Cinderella’s bottom was bright, bright red.

Poor Cinderella, how her bottom had smarted as she returned to the kitchen to wash the pans and to brush the floor. But her troubles were not yet over for the day, worse was still to come. Cinderella’s wicked stepmother returned halfway through the afternoon. She swept into the kitchen and cast a critical eye around her. With all the time she had spent with Antonia, Cinderella had not had the chance to complete all her jobs in the kitchen.

“You lazy, wicked girl!” Cinderella’s stepmother exclaimed. “Why isn’t the kitchen clean and tidy?”

Cinderella tried to explain, but her words feel on deaf ears. She gave a gasp of horror as her stepmother walked over to the chimney breast and unhooked the leather strap that hung from a nail there. “Please ma’am, don’t punish me!” she pleaded “I’ve been spanked twice already today. I will finish all the work I promise!”

“You will finish the work, you’re right about that my dear!” her stepmother replied angrily “And you’ll work all the harder with a sore bottom to remind you. Now lift your skirts and bend over the table.”

With a choking sob Cinderella did as she was told. She lifted her skirt and lowered her knickers, then bent over the kitchen table, her bare bottom high in the air. She gave a howl of pain as her stepmother swung the strap down hard across her pink bottom. The strap was every bit as painful as the hairbrush and her stepmother was not satisfied until she had given Cinderella twelve stinging strokes.

And so now Cinderella knelt in front of the fireplace, clearing out the embers, sweeping away the ash so that she could lay a fire ready to light early the next morning. Suddenly, as she worked there came a tremendous knocking on the door. Fearful that the noise would wake the whole household Cinderella rushed to answer it. There dressed in the splendid livery of the royal court was a messenger. Without a word he handed her a scroll tied with a purple silk ribbon, remounted his horse, and with a kick of his heels galloped off towards the next house.

Cinderella did not get chance to open the scroll. There was the sound of feet on the stairs and her stepmother appeared. At first she was cross to be have been woken, but when she opened the scroll and read what it contained her expression changed to one of delight. With a shriek of joy she called Cinderella’s step-sisters downstairs and announced the wonderful news. In three days time the Prince was holding a Ball and every young woman of noble birth was invited to attend! Everyone knew that the Prince was looking for a bride and this was every girls’ chance to impress him.

You can imagine the excitement and the frenzy of activity that filled the house over the next few days. Material was bought, dresses were made, beauty treatments by the score were indulged in and poor Cinderella worked her fingers to the bone. For her stepmother and sisters made it abundantly clear that however much she pleaded Cinderella would not be going to the ball.

At last the evening arrived and Esmerelda and Antonia, accompanied by their mother set off for the palace. Cinderella was left to clean and tidy up all the mess they had left behind. “And make sure its done perfectly my girl!” her stepmother had commanded “Or I shall forget to be nice!”

Once again Cinderella was left sadly musing over what might have been. She would have loved to have gone to the ball and danced with the Prince. She would have loved to have worn a beautiful dress and put up her hair. But it was not to be. She picked up the broom and began to sweep the floor, a single tear, running down her pretty cheek.

Suddenly there was a tremendous flash of light that filled the whole room and out of the sparkling haze there stepped a smiling old woman. It took Cinderella a moment to regain her senses.

“Who on earth are you?” she asked in amazement.

“I am you’re fairy godmother.” The old woman said. “I heard you crying and I thought to myself, that young woman deserves better than this. Cinderella shall go the ball!”

“But I’ve nothing to wear.” Cinderella sobbed “And no coach to travel in.”

The fairy godmother smiled. She took from her handbag a silver wand, flicked it through the air. “Undies first!” she proclaimed. Cinderella gasped as the rags she was wearing dissolved into thin air and in their place she found herself clad in the most luxurious of lingerie. The corset was laced tight, emphasising her waist and making her breasts even perter. The knickers were silk and trimmed with lace, and the stockings made her long legs look even more slender. She caught a glance of herself in the mirror and could hardly believe it was her.

“Very pretty.” The fairy godmother said. “But a girl can’t go out in her underwear can she?!” She flicked her wand again and in a moment Cinderella was wearing the most beautiful dress she had ever seen. A dress of white and gold and silver, a dress that made her look more lovely than ever. On her feet were the most delicate pair of satin slippers. “Oh thank you, thank you.” She breathed.

The fairy godmother led Cinderella out into the courtyard. In the midden heap there was a rotten pumpkin and gnawing away at it were some little mice. “Just the thing.” she announced. With a flick of her wand the pumpkin became a golden coach and the mice four splendid footmen to ride on the coach. Another flick transformed two donkeys into a pair of magnificent coach horses. “Now for a coachman to drive it.” The fairy godmother looked around and spied the family cat.. Before Cinderella could stop her she had cast another spell and the cat became a coachman complete with top hat and riding whip. The cat would not have been Cinderella’s choice, for some reason the it had always disliked her and she could see by the look in his eye that the transformation had not changed that animosity.

“Now my dear. You have everything you need.” The fairy godmother smiled. “But one thing you must remember. At the stroke of midnight the magic will cease, your dress will become rags, the coach a pumpkin, the horses just donkeys, the footmen mice and the coachman will change back into the cat. And now I must go.”

She turned a little twist, there was the blinding flash of light and Cinderella was left with the wonderful, magical coach, ready to go the ball. She turned to the coachman, who was standing flicking his whip, a wicked little smile on his face. Cinderella took a step towards the coach but he held up his hand to stop her.

“Not so fast Cinderella, there’s a price to be paid before I drive you anywhere.”

“A price?” Cinderella looked at him wide-eyed.

“Oh yes, I’ve seen how they punish you and often wished I’d had the chance myself. And now I have.” He cracked the coach whip.

“No please!” Cinderella begged. But it was no use.

He made her bend over the mounting block that stood in the courtyard, he made her left her lovely skirts, he made her slip her silk knickers down to the tops of her stockings. And then he whipped her with the coach whip, swinging it lazily through the air and cracking the tip down accurately and painfully across her bare bottom. Cindrella cried and yelped but she couldn’t escape and the coachman was not satisfied until he had given her two dozen stinging lashes. Only then was Cinderella allowed to climb up into the coach and take her seat. She wriggled all the way to the palace, her poor smarting bottom meant she couldn’t sit comfortably even for a moment.

But all thoughts of her painful posterior vanished the moment she arrived at the palace. The ball was already at its height when she made her entrance, but such was her beauty that everyone stopped and stared and even the band forgot to play. The Prince himself stepped forward from the crowd of his guests and took her hand. “Would you care to dance?” he asked her.

And dance they did. All evening with never a pause. And they gazed into eachothers eyes, the charming prince and the beautiful girl. Time seemed to fly by and Cinderella forgot the warning her fairy godmother had given her. Only when the clock began to chime for midnight did she suddenly remember. She tore herself away from the Prince.

“I must go!” she gasped, panic stricken.

“Wait, I don’t even know your name!” he cried.

But it was too late. Cinderella ran from him, into the darkness of the palace gardens. As she ran one of those lovely satin slippers fell from her foot even as the clock continue to sound. The final stroke of midnight rang out and just as had been promised the beautiful clothes dissolved and she found herself clad in rags again.

How she made her way home she could not have told. But somehow she got back to the house before her stepmother and the ugly sisters. The cat was lying in front of the kitchen stove, a smug look on its face. Cindrella took great delight in kicking him out of the back door into the dark night; she hadn’t forgotten the way he had made her bottom smart so badly.

The next day the household was alive with the excitement of the night before, and all the talk was of the mysterious and beautiful girl who had danced with the Prince all evening and then run off into the night. As Cinderella served breakfast there was a knock on the door. Esmerelda opened it and shrieked with surprise and delight to see that the visitor was none other than the Prince himself accompanied by his guards and footmen. She curtsied and fussed and simpered and led the Royal party into the house.

“The Prince is seeking the girl he danced with at the ball last night in order that he might ask for her hand in marriage.” Announced the most important of the servants. “The girl fled from the ball but left behind her satin slipper. Whoever the slipper fits shall be the one whom the Prince shall marry.”

Esmerelda and Antonia pushed forward, both eager to try on the slipper. “Out of my way you fat oaf.” Cried Antonia “Wait your turn you skinny wretch!” Esmerelda retorted. But of course the slipper fitted neither of them. Esmerelda could hardly fit her big toe in and Antonia’s bony foot was entirely the wrong shape.

“May I try?” Cinderella asked in a small voice.

The sisters and Cinderella’s step mother protested but when the Prince insisted that Cinderella be allowed to try on the slipper they fell silent. Cinderella sat on the stool and slipped the shoe onto her foot. It was a perfect fit! The Prince went down on one knee in front of her and as he did so he recognized, despite the rags and the dirty face, the beautiful girl he had danced the night away with.

The wedding was planned for the very next day and Cinderella was whisked away to the palace to be prepared. Her hair and make-up were expertly done and the dirty rags replaced with beautiful dresses, although none was as beautiful as the magical dress she had worn for the ball. Nevertheless the whole court agreed that, on her wedding day, she was the prettiest bride that had ever been seen in all the Prince’s realm.

At the very end of the wedding banquet, just as Cinderella and the Prince were about to leave for the Royal bedchamber Cinderella felt a hand on her arm. She turned and there was her Fairy Godmother.

“Thank you, thank you!” Cinderella breathed, bending forward to kiss the old woman on the cheek.

“Don’t mention it my dear, it’s what Fairy Godmothers are for, we’re in the business of making dreams come true. And now I have one more thing for you.”

Out of nowhere the Fairy Godmother produced a long slim package, wrapped in gold paper and tied with silk ribbon. “This is for you to give to the Prince when you get to the bedchamber. You must hand it to him and tell him that he may use it on you as often as he wishes. Can you remember that?”

“Oh yes!” Cinderella replied “I’m to hand it to him and say that he may use it in me as often as he wishes.” She smiled a broad smile for she knew what the package contained; it would be a silver wand just like the one that her Fairy Godmother had used herself. With such a thing the Prince would be able to conjure the most marvellous of things for her. What a wonderful wedding present!

And so it was that as soon as the door of the Royal bedchamber was closed Cinderella presented the Prince with the package that had been given her. She remembered the words she had been told to say. As she placed the package into his hands Cinderella smiled and said. “My handsome Prince, you may use this gift on me as often you wish!”

The Prince undid the bow and pulled off the golden paper. Inside was a long slender box. With trembling hands he lifted the lid and with a gasp of pleasurable surprise withdrew the object the box contained.

But it wasn’t a silver wand. It was a long rattan cane with a traditional crook handle. Cinderella gave a gasp of shock and horror and was suddenly aware of her pert little bottom underneath her pretty dress.

The Prince flicked the cane through the air. “Oh Cinderella!” he exclaimed “How did you know that I had always fantasised about caning a beautiful girl like you! What a wonderful surprise and what a perfect gift!”

Poor Cinderella! She hadn’t realised that other people have Fairy Godmothers too and that even Princes are sometimes allowed to have their dreams come true! But there was no escape now. Somehow she knew that the caning she would get from her new husband would make all her previous punishments pale into insignificance. She bit her lip and gave a little shiver of anticipation as she lifted her dress, lowered her knickers and bent forward over the end of the Royal bed.

Prefect's Caning

2009-09-02T12:47:00.000-07:00

Briarwood was a school that thrived on tradition. For almost every occasion of daily life there was a well-established procedure. There were traditions for sports matches, traditions for welcoming new pupils, traditions to be observed at each and every meal time. Tradition was especially important where discipline was concerned. The least changing of all the traditions was that for a Prefect’s Caning. That moment when the Head Boy used the authority he had to teach someone a lesson he would never forget.

The victim would know from just after breakfast that morning when his name would go up on the prefect’s noticeboard that he was for ‘the whack.’ The note could not be any shorter or more succinct. ‘Jenkins – Cane’ it would say. The poor boy would then spend the rest in a state of acute anxiety dreading what would happen that evening. He would know to remain in school uniform when everyone else was turning in for bed and would sit unhappily in his room waiting for the knock on the door that would come soon after ‘lights out.’ One of the prefects would come for him and he would be led, in silence downstairs to the prefects’ common room. There all the prefects would be assembled. He would have to shake the hand of each before going through into the Head Boy’s study. The door would close and all would listen to see how many strokes were to be given this time. After a few minutes the victim would emerge, trying to put a brave face on things. Again he would be required to shake hands with all assembled before being allowed to depart to his room, his punishment completed. It was a ritual designed to strike fear into the stoutest of hearts. It would happen perhaps once or twice a term and when it did the whole school would be aware of it. In many ways it was a more fearful thing to be caned by the Head Boy than by the Headmaster himself.

Tonight was one of those nights when the ritual would be enacted again. Except tonight it was different. Tonight was a first. For the first time in the whole history of briarwood it would not be a boy who would be getting ‘the whack’ tonight, but a girl. Girls had been admitted to the sixth-form at Briarwood three years ago and some had doubted that this moment would ever come. And yet the demands of equality were unanswerable and a girl who had offended in the way that Amy Brenton had done could expect only one outcome.

Amy Brenton, 18 years old, Upper Sixth. Amy Brenton who now sat, dressed in full school uniform, in her room, nervously awaiting the knock on the door. She knew she was in trouble, knew that her excuse that she had only ‘borrowed’ the money had cut no ice with the prefects who had questioned her. And yet it was a shock when her name had gone up on the prefect’s noticeboard. ‘Brenton – Cane.’ It had read. She had stood and looked at it in utter disbelief, a crowd of fellow pupils gathering round her as she stood there staring at the little hand-written note. It couldn’t be true, it couldn’t be. Surely there was a mistake – they weren’t allowed to cane girls were they? And yet they were. She had checked the rules and it was all too clear that they were well within their rights to order this particular punishment. The only concession made to her sex was that she was allowed to nominate a chaperone to stay in the room with her whilst she was being punished. She had dismissed the idea instantly – it was going to be embarrassing enough without the added humiliation of a witness.

Amy checked herself in the mirror again. She was determined to present a perfect appearance – determined to carry this off with as much dignity and self-respect as she could manage. Her yellow blouse was sharply pressed, her striped tie done up with the neatest of knots, the maroon blazer brushed and clean, the pleats in her navy skirt as sharp as they ever had been, her stockings straight. She took her hairbrush and ran it through her blonde hair again, although she had already brushed it to an impressive shine, it was something to do while she waited.

She wondered what it would be like. How much would it hurt? She couldn’t imagine, never having suffered the indignity of corporal punishment before. Her only comfort was that others had been through it before her –indeed she knew one or two of them, and they had survived the experience. She was resolved to be brave, not to show her fear, not to give way to the tears that weren’t far below the surface. She shifted uneasily in the chair, only too aware that she would not be able to sit as comfortably as this on her return. Lights out had been called five minutes previously but still no one came. They were playing with her; making her wait? A flicker of hope stirred in her heart. Perhaps they had forgotton? Perhaps it had all been a mistake? Perhaps they had decided to let her off now that they had scared her?

Amy jumped as there was a firm rap on the door. Her heart beat madly in her chest. The door opened. It was John Clayton, one of the senior prefects. Amy got to her feet, trying to control her trembling legs. ‘Come with me please Brenton.’ John said.

Amy followed him from the room, down the darkened corridors and the dimly lit staircase. It all looked so different at this time of night. And the place was so quiet, it was as though everyone was still and listening, hearing her footsteps, knowing where she was headed.

The Prefect’s Common room was well lit. All the senior prefects were there, nine boys and two girls. She knew them all, fellow pupils in the sixth form, some whom she counted as friends. There were no smiles of friendship now. She went down the line as she knew she should, gravely shaking hands with each. Caroline and Fiona both squeezed her hand strongly, trying to give her courage for the ordeal that lay ahead. They were the last in the line, beyond them was the door to the Head Boy’s study. Amy took a deep breath and knocked firmly on the door.

‘Enter’ she heard Mark call.

Without looking back she turned the handle and went in.

Mark was standing in the centre of the room. He was a strong young man, handsome and well-built, captain both of Cricket and Squash. Usually Amy got on well with him, indeed they had had something of a flirtatious relationship with a strong degree of mutual attraction. There was to be no flirting now.

Mark cleared his throat. ‘Right Miss Brenton, we both know why you’re here. You have been caught stealing from other pupils. That sort of behaviour is totally unacceptable at Briarwood. You will be punished. The prefects have met and have determined what your punishment will be. Amy Brenton you will take eight strokes of the cane.’

Amy felt her heart go into her mouth. Eight strokes! She had been expecting three, four at the most.

Mark was still talking. ‘You have the right to appeal this punishment to the headmaster. However, I should warn you that if he finds against you then he will award double the original sentence. Do you wish to appeal?’

Amy mutely shook her head.

‘I have to hear you say it.’ Mark said a little more gently.

Amy found her voice. ‘No, I don’t want to appeal.’

Mark nodded. ‘Very well.’ He went over to the mantelpiece and drew down a long crook-handled rattan cane. Amy looked at the horrid thing with wide-eyes. Mark flexed it in his strong hands. ‘Take your blazer off Amy and put it on the chair.’

Amy slipped her school blazer from her shoulders and draped it over the chair back.

‘Lower your knickers, lift your skirt and bend over the desk.’ Mark ordered.

Amy looked at him in disbelief. Had he really told her to take her panties down? But surely… ? He didn’t mean to cane her on the bare did he?

Mark saw her expression. ‘You heard me.’ He said. ‘The cane is always taken on the bare bottom at Briarwood.’

‘But… but… I’m a girl!’ Amy protested.

‘The rules are no different for girls’ Mark told her ‘You can check if you like. That’s why you had the option for a chaperone. You may still chose to have one if you wish – I’m sure Caroline or Fiona would oblige.’

Amy’s mind was in a whirl. She hadn’t expected this, hadn’t even thought it might happen. Yet she knew that every boy who had had the cane had had it bare – why on earth had she imagined it would be different for her? She fought back the tears that were coming to her eyes. There was no way out.

She didn’t say anything but simply reached up inside her skirt and slid her knickers down. She lifted the hem of her skirt and bent forward over the desk. The air was suddenly cold on her bare cheeks. She shivered. She felt horribly vulnerable, horribly exposed. She knew that Mark was looking at her, enjoying her nakedness. She was hugely aware of her bare bottom. She had often worried it was too big, that was the least of her worries now.

Mark pressed the lower part of her back with his hand. ‘Dip your back and raise your bottom.’ He instructed.

Amy obeyed him, knowing that arguing was futile; in this situation he had all the power, she had none.

She felt him place the cane across the middle of her bare cheeks. She shivered. The cane was withdrawn as Mark raised it for the first stroke. Amy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. There was a swish behind her and then a sharp crack as the cane hit home. It was a fraction of a second later that Amy felt it – a burning line of pain that seemed to cut right through her, driving the breath from her body in a gasp of pain. She heard Mark speak from what seemed like a million miles away.

‘Count them aloud. And thank me for each.’ He instructed.

It took a few seconds before Amy could find the breath to obey his instruction.

‘One…. Thank you.’ She managed to say at last.

The second stroke was delivered almost immediately, catching Amy just half an inch below where the first had landed. Her knuckles went white as she gripped the edge of the desk, desperately fighting the urge to stand and clutch her sore bottom.

‘T… t… two…. Thank-you.’ She managed to stammer.

The third stroke was, if anything a touch harder than the first two. Amy stifled a scream of pain. She knew they were listening outside the door and she didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of hearing how much this was hurting. Hurting it certainly was. She found it hard to believe just how painful this punishment was. Each stroke produced a line of pure agony, that reached its height seconds after it was delivered and seemed to take an age to begin to slowly subside. She could feel each of the three red stripes and suspected she would continue to feel them every time she sat down for the next few days.

Three… thank you.’ She said.

Now Mark slowed things down. Taking his time with Amy, leaving room between each stroke. In her vulnerable position over the desk Amy suspected that he was relishing this – enjoying having her like this, half-naked in front of him. She didn’t know whether that thought pleased or angered her; it was hard to think straight when your bottom was on fire.

Again and again the cane swished down. Amy took it as well as she could, maintaining her position over the desk, meeting each stroke with a gasp of pain and then the verbal acknowledgment of the number.

‘Seven… thank-you.’ She said.

Just one more to go. Amy knew the tradition for this too. Last stroke – hardest stroke. That was the way it was done and being Briarwood there would be no deviation from that established routine. Amy readied herself – taking a firmer grip on the edge of the desk, trying to stay as calm as she could. She glanced back over her shoulder. She saw Mark had gone back a step. As she met his eyes he came forward a pace, the cane raised high, stepping into the stroke to give it added momentum. It caught Amy low – just in the crease where bottom meets thigh. She couldn’t help but cry out. She stamped her foot on the floor as she tried to ride the pain, but still it burned into her, making the tears that she had fought back come unbidden and unwelcome to her eyes.

It took her a full twenty seconds before she could say the words ‘Eight… eight strokes… thank you.’

‘Stand up.’ Mark said.

Shakily Amy got to her feet, pressing her hands to her bottom that was hot to the touch. She could feel the raised lines where the cane had struck, each line throbbing with pain.

‘Pull up your knickers.’ Mark ordered.

Amy eased her knickers up over her smarting bottom, wincing as the material rubbed against her sore flesh. She straightened out her skirt and rubbed her hand across her face to brush away the tears. Mark offered his hand.

"Well done Amy, you took that bravely.’

Amy managed a weak smile as she shook hands.

Mark opened the study door and ushered Amy out. She found it hard to look the prefects in the eye as she went along the line shaking hands, although she noticed that most people shook her hand warmly.

Then it was over and she could go back to her room. She walked slowly back, wincing with each painful step. She suspected that few of her fellow pupils were asleep, everyone would have been waiting to hear her return, knowing that a very sore and chastened girl would definitely be sleeping on her tummy that night.

Magic Circle

2009-09-02T12:43:00.000-07:00

At my previous school I had always been considered to be a bit of a nerd, a bit of a geek. That’s what happens when you have a hobby that you’re really into. It’s ok if you’re into Rugby or Cricket or porn mags, that’s just normal. But if you’re into anything else, whether it’s Warhammer 40K, stamp collecting or model railways then you’re immediately down as a nerd.

That’s why when I came to Kingsgrove I kept my hobby very quiet indeed. It was a new start and as a prefect I wanted the girls to respect me, not despise me. I didn’t give it up, I just kept it secret, and I’m glad I did for I pretty soon realised how I could use it to my advantage.

Take yesterday for example. I had caught Pippa Gower running in the corridor. Now running in the corridor is a fairly low level offence, but I’ve been wanting to get my hands on Pippa for a long time now and it seemed too good an opportunity to pass up.

“Running in the corridor Miss Gower.” I said as I stopped her “You know that’s not allowed. Come and see me in my room after supper.”

She rolled her eyes. “Bloody hell Matt, running’s hardly a hanging offence is it? Can’t you just dock a few house points or something?”

“Very well.” I said “Ten house points off Henderson and you can come and see me in my room after supper.”

She scowled at that and no doubt called me some choice names when I was out of earshot but I knew that she would turn up nonetheless. Every girl knows that failure to turn up for a prefect’s punishment is going to land you in more trouble than it’s worth, and besides as Pippa knew only too well the most she could reasonably get was a spanking on her knickers.

She was looking really pretty when she turned up at my study later. I’ve fancied her for ages but I knew it wasn’t for my benefit that she had made an effort, she was hoping that if she looked nice then I might just let her off.

I grinned at her. “You’re looking nice Pippa.” I said

“Thanks.” She smiled back.

“Tell you what, perhaps I was a bit harsh on you earlier.” I said “Perhaps losing ten house points is enough for running in the corridor?”

Her smile widened “Thanks Matt, that’s cool.”

I hadn’t finished “How about we let the cards decide?” I said, nodding at the pack of playing cards on my desk. “Draw a card and if it’s a black one you go free and if it’s red you go over my knee for a spanking on your knicks?”

Her smile faded somewhat as she realised that she hadn’t escaped quite yet. However, she had nothing to lose by agreeing. “Alright, let’s pick a card.”

I took the pack and gave it a quick shuffle then fanned it out on the desk in front of her. She came closer and I got a whiff of the perfume she was wearing – very nice. She hesitated for a moment and then picked a card. She turned it over – the Queen of Hearts.

“Unlucky.” I said sympathetically. “Seems you’re going to get spanked after all.”

She pursed her lips in annoyance. I’ve no doubt she wasn’t afraid of a spanking from me but she had thought she was home and dry. I picked up the cards and gave them another shuffle. “Want to play again?” I enquired.

She looked at me a little warily. “Same deal as last time?”

I shook my head. “No, you lost that one Pippa, no going back I’m afraid. But how about this? Black card and I’ll spank you over your skirt, red and I get to pull your knickers down?”

She thought about it for a moment. “How many smacks am I getting?” she asked.

“Shall we say two dozen?”

She nodded slowly. “Ok, I’ll risk it.”

Again I fanned the cards onto the table. She took a bit longer to choose, as though consideration might have any part to play in a game (as far as she was concerned) of pure luck.. This time it was the ten of diamonds. She stamped her foot , disappointed that she had lost again.

“Come here then .” I said

She came a little closer to stand in front of where I was sitting. “Lift your skirt.” I ordered. She glared at me but did as she was told, bunching up her skirt and holding it over her hips. She was wearing plain white cotton knickers, and very pretty they looked too. I reached forward and placed my fingers in the side elastic and then drew them slowly down. She didn’t try to stop me but I felt her shiver when she saw me looking at her neat little pubic triangle. She pulled down her skirt to cover herself up. When I looked up she was blushing.

“Where do you want me?” she said brusquely, wanting to get it over and done with now.

“How about a last chance?” I asked.

“No thanks.” She said.

“I’ll give you really good odds.” I said enticingly.

“What?”

“Well…” I said slowly, as though giving the matter careful consideration. “How about… I let you off scott free unless you are unlucky enough to pick the Jack of Hearts?”

“And what happens if I do?” Pippa asked.

“Well if you do pick the Jack… then…” I opened my desk drawer and took from it a brush. It was actually a bath brush, wooden, with an almost circular head. “You go over the desk for two dozen of this.”

She eyed the brush with some trepidation. She could see that twenty-four smacks with that would be no laughing matter, it would really sting. I could see that she was doing the mental calculation. The brush was a nasty punishment but there was only a one in fifty-two chance of getting it. If she turned down the offer she would be going over my knee for a bare bottom spanking, if she won then she could pull up her knickers and make a swift exit. She came to a decision.

“Alright you’re on. But I get to shuffle the pack.”

“Sure” I agreed “No problem with that at all.” I handed her the cards.

She gave them a good shuffle then handed them back. Just as I had before I fanned them out onto the desk. “Make your choice. Good luck Pippa.”

She didn’t hesitate this time but went straight for a card. She flipped it over, took a moment to recognise it for what it was and gave a gasp of horror. There, face up on the desk was the Jack of Hearts, looking straight back at poor Pippa Gower.

“It seems that lady luck has deserted you Pippa.” I said. “Lift your skirt and get over the desk.”

She gave me a wild-eyed look. She knew she had been cheated but she didn’t know how. Slowly she lifted up the back of her skirt to reveal her beautiful little bum and then reluctantly bent forward over the desk.

I stood up, the bath brush in my hand. I was enjoying this greatly. She shivered as I placed it against her bare bottom, lining up the first stroke. I drew back my hand, took careful aim, and cracked it down with a flick of my wrist into the centre of her left cheek. She gave a sharp cry of pain.

I stepped back to admire the result. Imprinted on Pippa’s pretty bottom was the impression of the circular headed bath brush in blushing scarlet.

Now that’s what I call a Magic Circle.

Bring Back the Cane

2009-09-02T12:32:00.000-07:00

Parents: Bring back the cane to restore order

The department for education and skills commissioned Mori to conduct eight discussion groups with members of the public in London and Manchester to investigate understanding of key school reforms. It was hoped the findings would reinforce plans outlined in the recent Education Act to improve standards by creating “trust schools” and giving freedom to head teachers.

However, most people advocated a return to more traditional schooling methods. According to the report published yesterday, the key issue for the majority of parents was discipline.

“Many parents are of the opinion that discipline in schools has declined,” it said “They perceive there to be an increase in media reporting of attacks on teachers and other pupils and believe the problem stems from the prohibition of corporal punishment” Daily Telegraph 25 February 2007

Back in 2007 the likelihood of any government re-introducing corporal punishment into schools was extremely remote. Parents may well have been demanding it but no left leaning administration was going to take that step whatever the focus groups might have said. Four years later it was a very different story. Four years later, with a different party in government and with Britain’s withdrawal from the EU an idea that had seemed an impossibility had suddenly become a reality. For the first time in nearly twenty years schools had the power to discipline pupils as they saw fit. Inevitably it was the independent schools that embraced the new dispensation most enthusiastically.

One such school was Fairfield College, a girls’ school in Sussex. And so it was that at the teacher training day that preceded the start of the Lent term each member of staff was issued with a brand new rattan cane and given instructions to take it home and practice their swing on a cushion or pillow.

Katie Adamson ran the rattan cane through her fingers as she walked slowly up the lane towards the house that she shared with her friend and colleague Georgina Warner. That narrow rod brought back all sorts of memories and feelings. It had been two years since she had split up with James and yet things that reminded her of him always sent a shiver down her spine. And if there was one item, one object, that stood as a symbol for their relationship it was the cane. He had introduced her to it, schooled her in its use, taught her that pleasure and pain could be entwined together into one heady concoction. And now here she was holding a cane again, with the expectation that soon she would be called upon to use it. Strange how things sometimes came back into one’s life when one was least expecting them.

She turned the key in the lock of the front door and entered the house. The house was small but comfortable. It belonged to the school and was let to the two teachers at a peppercorn rent. From the bag dropped untidily in the hall Kate could tell that Georgina was already at home.

Kate went through into the lounge but was stopped in her tracks by the sight that met her eyes; she nearly laughed out loud. Georgina had placed one of the dining chairs in the middle of the carpet, had draped a pillow over the back of the chair and was thrashing the pillow with her newly-issued cane. She was going at it with some enthusiasm but with a total lack of skill. She stopped as she heard Kate behind her and turned, brushing a strand of fair hair from her face.

“This is bloody difficult.” She remarked “They never trained us in this at college.”

Kate grinned. “No they didn’t.” she agreed “But then no-one ever thought that they would really bring back the cane did they? You look like you’re having trouble – want some help?”

“Well have you got any more idea than I have?” Georgina asked.

Kate gave an enigmatic smile. “Let’s say that I might have a little more experience than you.”

Georgina’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “When?... I mean who?...”

Kate smiled again. “That’s my little secret. But if you want a lesson in the use of the cane then I’d be happy to oblige.”

Georgina returned her smile. “Thanks, I’d appreciate that. To be honest the thought of using it at the moment scares me silly.”

Kate put her own cane down on the coffee table and turned back to Georgina. “Ok..” she said “Lets give you a little lesson then.” She stood for a moment, hands on hips deciding how to begin. She made her decision. “First of all... where are you going to position your miscreant to be caned?”

“Uhmmm.... I guess I’m just going to tell her to bend over.” Georgina responded hesitantly.

“Yes.... touching your toes is one possibility.” Kate surprised her friend by bending over and doing just that. She grinned up at her. “Some of us find that quite easy.... others don’t."

Georgina stared at her.... in that position Kate’s skirt was stretched tight over her bottom showing off her wonderful shape and the fullness of her cheeks. Kate straightened up.

“It’s not the most stable position.” She remarked ‘”Quite easy to get off balance when the cane strikes home. Most people think it’s fairer to give a girl something to bend over.” She cast her eyes around the room noticing both the chair and the desk.

“One option… is always the back of the chair.”

She went over to the chair that still stood in the centre of the carpet. She pushed the pillow onto the floor, then positioned herself over the chair.... bending over the high back and gripping the legs at the front. For a second time Georgina was presented with a perfect view of Kate’s delectable rear end.

She stood up again. “Or” she continued “there’s always the desk.” She went across and bent forward over the desk, reaching across to grip the far edge.

“Now if you use the desk... you must insist that the girl dips her back and lifts her bottom... so that you get a proper target.” She demonstrated what she meant causing Georgina’s eyes to widen further in surprise. This time Kate didn’t get up but spoke from her position across the desk.

“Now Georgina... the first thing you do is to line up the stroke.... place the cane across the middle of the girl’s bottom.”

“Ok.”’ Georgina said, still standing there holding the cane and gazing at Kate.

“Go on then.” Kate urged her.

Georgina was startled.... surely Kate wasn’t suggesting...?

“Go on… place the cane across the middle of my bottom.”

Georgina swallowed hard and then stepped forward into position. She flexed the cane in her hands and then rested it lightly across the middle of Kate’s full cheeks. She couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

“Good.... now its a little like golf.... you don’t do a practice swing but you do do a few little taps just to get your eye in.”

Georgina hesitated then flicked the tip of the cane against Kate’s bottom three times.

“Yes that’s fine. Do that again... two taps and then instead of a tap, on the third time bring it down properly.”

“Are you sure?”

Kate turned her face and gave Georgina an encouraging smile. “You won’t learn otherwise... go on.”

Georgina gritted her teeth as though it was her who was about to get the blow..... she gave Kate two taps with the cane and then brought it down with a little more force.

Kate turned to look at her again. “It’s not going to have much effect on her if you do it as gently as that... do it properly.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” Georgina protested.

“Just do as you’re told....’ Kate giggled mischievously “I’m the teacher here… you’re just learning.”

Georgina lifted the cane again... placed it across the middle of Kate’s bottom ... gave her the practice taps as before but this time brought the cane down as though she meant it. It cut the air with a distinct swish and landed across its target with a loud crack. The only reaction from Kate was a soft sigh.

After a moment she spoke. “That was better.... do it again.”

Georgina didn’t need any encouragement, suddenly she was enjoying herself, suddenly she felt a thrill. She raised the cane and brought it cracking down again.

Kate gasped and stamped her foot. “Mmmmm... you are getting the hang of it.”

She pushed herself up from the desk and turned to face her. Her eyes were sparkling.

“You’re a fast learner Georgina Warner.” she said softly. “Want to continue?”

“You bet I do!” Georgina said enthusiastically. “I don’t want to stop yet, I’ve only just got the idea.” She gave the cane a practice swish through the air. “How many can I give you?”

Kate giggled at the transformation in her friend. – nervous novice to caning enthusiast in two easy strokes! “As many as you like Georgina.” She said. “The only proviso being that whatever you give me I get to inflict on you.”

“It’s a deal.” Georgina grinned. She had got a taste of the thrill of caning someone and she didn’t want to stop; the thought of what it might be like to be on the receiving end hadn’t really registered.

“So how do you want me now?” Kate asked. “Still over the desk? Skirt up? Bare bottom?”

Georgina gulped at the thought of what Kate was suggesting. “Over the back of the chair I think.” She said after a moment’s hesitation. “And lift your skirt.”

“Yes miss.” Kate replied. She levered herself up from the desk and took a few paces into the centre of the room to stand behind the dining chair that Georgina had originally placed there. She reached behind her and lifted the back of her skirt, pulling it up over her hips to reveal her white cotton knickers. She went up on tiptoe and bent forward over the back of the chair. She felt her heart racing and the memories come flooding back – so many times she had assumed this position for James, it was his very favourite. She turned her head to look at Georgina and saw the glint in her friend’s eyes. “Would you like me to count miss?” she asked in a small voice. Georgina nodded.

Kate turned her head back to face front. She felt Georgina place the cane across the middle of her bottom, took a breath as the rod was drawn back and a moment later let that breath out with a gasp as Georgina brought the cane swishing down. The stripe across her bottom burned with familiar pain. “One miss.” She said softly.

For Georgina administering this caning was a revelation. She had been so nervous about the thought of doing this from the moment it had been announced that the school was re-introducing corporal punishment. But now, now that Kate had showed her what to do, now that she felt the thrill of the power of wielding that rattan cane there was no stopping her. Seven more times she brought the cane swishing down, thrilling every time to hear Kate gasp and call out the number.

It wasn’t the hardest caning that Kate had ever endured, far from it. But it was a long time since she had been caned and the sensations and feelings the punishment was provoking were intense. She wondered if Georgina might stop after eight strokes but her friend was getting carried away.

“Stand up.” Georgina ordered. “Lower your knickers, then bend over and touch your toes.”

Kate did as she was ordered. She slipped her knickers down to her ankles, stepped away from the chair then bent low and tight, presenting her red-striped bottom for further punishment.

The sight of those red stripes might have tempered Georgina’s enthusiasm, in fact they thrilled her and prompted her to even greater efforts. She brought the cane down harder causing Kate to cry out properly for the first time. “Nine… miss.” She managed to say after getting her breath back. Again and again Georgina laid on the strokes. Kate stayed down, gripping her ankles, calling off each and every stroke, deep in the space that James had taken her to so often.

At last Georgina paused. She looked at her handiwork, at the red stripes that criss-crossed Kate’s bare cheeks. She had never imagined that inflicting pain could be so satisfying. It was with some regret that she told Kate that she could stand up and pull up her knickers.

Kate straightened up and rubbed her bottom, feeling the raised ridges where the cane had bitten home. The last few strokes had been real stingers, proper strokes of the cane. They reminded her of the way James had caned her in the past and the way he had taught her to cane him in turn. Pretty Georgina, brushing her fair hair off her hot face again was about to find out quite what an expert Kate was. Kate eased her knickers over her sore bottom then let her skirt fall back in place.

“Thank you Georgina.” She said “You learned your lesson very well…” She picked up her own cane from the table and flexed it in her hands.

Georgina’s eyes opened wide as it suddenly dawned on her what she had let herself in for. Eighteen strokes she had given, eighteen stroke she would receive and from the look in Kate’s eyes it was clear that Georgina would receive no mercy.

Kate spoke softly but with real menace. “You’ve learned one lesson and now you are going to learn another … come here you naughty girl!”

The Portrait

2007-11-06T00:13:00.000-08:00

Lucy had decided on having a portrait painted almost from the moment she had come into her inheritance. She was the youngest to inherit the title in over three hundred years, and with the title had come the properties – a townhouse on Montpelier Square just off the Brompton Road and a more substantial house in the Suffolk countryside. There had also been a substantial financial legacy, so at the age of twenty-six Lady Lucinda Westfield was a very rich young woman indeed. As such it seemed fitting that her portrait should grace the great hall at Westfield park alongside those of her ancestors and so she had begun the search for the right artist.

Money was not a problem so Lucy could afford to be choosy; which was fortunate since there was a strong streak of perfectionism within her character. For Lucy only the best would be good enough and it didn’t take her long to discover who the best was. In her humble opinion the only man up to painting Lady Lucinda’s portrait was a young artist by the name of Rob Morton. Morton was an up and coming star in the art world. Not much older than Lucy herself he was already starting to make a name for himself. Lucy had contacted him herself and he had (albeit reluctantly) agreed to come to the house at Montpelier Square to talk about the proposed commission.

Lucy heard a car pull up outside and glanced out of the window. A rather scruffy fair haired young man was extricating his long body from behind the wheel of a tiny little Fiat. Lucy smiled to herself, he certainly had the look of an artist with his unkempt hair and untidy clothes. She went down to the door to let him in.

He was just about to ring the bell, so was rather taken aback when the door opened suddenly before he had the chance to place his finger on the bell push.

Lucy thrust out her hand ‘How do you do? Lucinda Westfield.’

He recovered his composure quickly. ‘Hi, Rob Morton.’ He shook her hand briefly, as though shaking hands was something he was unaccustomed to doing, then followed her through into the house – his eyes taking in the quiet wealth displayed all around him. Lucy led him through into the drawing room.

They both sat and there was a moment of awkward silence before Lucy spoke.

‘Well, welcome.’ She said brightly ‘I’m pleased you could come, this really is so important to me.’ Her smile was met by what felt like a rather hostile stare. Lucy pressed on.

‘You see, I’m the youngest Lady Westfield for a very long time, so it seemed rather important to me that I mark that fact by having a portrait done. A rather younger face to hung amongst all the old crusty ones in the great hall at Westfield Park.’

‘Oh, so you have another house do you?’

‘Why yes of course, this is just where I stay when I’m up in town. I assumed it would be more convenient for you if we met here?’

He grunted his agreement.

‘Well Rob, what I had in mind was a classical style of portrait – perhaps something similar to that one of Cherie Blair that was displayed at the Barbican a few weeks ago... perhaps with me...’ she was about to go gushing on when he stopped her with an abrupt question.

‘Go to a private school did you?’

She was a little disconcerted but answered him anyway. ‘Well yes, yes I did, Cheltenham ladies college actually.’

‘Thought as much. And you’ve never been short of anything in your life have you?’

‘I guess I have been very fortunate.’

‘Huhh.’ He sounded almost angry.

‘Is there a problem?’

‘Yeah... I don’t think you’ll be willing to pay my fee.’

Lucy gave a little laugh ‘You needn’t have any worries about that...’

He stopped her short again. ‘I’m not talking about money.’

Lucy felt his eyes on her. My God he wanted to sleep with her! She almost laughed aloud. Well he certainly wasn’t unattractive he might be quite fun!

‘No?’ she said trying to sound innocent ‘What had you in mind?’

He gave her that long appraising look again. Her waited for a moment before speaking. ‘If you really want me to paint your portrait then the price is this. You will agree to be treated and punished like a naughty schoolgirl.’

Lucy felt her heart race... surely he wasn’t suggesting..?!

‘What do you mean exactly? Are you going to set me lines or something...?’ She deliberately tried to keep her tone light.

He gave a low chuckle. ‘Lines of a sort.’ He said ‘Red ones on your bottom after I’ve caned you.’

Her look of horror must have been very clear on her face for he laughed again.

‘Told you you wouldn’t be willing to pay my fee. You little rich girls think money can buy anything – but when something is really going to cost you then you bottle out... just as I thought.’ He looked at her contemptuously. He started to get up.

‘No, no wait.’ Lucy said quickly ‘Just give me a moment to think.’

She could feel her heart beating so quickly such was the shock his words had produced. What he was suggesting was outrageous, no-one had ever laid a finger on her, and the thought of having to bend over to be caned... she gave a little shiver. And yet, and yet her pride wouldn’t let her be defeated so easily. He thought he had called her bluff, thought he had named a price quite beyond her reach. But she was made of sterner stuff.

‘Ok’ she said after a moment ‘What’s your exact fee? What is it that I have to submit to to get you to paint my portrait?’

He gave a sly smile. ‘You really want to know?’

She nodded her head.

‘Ok then, my terms are these. There will be three sittings. You will pay for each sitting. The first time you will spend ten minutes over my knee getting a good old fashioned spanking on your bare bottom. The second time will be a ten minute slippering and the final time will be a spanking followed by twelve strokes of the cane. Oh and to prove that your not wasting my time you’ll pay for this afternoon’s consultation with five minutes over my knee.’

Lucy thought for a moment. How much did she really want this portrait done? Was it worth the pain he was suggesting? Even more importantly was it worth the embarrassment? Part of her wanted just to forget the whole idea, abandon having her portrait done, or at least find a different artist. But another, stronger voice urged her not to be such a coward. That she would always regret it if her courage failed her now. And after all generations of schoolboys and girls had gone through exactly the same sort of things as he was suggesting without it killing them. She would have to grin and bear it just as they must have done.

She looked up at him and met his eyes. ‘Very well then I agree.’

‘You’ll pay the fee?’ He looked mildly surprised but pleased as well.

Lucy nodded ‘Yes I’ll pay exactly what you have proposed. But I want to talk about what I want first.’

He smiled for the first time and pulled a notebook from his pocket. ‘Well you’ve got more spirit than I had reckoned with Lady Lucinda.... so you had better tell me what you had in mind.’

For the next twenty minutes they talked, Lucy describing her concept and Rob questioning her and making suggestions of his own. He scribbled a few final notes then closed his book.

‘Anything else you want to add?’

‘No I think that’s about it.’

He put the book back in his pocket. ‘Payment time then.’ he said simply.

Lucy felt herself flush. ‘What do you want me to do?’ anxious all of a sudden.

‘Stand up.’ He said quietly but firmly.

Lucy stood, feeling her legs tremble as she did so.

‘Come here.’

She stepped over and stood at the side of his chair. She balled her hands into fists to try and hide the shaking.

‘Lift the skirt of your dress.’

She hesitated for a moment and then reached back to lift the hem of her skirt, she pulled it up, bunching the material into her hands.

‘Now over my knee.’

Awkwardly she bent forward. He took her arm and guided her across his lap. She reached forward to steady herself with her hands on the floor. It was a very strange position to be in, face down across a man’s lap. She imagined she made a very incongruous sight with her skirt up around her waist and her knickers and stockings on full display.

‘Stockings... very nice.’ He remarked.

‘Thank-you sir.’ She said half-mockingly.

‘And “Sir”, I like that too, we’ll stick with that in future. And the stockings too...you’re to wear them every time’

Lucy groaned inwardly.

She felt his fingers go to the waistband of her knickers. She tensed. Slowly he started to ease them down, so slowly in fact it was very teasing. Despite herself Lucy began to feel the beginnings of sexual excitement. ‘Stop it’ she told herself – that was the last thing she wanted to be showing right now. He pulled her knickers all the way down to her knees and now Lucy could feel the air cool on the warm skin of her bottom.

She gave a little shiver as he ran his large hand over the curve of her cheeks. She wriggled a little under his touch. She had always liked having her bottom caressed, had always found it a turn on and so now she desperately tried to think of anything but that sensation. Think of something boring she told herself – football on the television, tax returns, accountants... her mind raced desperately as he continued to stroke her bottom.

Then suddenly all thoughts were driven from her mind as he lifted his hand and brought it smacking down hard. Lucy couldn’t believe how much it stung. She gave a little cry of mingled shock and pain as he smacked her again.

He spanked her hard and fast for the first minute, alternate cheeks until Lucy felt like her bottom must be on fire. She wriggled and gasped and gave little sharp cries as his hand cracked down again and again.

Then he paused and after a few seconds began to spank her far more slowly. It almost felt like he was giving careful consideration to each and every smack. Where exactly to make it land... exactly how hard it should be. For Lucy this was almost worse than the initial torrent. This was a torture. She couldn’t tell whether the next one would be hard or soft.... whether it would land on an area that was already hot from the number of smacks it had taken or whether it would land on a new unmarked area of flesh. That was torture; but what was most torturous of all was how much it excited her. She didn’t want to be aroused, but she was and she knew he would be aware of it too. She felt her face blaze almost as red as her bottom with the shame of it.

At the end of five minutes she was allowed to stand. She got to her feet, trembling more than she had been before the spanking had started.

Rob smiled at her. ‘Well Lucy? Still want me to come for the first sitting?’

She didn’t trust herself to speak but simply nodded her head dumbly.

He chuckled at her discomfiture. ‘I’ll let myself out then.’ he said. ‘See you on the 16th.’

Once he had gone Lucy went up to her bedroom. She stood in front of the mirror and lifted her skirt, twisting around so that she could see her bottom. As she had expected it was bright red. Heaven knows what colour it would be next time. For there would be a next time, of that Lucy was certain. Now that he had gone she could feel her composure returning. The spanking had hurt, more than she had thought it would, but it hadn’t been unbearable. She would grit her teeth and get through it and at the end there would be the portrait she wanted so much.

Lucy had five days before the first sitting. She was busy during the day and didn’t have much time to think about it. It was only in bed at night that her thoughts wandered back to that initial encounter and all that it promised for the sessions to come. It was inevitable as she brought it back to life as she lay in the darkness that it should excite her again. The first night she fought those feelings down, ashamed again that being spanked like a naughty little girl should turn her on so much. But the second night she gave way to the feelings that pressed on her as she remembered Rob’s hand cracking down on her bare bum. She slipped a moistened finger between her legs and gave herself the relief she craved, coming to a juddering, gasping climax not once but three times in rapid succession.

Perhaps it was those night time thoughts, but whatever the reason, by the time the 16th dawned Lucy was in a completely different frame of mind about her coming ordeal. She had a new determination. Instead of fighting her arousal she would welcome it. It would still be painful, of that she had no doubt, but this time the pain would be intermingled with pleasure.

He arrived exactly on time and unlike before seemed happy to make conversation with her as he set up his easel. It took him ten minutes or so before he was ready. He stood up and placed his chair in the centre of the room. He sat down on it.

‘Ok Lucy, time to make payment I think.’

Lucy felt herself blush and gave herself a mental kick. Stop it she told herself, relax and don’t be embarassed when it excites you.

She went and stood by his side and then on his command lifted her skirt and stretched herself across his lap as she had done before. Just like before he slowly lowered her knickers and caressed her bare bottom.

‘Ready?’ he asked her.

‘Yes sir.’ she said

This time there wasn’t the torrent of blows, this time there was a slow build up. He started very gently, spanking her so softly that it hardly hurt at all. And then gradually, very gradually the smacks got harder and hard until after about three minutes he was spanking her with full force. Then a pause, and then the repeat of the teasing, torturous regime he had imposed before – the regime that had excited her so much last time. The effect was the same but this time Lucy did not try to resist it. This time she moaned and gasped and writhed across his lap, pressing herself against him and his growing hardness. Her bottom stung but between her legs she was hot and wet and very excited. The ten minutes seemed to pass in a flash. This time there was a reluctance to her as she stood up and let her skirt fall back over her burning cheeks.

‘Go and stand in the corner facing the wall. And lift your skirt.’

That hadn’t been in the agreement. ‘Why sir?’ she pouted.

Rob smiled ‘Because I very much doubt whether you could sit still at the moment, and if you can’t sit still I can’t paint you.’

She accepted the logic of the argument, even if she couldn’t understand why her cooling down period needed to be spent in the corner. But she decided not to argue and went and took up the position he had ordered.

The sitting took two hours. Lucy had hoped to see what he had started but Rob was very jealous of his work in progress and insisted in taking it way with him.

‘It will spoil it if you see it now. I only want you to see it when its finished.’ he told her.

She pouted again and he laughed ‘You’re beginning to get into the punished schoolgirl role beautifully. That pout is perfect. Perhaps we’ll see more of it next time when the slippers been applied to your peachy bottom.’

She returned his grin. ‘Wait and see.’ she said.

The slipper wasn’t a slipper at all. It was a gym shoe – a light canvas upper with a rubber sole. To Lucy’s eyes it looked fairly inocuous, but in this case feeling, rather than seeing was believing.

The second spanking had been a very different experience to the first. The first had been shocking and shaming, the second both painful and exciting. With the slipper Lucy was back to shock. It just hurt so much! He gave her no warm up this time but smacked it down with hard, heavy slaps that echoed around the room. How Lucy managed to endure the ten minutes over his lap she couldn’t have said.

It was only afterwards as she stood in the corner, her skirt held up and her red bottom on display that she began to feel excited again. Now the pain had turned to a hot glow that seemed to infuse her whole body. She found it hard to stand still and was desperate to slip her fingers between her legs but that had to wait. It was only later once Rob had gone that she was able to lie face down on her bed and bring herself again to that back-arching climax.

It was with some trepidation that Lucy awaited the final sitting. If the slipper had hurt so much, then what would the cane be like? –especially on top of the spanking she was due first.
As ever he was totally punctual – although his general appearance was scruffy it was clear to Lucy that here was a man who was disciplined and enjoyed imposing that discipline on others. Amongst the usual paraphenalia that he brought in from the car was one object that she hadn’t seen before: a long crook-handled cane, just like those pictured in some of the old school stories that had once been her father’s and were still in the library at Westfield Park. He hung it on the back of his easel. Seeing that cane made her shiver with both fear and suppressed excitement. What on earth was it going to be like? Would she be able to bear twelve strokes? She didn’t have long to wait.

When he had finished setting up Rob placed the usual upright chair in the middle of the room and sat down

‘The final instalment.’ He announced. ‘Come here your ladyship.’

Nervously Lucy walked over and stood at his side.

‘Over my knee.’ He ordered.

Lucy lowered herself into the familiar position, feeling her heart beat increase as he lifted her skirt. As before her knickers were slowly lowered to her knees and as before the spanking began.

She was spanked slowly and carefully. It was as though he was trying to cover every inch of her bottom equally and equally as hard. He wasn’t brutal with her, each smack stung but not unbearably so and the build up of heat, both on her bottom and between her legs was gradual. She moaned softly as the inevitable excitement grew and squirmed across his knee pressing herself down against him to give herself some illicit stimulation.

She got exactly ten minutes before she was told to stand. She got shakily to her feet and rubbed her bottom, it was hot to the touch. Her knickers slipped down to her ankles and after a moment’s hesitation as to whether to pull them up or not she stepped out of them – she knew only to well that the cane was going to be applied to her bare bottom as well.

Rob watched her with a broad smile on his face. After a few moments he spoke.

‘I think you had better fetch me the cane young lady.’ He said.

Lucy nodded her head and walked across to the easel. She unhooked the cane and held it in her hands. It was thin and whippy and Lucy knew with sudden dread that it was really going to hurt. Her hands shook as she took it over to Rob. She held it out to him but he wouldn’t take it from her.

‘I want to hear you ask for your caning.’ He said softly.

Lucy swallowed hard – she hadn’t been expecting this.

‘What do you want me to say?’ she asked nervously.

‘I want you to say why you deserve the cane and then ask me to punish you.’

‘Ok.’ She stood there biting her lip.

‘Go on.’ He urged.

‘I... I... deserve to be caned...’ Lucy began ‘As payment for my portrait.... so please cane me.’

‘No Lucy you deserve to be caned because you’re a spoilt little rich girl.’

Lucy felt herself flush. She stood silent.

‘Say it.’ He ordered.

‘I deserve to be caned because I’m a spoilt little rich girl.’ She said through clenched teeth.

‘Say it again... say it like you mean it.’

‘No.’

He reached forward lifted her skirt and slapped her thighs, hard, twice. She gave a little yelp and tears sprang to her eyes.

‘Say it.’ He ordered.

Lucy felt her resistance start to crumble as a single tear ran down her cheek. This was humiliating, but it was also exciting.

She took a deep breath. ‘I deserve to be caned because I am a spoilt little rich girl.’ She said clearly.

‘How many strokes?’

‘Twelve sir.’

‘And with what severity?’

‘Maximum.’ She said, feeling a sudden rush of adrenalin go through her as she said the word.

‘So say it again all of it.’

‘Please cane me sir.’ Lucy said, her eyes on his as she proffered the cane . ‘I’m a spoilt little rich girl and I thoroughly deserve to be severely thrashed. So please give me twelve hard strokes on my bare bottom.’

By the time she had said this she was trembling with fear and excitement. She could see the same arousal as him as he took the cane from her and flexed it in his hands. He stood up.

‘Right Lucy, lift your skirt and bend over the back of the chair.’

Lucy did as he instructed, lifting the back of her skirt to expose her red cheeks and then bending forward over the chair back, reaching right over to support herself by grabbing the legs of the chair. This position left her with her bare bottom high in the air and with a felling of complete vulnerability.

Rob tapped the back of her thigh with the tip of the cane. ‘Widen your stance, move your feet right apart.’ He ordered.

Now she was even more exposed, knowing that in this position he could see everything including the clear evidence of her arousal.

‘You will count each stroke aloud and thank me for it.’ He told her.

She didn’t trust her voice to respond but mutely nodded her head. She gave a little gasp as the cane was placed across the centre of her bottom as he lined up the first stroke, then tensed as he drew his arm back.

There was a swishing sound behind her, a sharp crack, and then a fraction of a second later a burning line across her bottom. She came up onto her toes riding the intense pain her mind reeling with the shock of it. The pain seemed to increase with each moment but as it did so she felt her body respond with a pure jolt of sexual excitement that filled her from head to toes. She gasped and shuddered and struggled to find breath to speak. It was seconds before she could say ‘One sir, thank-you.’

For the next five minutes all else ceased to exist for Lucy apart from that cane. That cane which brought such heights of pain and pleasure with every stroke. She counted each aloud as she had been instructed but her mind barely registered the numbers and it was a surprise when she heard him say ‘Very good Lucy, you may stand and rub.’

She was trembling as she stood, carefully she reached back and rubbed her chastised bottom, feeling the painful raised lines that the cane had marked there. She was still in a daze as he led her over to her normal position in the corner and made her stand there with her skirt lifted. The cool air was welcome on her hot bottom and as the minutes went by she slowly recovered herself. She couldn’t quite believe the experience he had just put her through and yet she would never forget it. Indeed it would be something she would yearn for over and over again.
The final sitting was not an easy one for Lucy, not least because she found it so hard to sit still, but also because she was dying to see the completed work. Rob worked hard, his brow furrowed with concentration. At last he stepped back, wiped his brush and gave a broad grin.

‘Completed.’ He said with satisfaction.

‘Can I see?’ Lucy asked eagerly.

‘Of course.’

She made her way around to the other side of the easel. She was prepared to be stunned, and in that she was not disappointed. The portrait she had commissioned was all she could have hoped for, but even more amazing was the second canvas beside it. There she was portrayed as well, but not face on as in the first but from behind, standing in the corner, her skirt bunched up around her waist in her hands, her pretty bottom striped with the red marks of the cane.

‘A little bonus.’ Rob remarked smiling.

She returned his smile and then reached across to unhook the cane from where he had hung it on the back of the easel. She handed it to him still smiling

‘And one bonus deserves another don’t you think?’

Reality TV - a story

2007-11-01T12:21:00.000-07:00

Juliet felt the tension begin to rise. It wasn’t easy to relax sitting on that hard chair in front of the studio audience with the hot lights shining down on her. She fingered the tie at her neck. It had been at least five years since she was last dressed like this, it felt strange to be back in school uniform again. Stranger still the reason she was here, sitting here in this TV studio.

The programme had been an instant success for the enterprising satellite channel that had dared to make it. All quiz shows have their element of ritual humiliation, what ‘Hot Seat’ did was take that humiliation to its natural conclusion. In doing so it had earned itself a huge and loyal following.

The format was really very simple. Each show involved five contestants. The first, always male was simply known as ‘The Headmaster’ and it was against him, that ultimately, the other contestants, ‘The Pupils’ pitted their wits. The first three rounds were open rounds where questions were answered on the buzzer. Each question being worth £1000. That was fairly standard. What made it different was what happened at the end of each round. The lowest scoring pupil was eliminated but not before she had reported to the Headmaster to pay the price of failure. Given the school theme of the show that price was, of course, a sound spanking. The girl who went out on the first round received ten smacks on the seat of her skirt; the second round loser twenty, and the third round loser twenty on the seat of her knickers. These were the bits that the audience loved!

But what the audience loved most of all was what was about to begin; the head-to-head competition between the one remaining Pupil and the Headmaster. This was where the real money was to be won and where the more serious punishments were risked.

Juliet had seen a couple of shows before she had decided to apply to be a contestant. As a fourth year music student she was constantly short of money, and winners on ‘Hot Seat’ tended to walk away with thousands in prize money. That was money she could really do with. She was an intelligent girl and was confident that she could win. She was also well aware that her pretty, girlish looks, gave her a good chance of obtaining a place on the show – it was noticeable that only attractive girls featured as contestants on ‘Hot Seat’.

And now, here she was, ready to go head-to-head with Mark Francis. She looked at him sitting self-composed on the other side of the studio. He was attractive in a funny sort of way and also obviously bright. In the first three rounds he had accumulated fifteen thousand pounds to her five thousand. He would make a formidable opponent! Juliet gave a little shiver as she let herself think about what would happen if she didn’t beat him. She didn’t dwell on the thought, it wasn’t a pleasant one.

Mark grinned broadly as the camera panned round onto him again. He couldn’t quite believe his luck. From the first time he had seen ‘Hot Seat’ he had known that he wanted to be on the show. The chance to win some serious money was not the motivation; indeed, Mark was already very wealthy and an extra few thousand would make very little difference to him. No, what really got Mark going was the opportunity to spank some pretty girls. For as long as he could remember Mark had been fascinated by corporal punishment, fascinated by the thought of being the one wielding the cane or taking a pretty young lady over his knee. Sure, there had been plenty of times when he had made his fantasy come real with various professional girls; but the girls on Hot Seat were far from professionals, in spanking terms they were pure virgins and that was what made it hugely exciting.

Three girls he had had the pleasure of spanking already. The first, a little brunette by the name of Lucy had taken her spanking stoically , lying passively across his knee and not making a sound even when he had slapped her bottom as hard as he could. The second, Charlotte, was a lot more satisfying. She had given a little gasp when he had brought his hand down for the first time and had continued making that exciting sound with each and every smack. The final girl had been the best of all. Caroline Gresham was a lovely auburn haired girl, just nineteen and very nervous. She had shivered when he had lifted her skirt to spank her on her knickers. Her bottom was full and round and he had spanked her hard, bringing a glow to her cheeks that he could see through the thin white cotton. She had kicked her legs and wriggled like mad and couldn’t restrain her shrieks of pain. When he had allowed her to stand she had clasped her hands to her bottom and rubbed frantically, her eyes bright with tears. The studio audience had cheered like crazy.

And now there was just one left – Juliet Carrington.

Mark glanced across at Juliet sitting demurely at her school desk. She looked good enough to eat. Although in her twenties she could easily pass for a sixth former. Her fair hair had been tied back into a girlish ponytail and the school uniform made her look younger than she was. He was glad it was her he was facing. She had shown her intelligence in the earlier rounds, it would be fun to beat her – in more ways than one! He gave her a little smile but she didn’t respond.

___________

The quizmaster was a young woman called Fiona Gallagher. Like the female contestants she was attired in school uniform but unlike them she sported a ‘Prefect’ badge on the lapel of her blazer. When the studio team was ready she turned to camera.

‘Well ladies and gentlemen we come to the climax of our show. The part that, I know, you have all been waiting for. After a brilliant performance in the opening rounds our star pupil for tonight is Juliet Carrington!’

There was a burst of enthusiastic applause from the studio audience.

‘Let’s hope, for her sake, that she continues to perform to the best of her ability!’ Fiona enthused ‘For our Headmaster this evening has also proved himself very capable… both on the academic front and with the way he has dealt with our naughty young ladies!’

There was another round of applause, this time for Mark.

Fiona turned to Juliet. ‘Well Juliet are you ready to play Hot Seat?’

‘Yes Fiona.’ Juliet said as confidently as she could.

‘Great! The first round is entitled British History. Do you want to play our pass?’

Juliet knew what her answer must be. She must not let Mark get the chance to answer any questions, for he had already shown how good he was. If she could win each round she would walk away with an excellent sum of money.

‘I’ll play.’ She responded.

‘Wonderful! We’re going to see just what a swot Juliet is! The pass-mark is sixty percent. That means she’ll need three correct answers from five.’

Fiona turned to Mark. ‘So Headmaster… how much are you willing to stake against the possibility of Juliet getting that many right?’

Mark took a moment before replying. ‘I’ll go for two thousand.’

There was an appreciative murmur from the audience – two thousand was a good figure for the first head-to-head round.

‘Two thousand pounds’ Fiona confirmed ‘Let’s see what the computer makes of that.’

From where she was sitting Juliet couldn’t see the words that came up on the studio monitors. She was the only one who couldn’t and that was deliberate. Everyone else saw exactly what the computer decided was a punishment worth two thousand pounds.

Mark smiled as he saw the words on the screen in front of him. ‘A bare bottom spanking – thirty smacks.’ Hmm that would be fun. He could imagine the delicious little blonde over his lap with her knickers around her ankles!

Juliet guessed from the audience reaction that the computer had come up with a punishment to match the good figure that Mark had bet. She shifted uneasily in her seat, wondering, for the first time, if she had bitten off more than she could chew. She focussed back on Fiona, for she was asking the first question.

‘Right then, Juliet. Which Anglo-Saxon king was defeated by William the Conqueror at the battle of Hastings?’

Juliet breathed a sigh of relief. She knew the answer to that one. When she had been at school they had even been to view the Bayeaux Tapestry.

‘King Harold.’ She replied confidently

Fiona smiled. ‘First point to you Juliet. Harold is the correct answer.’

There was a polite, but unenthusiastic, ripple of applause from the audience. They would much rather Juliet started getting questions wrong.

The second question was just as easy. ‘How many of Henry the Eighth’s wives were executed?’ Juliet remembered the school rhyme – Divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived. She ran through it in her head.

‘Just two.’ She answered.

‘Again the correct answer! Juliet is proving to be something of a girly swot Headmaster – perhaps you’ve got the wrong girl in detention tonight!’ Fiona grinned.

The cameras panned round to focus on Mark’s face. He remained impassive.

‘Ok Juliet, just one more right answer will win you the round. Are you ready?’ Fiona asked

Juliet nodded her fair head.

‘Which date was the armistice declared that ended the First World War?’

That was harder. Juliet thought hard. When was armistice day? When were poppies sold? She closed her eyes and concentrated. And then she remembered. She looked up, a little triumphant smile on her face.

‘The eleventh of November, 1918.’ She said.

There was a round of reluctant applause that immediately told Juliet she had answered correctly. She couldn’t resist a grin – she was now two thousand pounds better off and whatever else happened nothing could take that from her.

Fiona was more enthusiastic than the audience. ‘Well done Juliet, well done! I’m afraid the Headmaster is not going to get the chance to put you over his knee just yet! And you’ve managed to extract two thousand pounds from him already. Confident you can keep up this fine performance?’

Juliet nodded ‘Pretty confident.’ She replied.

‘Great, then let’s press on swiftly to the second round. I’m sure you’re dying to know the subject matter for this next exam – hope you’ve done the revision for it’s Geography this time! Play or pass Juliet?’

‘Play.’ Juliet replied immediately. She wasn’t entirely sure of her knowledge of the subject but Mark had already answered enough geography questions in the opening round to demonstrate that her best chance still lay in not allowing him to answer the questions.

‘I said you were a swot didn’t I?’ Fiona said. ‘Well let’s see how much the Headmaster is willing to wager this time. Headmaster?’

Mark thought for a moment. He wanted to leave a good sum for the final round, but he wasn’t that bothered about going home with any prize money at all. That meant he could be bolder than any of the previous contestants in this role.

‘I’ll go for three thousand this time.’ He said levelly.

Fiona raised an eyebrow. ‘Not discouraged by getting your fingers burned last time headmaster?! I still say we’ve got a clever little schoolgirl here tonight. But what does the computer say will happen to her if I’m wrong?’

Mark looked down at the screen in front of him. He allowed himself a small smile as the words came up. ‘Twenty smacks with the hairbrush on the bare bottom.’ He had used the hairbrush a few times in the past and was well aware of its ability to produce a very red bottom. He glanced across at Juliet trying to imagine what she would look like after twenty hard smacks. Very pretty he guessed!

‘Very well then, now we know what the stakes are, let’s play Hot Seat!’ Fiona announced enthusiastically.

‘Juliet, this round is very simple. Again the pass mark is sixty percent and there will be five questions. I will give you the name of a country and all I want from you is the capital city… OK?’

Juliet nodded, feeling herself relax. One of the reasons she was so short of cash was the gap-year she had spent before university back-packing around the world.

‘Question one…. Germany?’

‘Berlin.’ Juliet answered immediately.

There was just a ripple of applause. The audience were getting tired of her success, they wanted to see her spanked.

‘Correct. Question two…. Australia?’

Juliet didn’t make the mistake that so many do of assuming the Australian capital is Sydney.

‘Canberra’ she answered.

Again the unenthusiastic clapping.

‘Correct once more. Question three…. Chile?’

Juliet grinned, she had visited the Chilean capital nestling in the foothills of the Andes and remembered it well.

‘That’s Santiago, Fiona.’ She replied.

‘Oh well done Juliet! Another excellent performance. Let’s show some appreciation for our star pupil.’

Cajoled by the quiz-master the audience responded a little more warmly but it was still half-hearted.

‘I’m sorry Headmaster it looks like you’re going to be rather under-employed this evening!’ Fiona said ‘Just one more round to trip up our lovely Juliet and have your evil way with her, otherwise you’ll be going home somewhat poorer!’

Once more Mark didn’t respond with more than the shadow of a smile.

Fiona turned back to Juliet, who was positively beaming. In her uniform she looked just like the girl who has won all the awards at the school prize-giving.

‘Right then Juliet, just one more round to get through. And the subject of your final exam is Music!’

Juliet couldn’t quite believe her ears – music! Her own subject, her one area of true expertise. It was as though she had been handed the round on a plate. She grinned from ear to ear.

‘I’ll play.’ She said, even before she was asked.

‘Well you are keen aren’t you?!’ Fiona gushed. ‘I hope you’ve noted that enthusiasm Headmaster… are you going to be a little more circumspect this time I wonder?’

Mark had already decided what he would do. It made no difference what the round was. He had ten-thousand pounds left.

‘Ten-thousand.’ He said clearly.

Fiona was taken aback. ‘Did you say ten-thousand?’ she checked, the incredulity clear in her voice.

Mark nodded ‘Ten-thousand pounds.’ He repeated.

‘Are you sure? That means that if Juliet wins you’ll leave with nothing.’

‘Absolutely sure.’

The audience was hushed as Fiona requested the computer to generate the punishment. There were gasps around the studio as the words came up on the monitors. ‘Twelve strokes of the senior cane on the bare bottom.’ Fiona looked a little pale – no girl had ever been caned on Hot Seat before, although they all knew it was a possibility. She pulled herself together quickly and there was a bright smile on her face when she addressed Juliet again.

‘Before I ask the questions Juliet I have to give you the option that is only there in this final round. Mark has wagered ten thousand pounds – and the computer has calculated what punishment you would receive were you to fail in this round. If you so choose the stake will be doubled and you will play for twenty thousand. Of course, if we double the prize we must also double the forfeit – which I warn you is likely to be a very severe punishment.’ She gave Juliet a serious look, trying to warn her of what might be coming her way, but she could see that the girl’s thoughts were elsewhere. She spoke again; ‘So Juliet – girly swot, star pupil … will you double or not?’

The whole studio went deathly quiet but Juliet didn’t notice, she was already, in her mind, spending that twenty thousand pounds. Music! She couldn’t lose!

‘I’ll double the stakes.’ She said boldly.

There was a loud gasp from the audience, they hadn’t been expecting this. If they had been growing a little restless and bored before, now they were on tenterhooks.

‘Are you sure?’ Fiona checked.

‘Absolutely sure.’ Juliet replied, echoing Mark’s confident assertion when he had wagered his ten thousand.

Mark, for his part, was finding it hard not to show the excitement that was now coursing through him. Twenty four strokes with the cane! It would be better than anything he had dreamed of. But he must stay calm, for he hadn’t won yet!

Fiona opened the last set of questions.

‘Sixty per cent pass mark as before Juliet. And all our questions are on the subject of eighties pop.’

Eighties pop! Juliet felt her heart go into her mouth. That wasn’t what she called music! She had been born in 1981, this was not even the music of her own teenage years! She swallowed hard, trying to fight the rising tide of panic.

‘Question one.’ Fiona said. ‘Which 1980s group had hits with Girls on Film and Rio?’

Juliet tried to dredge her memory. She was sure she had heard those songs before. But which group had sung them? A name surfaced in her brain.

‘Was it Duran Duran?’ she asked tentatively.

There were groans from some members of the audience and wild applause from others. Fiona smiled sweetly.

‘It was Duran Duran. Well done Juliet. Just two more correct answers required.’

Juliet tried to slow her breathing, she could feel her hands shaking. She clasped them tightly together as Fiona asked the second question.

‘U2 became a very successful group in the 1980s – what was their first album called?’

Juliet felt herself go cold. U2 – she had heard of them of course, but it wasn’t the sort of music she enjoyed at all. She couldn’t think of a single song title by the group let alone the name of their first album. Slowly she shook her head. ‘I’m sorry Fiona… I don’t know.’

There was a murmur of interest from the audience. At last she had got an answer wrong – there was a chance that they might be witnessing something never seen on this show before. Juliet shifted uneasily on the hard chair, suddenly aware of her bottom, wondering for the first time what a caning might feel like – she couldn’t begin to imagine.

Fiona was speaking again. ‘Three more questions to go Juliet. You can only afford one more wrong answer OK?’

Juliet nodded. She was well aware of how many she needed to get right.

‘Third question then… What number one record of the eighties raised money for famine relief?’

Juliet gave a relieved smile – she knew the answer to that one. ‘That was “Do they know it’s Christmas.”

Fiona grinned as well. ‘Glad to see you’re back on form Juliet, those hours in the sixth-form common room haven’t been wasted. Two out of three. You just need one more right answer to walk away with twenty-thousand pounds. Have you thought about what you might spend it on? Sweets in the tuck shop or something more exotic?’

Juliet giggled. ‘Let me answer that when I’ve won it, I don’t want to tempt fate.’

‘Very wise Juliet… especially when we know exactly what that fate is to be. I can’t tell you what the computer has decided would be in store for you, but believe me I don’t think you’d enjoy it! Lets hope it won’t come to that. Ready for the next question?’

Mark sat as still and composed as he could manage. The money he had staked meant nothing – the chance to cane the pretty Juliet meant a great deal indeed.

‘Ok Juliet… question number four.’ Fiona announced. ‘Who had hits with Gold and True?’

Gold… True… Juliet knew she had heard those songs… she could even catch a little of the first line of the second one… So true – funny how at seems… she could hear the words in her head. But who sang them? Not a single name of a pop group came into her head. She dredged her memory, desperate to come up with the answer. She saw Fiona look at her and knew she had only moments longer. She bit her lip and shook her head for a second time. ‘I don’t know.’ She said simply.

Mark tried hard to stop himself smiling but didn’t really succeed. There was a gasp from the audience. They all knew that it now all rested on the final question. Juliet had one last chance to save herself. One correct answer to escape from a severe and humiliating caning.

Juliet wriggled in her seat, trying to stay calm, trying to keep her mind focussed. It was just one question, she would know the answer and the money would be hers. She would walk away with that cheque for twenty thousand quid and Mark Francis would lose that smug grin that he was wearing now. She had seen how much he had enjoyed spanking the other girls, she had no doubt that he would relish the chance to cane her – but he wasn’t going to get that chance.

Fiona was speaking again. ‘The final question then Juliet. Its decision time I’m afraid. Get this right and you leave with twenty thousand pounds in your back pocket, get it wrong and you leave with a rather sore bottom!’

The studio audience were on the edge of their seats, as were the thousands of viewers watching at home. There were many who were on Juliet’s side, willing her to answer correctly, but there were just as many, probably more, who were longing to see her get it wrong and have to bend over for the cane.

‘The fifth and final question is this.’ Fiona said. ‘Which group had a number one hit with the song Vienna?’

Juliet took a deep breath. She knew this. She remembered the song, remembered the synthesisers and the electronic strings. A name came to in a flash. She grinned.

‘It was Soft Cell Fiona.’

The gasp from the audience was all Juliet needed to hear to know instantly that she had got it wrong. She saw the look on Fiona’s face, saw the grin spread across Mark’s features and felt her stomach turn over.

‘Oh Juliet… I’m really sorry… but the answer we were looking for was Ultravox… not Soft Cell.’ She looked at Juliet with real sympathy before pulling herself together to announce in a formal tone ‘Juliet Carrington you have achieved just forty percent in the test; the passmark was sixty percent. Therefore, you have failed and must be punished. Headmaster, she’s all yours.’

Mark took control of his features and put on a suitably serious expression for the part he must play. The cameras panned round to him as he spoke.

‘Stand up Juliet and come here.’

Juliet pushed her chair back and got to her feet, trying hard not to show how anxious she was feeling. She smoothed down her school skirt and adjusted her tie. She walked over to where Mark still sat, seated behind the imposing headmaster’s desk.

Mark looked up at Juliet thinking again just how perfect she looked in her school uniform, her fair hair pulled back into a pony tail and tied with a simple length of black silk ribbon. She didn’t know what she was in for but he did.

‘Juliet Carrington, you have failed the test and it is my duty to administer corporal punishment. Do you understand?’

Juliet looked at her feet. ‘Yes sir.’ She said softly.

‘Go over to the cabinet and open the doors.’ Mark instructed.

Attached to one wall was a wooden cabinet. Regular viewers, Juliet included, knew what it contained. Today was no exception. Juliet’s hands shook as she pulled open the doors to reveal the range of implements hanging inside. They were displayed in order of severity. On the far left an old gym shoe – ‘the slipper’, next to it a wooden backed oval hairbrush, next a leather strap, then the canes – three of them – junior to senior. Mark let Juliet stand there a moment contemplating the range of implements that might be used on her.

Looking at those things Juliet felt her anxiety build. She had never experienced corporal punishment before. She was far too young to have been subject to it during her own schooldays and her parents hadn’t believed in smacking her – besides which she had very rarely been in any sort of trouble. She mentally kicked herself for having been so greedy. Yes she had won five-thousand pounds but she would gladly have given that up to have walked away unpunished. But that was not an option. She had signed a very tight contract with the TV company. She could walk away but if she did so all the production costs of that night’s show would fall to her, there was no way she could afford that. She had no choice, she must take what was coming to her no matter what that might be.

Mark spoke: ‘Miss Carrington… bring me the senior cane.’

The senior cane! Juliet’s eyes opened wide in horror, an expression the cameras caught perfectly. She reached forward and with trembling fingers unhooked the cane. She held it in front of her and turned back towards Mark. She walked across the studio and held it out to him.

‘Here sir.’

‘Thank you Juliet.’ He said, taking the implement from her. He stood up and flexed the cane in his strong hands.

‘Lift your skirt and bend forward over the desk.’ He ordered.

The audience watched as Juliet reached behind her to lift the hem of her school skirt. She drew the material up above her waist revealing a pair of simple white cotton knickers stretched tight over a very pert little bottom. She had chosen to wear black stockings and suspenders rather than the option of white socks and her choice was appreciated by the male half of the audience. Taking a deep breath she bent forward over the headmaster’s desk stretching herself over the shiny surface and taking a grip of the far edge. During the rehearsals all the contestants had been shown what to do should they find themselves in this position. They had each, gigglingly, practiced bending over the desk, none of them believing it would be her. Juliet wasn’t giggling now as she lifted her bottom in the way she had been shown.

Mark turned to the presenter. ‘Head Prefect… would you do the honours?’

Fiona was all helpfulness; she knew what she had to do. Juliet gave a little gasp and felt her face flush red as her knickers were slowly lowered to her knees. Fiona made the most of baring Juliet’s bottom… well aware of how popular this moment was with her audience. Then she stood back and let Mark take centre stage once more.

Juliet lay there, across the desk, her mind in turmoil. She was horribly aware of her nakedness, aware that hundreds of thousands of people were enjoying her discomfiture. She felt humiliated and ashamed and yet… and yet strangely excited. She tried to push that thought out of her mind. How on earth could she be finding the act of being caned in public to be remotely exciting… but whatever her rational mind told her there was no escaping the fact of the wetness between her legs.

Mark swished the cane through the air, delighted to see Juliet shiver at the sound. He stood back and surveyed his victim. She looked perfect: unblemished bottom framed by the twin lines of her suspenders, navy school skirt bunched in the small of her back, hands out in front gripping the edge of the desk, head held up as instructed – her pretty blonde pony tail swaying slightly as she adjusted her position. He should perhaps announce how many strokes she was going to get, but Mark wickedly decided against that – it would be an even sweeter agony for Juliet if she didn’t know when her ordeal would end.

Mark placed the cane across the middle of Juliet’s white cheeks.

‘Count each stroke aloud… and thank me for it.’ He instructed.

‘Yes sir.’ Juliet replied softly; feeling her sexual arousal increase as she acknowledged his stern tone.

She felt him draw back the cane. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. There was a swish behind her and a sharp crack as the cane bit home. Her eyes shot open wide in shock as she felt the pain – a burning line that seemed to eat into the very middle of her being. She did not have breath enough to scream or cry out – she could only gasp. The tears came unbidden to her eyes. She couldn’t believe the intensity of the pain that seared across her cheeks. It took her a full ten seconds before she could speak.

‘One….. thank you sir.’ She managed to say at last.

Mark took a step back – pleased with the effect of the first stroke. Across the middle of bottom Juliet sported a livid red line, very neat, but very sore. He looked across at Fiona who was biting her lip as she looked on with great concern.

Mark raised the cane again and brought it down for a second stinging stroke. Again Juliet gasped. She lifted her foot and wriggled her bottom quite prettily.

‘T…t…t…two sir… thank you.’ She stuttered.

Mark caned her again, adding a third red line to the pretty bottom.

The audience was hushed. The atmosphere in the studio highly charged. The spankings they had witnessed earlier had been almost playful compared to the thrashing that was being handed out now.

For Juliet the world narrowed. All that existed for her was that biting stinging cane and her poor sore bottom – all her attention was focussed there, she was oblivious to the studio audience or the cameras or to Fiona looking anxiously on. Each time the cane slashed down she longed for it to be the final stroke, longed to hear a voice telling her it was over and that she could stand up – but no voice came. Eight strokes… nine… ten… surely there couldn’t be many more; she didn’t know how many more she could take. And mixed up in all the pain and humiliation was the secret shame of her arousal, the excitement that seemed to increase with every agonising stroke.

It was the seventeenth stroke that did it. It caught her low – just above the top of her thigh where the skin was soft and tender. Juliet shot up, her hands whipping round to clutch at her burning cheeks and to rub frantically. The tears rolled down her face.

The cameras continued to film as Fiona came rushing over to give the poor punished girl a hug.

‘Ohhhhh Fiona… it hurts so much.’ She said softly.

‘You’re doing really well Juliet… you’re so brave… just hold on in there.’

‘How many more have I got to take?’

‘Seven more I’m afraid.’ Fiona replied, squeezing Juliet’s hand.

Juliet looked at her with horror in her eyes. ‘I can’t… I can’t take that much.’

‘You’ve got to!’ Fiona said desperately.

‘I can’t… it’s too much… I didn’t know it would hurt like this!’

Fiona knew what the result would be. She had worked for this company for long enough to know that despite the fact that this episode of Hot Seat would go down in history even on the basis of what had happened so far, if Juliet didn’t complete her punishment then they would hold her to the punitive terms of the contract. The viewers had been promised twenty-four strokes of the cane and that’s what they would see happen.

‘Ok… give me a moment…’ she said to Juliet. ‘Stop filming – I need to consult Greg.’

Mark stood back, the cane still in his hands as the producer came out onto the studio floor. There was a hurried conversation between Fiona and the producer before they both came over to him.

‘Mark…’ Greg said. ‘It looks like Juliet has reached the limit of what we she can take. But we don’t want to let you or the audience down. Fiona has come up with a compromise that we want to put to you.’

‘Fire away.’ Mark said reasonably.

‘Ok… how about… that Fiona takes Juliet’s place for the next six strokes and Juliet gets just one more?’

Mark looked at Fiona. She was an attractive girl – dark hair framing an intelligent face. ‘Bare bottom like Juliet?’ he asked her.

She bit her lip but nodded her assent.

‘What does Juliet think?’

‘She’ll agree… what about you?’

Mark grinned ‘It sounds perfect to me… especially if you go side by side across the desk with Juliet.’

‘Ok if that’s what you want.’

Fiona walked across to Juliet. She told her what had been agreed.

‘You’ll take my caning for me? Are you sure?’

Fiona nodded grimly. ‘Yes I’m sure. This has been a brilliant programme so far… I’m too much of a perfectionist to let it be spoilt now. And besides this is my chance to grab a bit of the publicity that is certain to be heading your way.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘Ok for just one more?’

Juliet nodded. ‘As long as I know its just one I can take it.’ She gave Fiona’s hand a grateful squeeze. ‘Thank you.’

Greg the producer was taking charge. ‘Ok… Juliet can we have you back in position over the desk? And I think we need a bit of dialogue between Fiona and Mark otherwise this won’t make sense to the audience.’

Juliet slowly repositioned herself over the desk, reaching back to lift her school skirt clear of her bottom as she bent forward.

Mark turned to Fiona. She spoke first.
‘Please Headmaster – I think Juliet has been punished enough – please let her go.’

Mark flexed the senior cane in his hands. ‘Twenty-four strokes is what she deserves and that’s what she’ll get.’

‘No please sir, it’s partly my fault she did so badly – I hid some of her revision notes.’

‘Did you indeed? That was a very naughty thing to do Miss Gallagher.’

Fiona dropped her head in mock penitence. ‘Yes sir… very naughty.’ She said quietly.

‘Perhaps you should take the rest of what Juliet is due?’ Mark said sternly ‘In fact, yes, that would be most appropriate.’

Fiona looked at him with big eyes. ‘Bare-bottom as well?’

Mark looked at her sternly ‘Yes, of course. Take your knickers down, lift your skirt and join Juliet over the desk.’

There was an appreciative murmur from the studio audience as Fiona obeyed Mark’s instructions. She played it for full impact – slowly inching her skirt up over her hips and then, even more slowly, easing her knickers down to until they were a thin band of black material around her knees. Then she bent forward over the desk – reaching for the far side with her hands and dipping her back to present her bare bottom perfectly.

Watching her Mark was very impressed. Together the two young women made a splendid sight – the pure white of Fiona’s unblemished bottom contrasting with the red-stripes that marked Juliet’s.

‘Six of the best then Miss Gallagher.’

He saw Fiona give a little shudder. He lined up the first stroke – placing the cane across the middle of Fiona’s cheeks where the swell of here bottom was fullest. He gave her a moment to feel the rod there, then drew back his arm.

Juliet heard the swish behind her and then the sharp crack as the cane met its target. But the burning line was Fiona’s to feel this time. She turned her face and saw the pain sweep across Fiona’s pretty face. She moved her hand over and intertwined her fingers with those of the young presenter. Fiona squeezed her hand gratefully as she acknowledged the stroke with ‘One sir…. Thank you.’

Mark took his time. He was enjoying this immensely – not one, but two pretty girls to cane. He didn’t hold back but brought the cane down as hard as he could every time leaving a series of livid red weals marked across Fiona’s cheeks. For her part she took her caning beautifully. It made wonderful TV – one camera catching the impact of each stroke, another recording Fiona’s facial reaction, a third focussing on the way Fiona kicked up her heels and writhed across the desk, her bottom gyrating – the microphones picking up every gasp and moan and cry of pain.

Six strokes took a full ten minutes. The two girls matched more closely now, each bottom red-striped, each face tear-lined. Twenty-three strokes had been delivered in total, Juliet having taken the majority but Fiona by no means unpunished. Both would find sitting down something of an ordeal in the days to come.

‘One final stroke.’ Mark announced turning to the studio audience. ‘I think you should decide who gets it.’

This was totally unscripted but the producer made no move to intervene.

‘A show of hands I think’ Mark said. ‘First of all – those who would like Fiona to receive it?’ He looked around the audience, assessing the number of hands in the air. He nodded ‘And now – those who would like Juliet to get the final stroke.’ Again he carefully looked around the audience, calculating the proportion that had voted for the pretty blonde.

‘I think that’s clear enough.’ He said. ‘Ready ladies?’

There was a small ‘Yes sir’ from each of them.

Juliet felt herself shiver. With their backs to the audience neither she nor Fiona had been able to see the vote – she had no way of knowing whether that last vicious stroke of the cane would be falling on her sore, hot bottom or on that of her brave companion. Once more she was shamefully aware of her sexual arousal. She was sore and embarrassed but hugely turned on. Desperately she kept her legs pressed together.

There was that sickening swish behind her…the pistol crack of the cane’s impact … and then… then… then that burning, stinging stripe, low down, just at the juncture of bottom and thigh, driving all the breath from her, taking her up onto her toes. It was a moment before she could let out the agonized sob that came from deep within her. From a long way off she heard the intense silence of the audience break and a tumultuous applause fill the studio.

She felt Fiona’s hand squeeze her’s tightly.

‘Well done…’ the young presenter whispered ‘between us we’ve just made the best reality TV in history!’

Introduction

2007-11-01T12:18:00.000-07:00

This blog is intended to be a space where people can enjoy reading some of my stories. The stories all have a spanking theme -I have been fascinated by corporal punishment for as long as I can remember. Please remember that these are just fantasies, I do not condone non-consensual corporal punishment in real life.