Monday, 18 July 2011

Au Pair Training

It had been five weeks since Anna had come to work for us. Highly recommended by the agency we were more than a little disappointed with her performance. She displayed a lethargic and apathetic attitude towards her duties around the house and seem to live for her days off. Betty and I had talked with her several times, both together and by ourselves in an attempt to improve her work. All to no avail. Finally, I called the agency and told them that Anna was just not working out and that we were going to have to let her go. Mrs. Jacobson asked that I come in and talk with her first, and I agreed, scheduling an appointment for that afternoon.

At dinner I told Betty that I was going to take the next few days off to stay around the house and supervise Anna very close ly. I explained that Mrs. Jacobson had told me to give it one more try and if it didn't work out that they would refund our fee in full and provide us with a new maid without charge. Betty said she thought that was a good idea as Anna did have the qualifications for the job and only lacked the enthusiasm. I promised Betty that by the time she returned from Charlotte that either Anna would be perfect or we would have a new maid.

I returned to the house about 8:45 the next morning from dropping off Betty at the airport. Anna was not in the kitchen and the breakfast dishes were still on the table. I looked through the house and found her in the master bedroom bath soaking in a hot bubble bath. I was stunned. Not only was she not working but she had invaded a private sanctum. I ripped a bath towel from the rack, threw it at her and told her to come into the bedroom immediately. She scooted into the bedroom in just a minute wrapped in the towel.

"Anna", I scolded, controlling my displeasure, "you come with the highest recommendations from the agency, your previous employer was sorely upset that we had lured you away to work for us. And I don't know why." Sitting down in my chair I continued, "Mrs. Jacobson told me that you had been trained in the old school ways and that perhaps I should treat you more as servant than employee. I guess that is what I will have to do. As of now you will address me as sir and only as sir. Do you understand?"

Anna dropped her head and replied, "Yes, Sir."

"It is my understanding that servants trained in the old school were punished for their misbehavior", I continued. Being as stern as I could I went on. "Anna, you will go to your room immediately and await me. You needn't bother dressing as I have a new outfit for you to wear. And while you are waiting for me to come to your room think about the punishment I am going to give your for not working and using our private bath." Without looking up Anna replied, "Yes, Sir". And quickly departed the bedroom.

I waited a half hour before going to Anna's room. Upon entering she stood up from the edge of the bed where she had been sitting. She said, "Sir, I am sorry for not doing my duties this morning and for using your bath, but please, Sir don't punish me? I promise that I will improve and work to your satisfaction. Sir, please don't punish me."

"Anna, you should have thought of that many weeks ago. However, I will not force anything on you. Merely, pack your things and be out of the house by noon." I replied. "And know this, I will give you a poor reference, recommending that you not be hired." I was turning to leave the room when Anna spoke.

"Sir, you are right. I can only perform my duties when I work for an old fashioned family. The Denaux's were such a family, that is why I had such a good recommendation. I must have this job sir. It is also necessary for me to be treated in the old fashioned way." Dropping the towel to the floor she continued, "Sir, you have some new clothes for me to put on, I assume, before you punish me for my misbehavior." I looked at her stunned not only by her magnificent body, but also at the ease with which she capitulated.

"Yes, I do. Anna stand in the corner while lay them out," I commanded. She turned and walked to the corner and stood there silent, her red hair hanging halfway down against that alabaster back. After some lingering moments looking at Anna's round ass I took out the clothes which Mrs. Jacobson had provided me. Opening up the other case I removed a three inch spined butt plug, a fifteen inch wooden ruler, a well used old school paddle, and a curved birch switch. Glancing at my watch I thought, enough time before lunch to probably use all of these.

I went over and sat down in the chair against the wall and said to Anna, "go over to the bed now and I will instruct you on the clothing you will be wearing". Anna turned and walked over to the bed. Glancing down as she got there she gasped. "Anna", I commanded, "You will start with the corset. Of course it is a size too small, but put it on anyway. The ribbons on the side are not for bows, but to tie your arms with if necessary." She picked up the grey corset and fingered it momentarily, pulling on the pink ribbons. Anna struggled into it with obvious trouble at the small size. "Come here Anna", I directed, "and turn around." She walked over to me and turned. I reached up and started pulling the laces on the corset together. When I had finished Anna's 24 inch waist was now nineteen inches.

I turned her around and found that her breasts were pushed up well above the cups of the corset. Anna's somewhat small 34b breasts, now looked large in the cups of a 32a corset. Her nipples were completely exposed, and already sticking out. And the contrast between the soft grey material and the pink of them was striking. "Okay, Anna, now go put on the garter and stockings". Anna turned and walked to the bed, picking up the garter and fastening it around her waist. She sat down on the edge of the bed and put on the stockings, fastening each one to the garter. When she finished I continued, "Anna pick up the tap pants and the butt plug and come back over here". She picked up the sparklely pink pants and with some hesitation the butt plug. Standing before me I took the plug and told her to bend over and spread her ass cheeks. Anna hesitated.

"Anna at any time you wish you may quit. And be discharged, the decision is yours," I said. Anna turned to the side and bent over. Laying the pants on the floor she reached back with her hands and spread her ass apart. I took the butt plug and gently placed it against her rosebud. Anna wiggled a little and a long slow breath escaped her lips. I pushed on the little plug and it started to go in. When I had about an inch in I stopped pushing. Anna seemed to relax a little when I stopped pushing. "That's right Anna, just relax. It won't be so severe that way." With that I gave the plug a twist and pushed it the rest of the way into her ass. Anna sucked in her breath hard. Her ass cheeks automatically clenched together and the butt plug was in place.

"Now put on those tap pants Anna," I directed. Anna picked up the pants and stepped into them and said, "Yes, Sir." She pulled them up and adjusted them so they were smooth across her ass. "Anna, now put on the slip." She walked somewhat difficultly back to the bed and took up the pink and grey lace slip and pulled it on over her head. She pulled it down as far as it would go, reaching just past her "Y". "Now, Anna, stand in the middle of the room and let me see if everything is OK," I told her. She moved to the middle of the room and slowly turned all the way around. "Well, now, you are more properly attired."

"Anna, although you are more accustomed to working for an old fashioned family, I think it is only fair to start you in slowly with us. It was suggested to me that I give you fifty spanks across the bare ass with the paddle, to let you know that you are now working for another old fashioned family. I believe it is more effective to start out slowly and train servants to our standards instead of someone elses. So, bring me that ruler." "Now Anna", I barked.

Anna retrieved the ruler from the bed and handed it to me. "Here Sir", she said casting her eyes down. I took the ruler and slapped it a couple of times against my own hand. "Anna, turn around to the side and bend over and hold your ankles," I commanded. Anna turned slowly and bent over grabbing just above the ankle of each leg. Her position caused the slip to ride up, the tap pants to pull tight across her ass and the garter to stretch out. Just as I thought there was a space about ten inches long on both thighs just below her ass and above the stockings that was completely bare. "Anna this first little session will be to punish you for being less than honest with us when you first came to work here. As I said not to severe. I believe that ten licks on each thigh is a good beginning. Now spread your legs a little farther." Anna spread her legs as I laid the ruler against her bare thighs. I didn't want to hit both at the same time. "Are you ready, Anna"? I asked. "Yes, Sir." She replied.

SSSSWISSSSHHHHH. CCCCCRRRRRAAAAACCCCKKKKKK! The ruler landed on her right thigh just below the ass. Anna rolled up on her toes. CCCCCCCRRRRRRAAAAAACCCCCKKKKK! Landing just below the ass on the left thigh. Anna sucked in her breath quickly. I continued spanking her thighs alternately, until the whole white uncovered area from top to bottom was turning bright pink. When the last spank landed on the left thigh just above her stockings Anna said, "Thank You Sir." I stood back a step and looked at her thighs. Both were a very bright color of pink. "Anna that seems to be a very good position, so just remain there." I said.

I walked over to the bed and laid the ruler down. Picking up the birch switch I turned around and started walking back to Anna. Swishing the switch through the air as I went. The sound made Anna's ass clench and unclench. "Mrs. Denaux told me that she found the switch to be most effective on you Anna. Is that true?" I asked. Anna replied, "Yes, Sir. Did she also tell you how she used it on me?" "Oh, yes Anna I am well aware of where she switched you." Walking around to the side of Anna I said, "stand up."

Anna stood up with her head somewhat bowed. "Anna, you may choose which I switch, either the inside of your thighs or your breasts." I said. "Which is it?" Anna turned to me and said, "Oh, Sir my thighs are on fire please not them again!" "Very well then Anna. I do know that on occasion you have to have your arms tied when you have a breast punishment session. Will I have to do that today?" I asked. Anna replied, "No Sir."

I stepped back a step and told her, "Anna throw your hair back and turn your head to the side". She tossed her head back and her hair fell behind her shoulders, then she turned her head away from where I was standing. I rubbed the switch across her exposed breasts, probing between them with the end of it. I dragged it across the nipples and they grew almost double in size instantly. Goosebumps jumped out on her skin. Her nipples turned a deep pink, almost purple color.

The switch cut threw the air and landed on both breasts right at the top. Anna gasped and let out a long sighing OOOOOOOOOOOOO! Her chest heaved a little. But Mrs. Denaux was right. Anna pushed her chest out awaiting the next cut of the switch. When the switch landed the second time it caught the right breast only, leaving a welt from cleavage to the outside. The third follow closely and caught the left breast. A welt arose crossing the first one. Anna was breathing quickly. And each time the switch fell her breasts seemed to move up to meet it. Her arms remained at her sides.

The next cut I landed sidearmed and it caught her left nipple squarely. Anna sucked in a big breath and breathed out a long slow ooooooooooooouuuuucchh. Her nipple grew even bigger and turned a bright red. The last sting of the switch hit flatly across the front of her right breast. Instantly a welt raised crossing her nipple. Again she let out a long low oooooooooouuuucchh. As I stepped back Anna turned her head and said, "Thank you, Sir, I deserve this for my misbehavior."

"Very well, Anna. It is lunch time, so we will take a break. However, after lunch I shall pick up here. Now go fix my lunch." Anna bowed her head slightly and replied, "Yes, Sir."

Emptying my water glass, I pushed myself away from the table. I pulled the napkin from my lap, wiped my mouth, and laid it down. Standing up, I turned to where Anna was standing at the side of the room and said, "We can continue here, Anna. You will then better remember that your duties include cleaning the table immediately after meals."

"Yes, Sir." Anna replied meekly.

As I reached down to my belt buckle to unfasten it I said to Anna, "Come over here and bend over this chair and hold onto the arm".

Anna moved slowly forward toward the chair as my belt slid from its loops around my pants. Her eyes watching me as she moved. "Come on don't dally, or I'll go get the paddle." Anna leaned over the chair and grabbed the far arm bracing herself. The position caused her round ass to jut out and up, her legs to stretch and the stockings to pull tight against the garter. "Now, Anna, I'm going to punish you for not doing your work this morning as you are supposed to. This will be just a sample of what you will receive if you fail to do your work in the future."

Taking the buckle end of the belt I wrapped it twice around my right hand. That left nearly 25 inches hanging down, for Anna to see as she turned her head around to look at me. I stepped back slightly visually adjusting my distance so that the belt would land across both ass cheeks and thighs. Anna had already started to breath faster in anticipation of what was to come. The redness from this mornings session on her thighs was gone. I asked her, "Anna, are you ready"?

"Yes, Sir."

"Anna, you will count aloud each stroke and thank me for it. Then I will give you another. Do you  understand?"

"Yes Sir." Anna's voice trembled in anticipation.

SSSWWWIIIIISSSHHH! The belt whistled through the air in a long arc. CCCRRRAAAAAACCCCKKK! The belt landed across the top of Anna's cheeks, making her jump slightly. "One. Thank you, Sir," Anna responded to its arrival. The belt whistled again and landed with a loud crack across her thighs between the top of her stockings and the bottom of her pants.

"Two. Thank you, Sir".

I continued working the belt up and down Anna's ass and cheeks until the whole of the exposed flesh of her thighs was a bright red. She was rolling up and down on her feet with each stroke, moving back to catch the full force of each bite of the belt. She was trembling, and letting out a long heavy sigh each time the belt landed. I wasn't sure but I was beginning to think that Anna was getting close to a climax. "Twenty-five. Thank you, Sir". Anna yelped.

"Stand up Anna." I commanded. Anna rose from the position over the chair. Slowly. She wiggled as the stockings rose up over the red thighs, pulled by the garter. She turned toward me with her head bowed.

"Sir, thank you for punishing me. I deserve all that you gave me for not doing my work this morning. I will do better in the future." Anna was quite meek now in her speaking. I could see the faint red marks across her breasts from the earlier switching. I also noticed that the front of her pants were quite wet. If she had not climaxed, she surely had been close. I decided a small respite was in order.

"Anna, now you will do the dishes and finish up the rest of the work around the house. Later this afternoon we will continue. I believe you still need one more beginning session so that you understand that you are now working for new employers. You will come to the library at 5:00 o'clock, and bring the paddle, and large wooden kitchen spatula with you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir," Anna replied.

I retired to the library to read. I could here Anna working around the house during the afternoon as I sat in my easy chair reading. I thought to myself that she sure had changed her attitude from these two sessions. The final one today would insure that Anna knew how we expected her to perform her duties for us. I also knew that Bette would have to give her a session as well to insure that she knew both of us were in charge. Bette would like that.

As the clock struck its fifth chime the door to the library opened and Anna walked in carrying the paddle and large wooden spatula. Her head bowed she walked over to the chair where I was sitting and stopped beside it.

"Well, now Anna, that is more like what we expect. This will be my last training session with you. I am sure that Bette will give you one training session when she gets home. I don't think any others will be necessary, however, if you fail to do your work as expected, I am sure that we will punish you. Now, are you ready?"

Meekly Anna spoke, "Yes Sir. I fully understand that I am to work up to my ability and I expect to be punished if I don't. I guess that this session will be rather severe? And I deserve whatever you give me. Please proceed with my training."

"Very well, then Anna." I replied.

I reached out and took the paddle and spatula from Anna's hands. Laying them on the light stand at the side of the chair I said to Anna, "Come around here to the front of the chair. Stand in front of me with your legs spread apart 25 or 30 inches."

Anna moved around to the front of the chair standing about a foot and a half away. She spread her legs apart, with her arms hanging down to the sides. I looked at her breasts and could not see any marks from this morning's first session. Anna's head was bowed, her hair hanging down around her breasts and arms. I reached over to the table and picked up the spatula. As I did Anna drew in a sharp breath. "Anna will I need to restrain your arms for this session?" I asked.

"No, Sir." Anna spoke nearly in a whisper.

Adjusting myself in the chair for complete access to her thighs I gripped the spatula firmly. This would require me to deliver spanks to her left thigh backhanded, but I was sure that both thighs would be stinging when I was done.

The spatula was thin and had two long slots in it which would allow the air to flow through very easily. Leaning forward slightly I swung the spatula in a short quick stroke toward Anna's left thigh. It landed with a loud SSPPLLAATTTT! I followed it immediately with a swat to the right thigh. Anna gasped and caught another breath with the second SSPPLLAATTTT! Both spanks left red marks on the inner thigh where the spatula had landed. I continued to spank Anna's inner thighs from very near her panties to the top of her stockings. Anna's breathing was in very quick pants. Alternating between thighs I worked the spatula up and down both until they were a bright red. Anna's pants were again wet, which confirmed to me that she was finding excitement in this. When each thigh had received thirty-five spanks I stopped. Anna was breathing in quick short pants, her arms held tightly at her sides. She seemed not at all relieved when I stopped. Her breathing started to return to normal, and the tightness in her arms lessened. Leaning back in the chair I said, "Anna, I believe it necessary to give you a bare bottom spanking to make sure you know your position here. I want you to take off all your clothes and lay them on the chair there."

Anna spoke with a sob broken soft whisper, "Yes, Sir."

Anna walked over to the chair and started to undress. She unhooked her stockings and rolled them off; removed the garter; with some difficulty she reached around and undid the corset and removed it; then gingerly pulled down the wet pants. She neatly folded each item and laid them in the chair. When she had finished Anna turned and walked back over to me. I could not help noticing how bouncy her breasts were, nor the dew that was covering her red bush. She stopped to the side of the chair, head bowed, and said, "I am ready for you to continue Sir." Scooting forward in the chair I reached out and took hold of Anna's hand. I moved here around to the front of the chair next to my knees. "Anna, place yourself across my knees, with your feet on the floor," I commanded. Immediately Anna draped herself across my lap. Her ass was centered over my legs, her feet on the floor, and head hanging on the other side. This position caused her ass to present itself in a very good way for spanking. I reached over to the table and picked up the paddle. Placing it on her ass I moved it around in a slow circle. Anna gasped a deep breath.

I picked up the paddle in preparation for the first of many spanks to her ass. Pausing momentarily I decided that it would be better to use my hand. "Anna, I believe a proper spanking should be administered bare bottom, over the knee, with the hand. I will not use the paddle this time. However, you can rest assured that the paddle will be used by Bette upon her return." I laid the paddle back down on the table. I reached out and starting rubbing the cheeks of Anna's ass with my right hand. They were firm and somewhat cool to the touch. Not for long I thought.

CCRRAACCKK! My first spank caught Anna off guard. She let out a loud OUCH! Instinctively her hands reached back to guard her ass. "Anna move your hands or I'll have to bind them." I ordered. Anna's hands returned to her side. I raised my hand to spank the other cheek. As my hand started down Anna's ass raised to meet it. CCRRAACCKK! This time Anna moaned very lightly. I continued to spank her ass from top to bottom, each side alternately. With each spank Anna raised her ass to meet it, and released a low moaning sigh. After I had delivered about fifty spanks I stopped. Anna continued to raise and lower her ass a few times after I stopped. I started to rub her ass cheeks with my hand and felt my pants against my leg. It was wet. Not just damp, but really wet. Her cheeks were a nice red color, and no longer cool to the touch.

I used my hand to move her thighs apart. I was by no means finished and I wanted to really give her a good session this time. Her thighs were about five or six inches apart and I could see that her red bush was soaked. I returned to rubbing her ass. "Anna, I can see that you are excited by this punishment. You need not be embarrassed by it. I am not nearly finished yet, and if you become so excited that you climax I will not be upset. Many people find that this is exciting to them."

In a deep husky voice Anna replied, "Thank you, Sir. I can't help it. The fire you have put in my ass is burning all the way through me."

My arm and hand had regained the energy to continue. I reached down between Anna's cheeks and took hold of the butt plug. I twisted it around in nearly a complete circle. Anna drew in a sharp deep breath and blurted out, "OOOOH, Sir!" My arm raised and fell sharply. My hand delivered a sharp stinging spank to the center of Anna's ass. Setting up a smooth even rhythm I continued to spank her ass moving lower with each swing of my arm. As I reached her thighs I continued spanking. First the right then the left one. Alternating between them and spanking the backs and insides as well. Anna moved her ass in time with the rhythm of my spanking. Her breathing was becoming quicker and gasping with each spank. Each time I landed a spank to her inner thigh she would moan a little louder. Her legs were convulsing and she was starting to cry out with a series of "Oh's".

I continued to spank Anna. Moving up and down her ass and thighs, which were now a very bright red. Each spank I delivered now was returned with a very audible "OOH". The CCRRAACCKK! of my hand landing was echoing around the library and Anna was shuddering and moving in time with the spanks.

Suddenly Anna started rasping out, "OOH! OOH! OOH! Sir! AAAH! OOOH! Sir, I am OOOOH! going to AAAAAAAAAH! cum." I really started to lay on the spanks at that point. Concentrating on Anna's inner thighs I delivered sharp quick spanks.

CCCRRRAAACCCKKK! "Anna it is OK." CCCRRRAAACCCKKK! "It will not cause me to stop however." CCCRRRAAACCCKKK! "You must learn to do your work." CCCRRRAAACCCKKK!

Anna's only response was a continued series of "OOOH AAHHHH OOOH AAAHHHHH" I continued to spank her thighs with sharp well aimed spanks. I worked them up as high as I could and as far on the inside of her thighs as possible. The room was filled with the sounds of my hand spanking her and Anna's replying OOOH.

It seemed that Anna was going to continue to climax for as long as I continued to spank her. The globes of her ass were bright red and the thighs were turning to a deep redish purple. Some of my spanks drew longer deeper utterances from Anna. But each one got a response. CCCCRRRRAAAACCCCKKKK! "OOOOH"

I had delivered nearly seventy-five spanks since resting my arm. Anna had received a good session in training this afternoon and would remember it for some days. I was sure that she would sit delicately if at all for a week. As I began to slow down my spanks Anna seemed to slow down her rhythmic response to them. I had delivered at least twenty-five spanks to her thighs and ass since she started to climax. It felt as though my pants were wet from my knees to my waist. Anna was still maintaining that rhythmic involuntary movement.

I stopped spanking her and rested my hand on her ass. Anna was starting to slow down her breathing. Although she had reached a climax it was obvious that her ass and thighs were going to be sore for some days. As sounds returned to normal I could here her sobbing and crying. Excited yes, but punished very well. And Bette would be back at the end of the week.

Friday, 15 July 2011

Pictures from a caning scene

Here are some photos from a very hot caning scene by cal-star.  It features an absolutely gorgeous young lady receiving some well deserved welts.  Her expressions are priceless!

The Disciplinarienne

This is a story by Mark E DeSade.

"Julie, I've had just about enough of your cheek!"

Mary Whentworth was beside herself and was up in arms about what to do about her errant sixteen-year-old daughter. "I know this is a tough age, but I shall not be spoken to like this -- not in my own home!"

It had been a tough day around the Whentworth residence indeed. First, Julie had just recently moved back in under her mum and dad's roof, after having lived with her boyfriend the past six months in what her mother termed, "a state of rebellion." This hadn't worked out and now she found herself home again and having to abide by her parents' rules. Now she was faced with either going back to school full time or finding employment.

Julie didn't like either of her choices and her attitude truly reflected this. It had sharpened considerably, spewing forth a bitterness and a hostile resentment towards her mother for her own failings.

"I'm afraid, Julie, that the time has come."

"For what!?" the miscreant teen shot back, her voice dripping with disrespect.

"For the cane, young lady. Time for six-of the-best to be laid squarely across your backside, you sassy little recalcitrant!"

"And you're gonna do it? I don't think so," Julie shot back sarcastically, her face turning scornful as she snickered under her breath.

This was a little girl headed for big trouble.

Mary Whentworth picked up a copy of the London Times, turning to the advertisements. An ad had caught her eye earlier that morning: "Disciplinary problems in the home? Hesitant to punish? Call Brentwood College." The ad seemed simple enough. But would they understand the delicacy of her situation; that she, already in her mid-forties, had never learned to properly wield a cane. Much less, never having administered a "proper" caning with anything heavier than a junior cane. Certainly she felt as if things were so far beyond her control that a caning by her hands was simply out of the question. She picked up the telephone and dialed the number to the college.

The voice on the other end was pleasant enough.


"Yes, hello ... my name is ... Mrs. Mary Whentworth and I ..."

"You're calling about the ad in the Sunday Times," the voice said matter-of-factly.

"Yes, Ma'am, I am. Actually, I'm calling for my daughter.

"I understand," came the calm voice on the other end again.

"You do?"

"Indeed. You have a misbehaving child in need of discipline, correct?"

"Well, yes."

"I'm the headmistress of this establishment, Miss Von Stern. Would you like for your daughter to be caned, or is that too severe a punishment for her? How old is she?"

"She's sixteen and fairly well-built. That is to say that her bottom could definitely withstand the cane. And Lord knows she needs it."

"I understand completely," Miss Von Stern said as she looked down at her roster of trainee Schoolmistresses and Governesses.

"I have someone in mind who would be perfect for the task at hand. She's just finishing up her training here and is familiarizing herself in the disciplinary arts. She's given quite a lot of canings as of late, some, actually quite a lot, to private homes where discipline is lacking. Would you like for her come to your home and administer some discipline to your daughter?"

"I would indeed. Thank you. What would the charge be, if I may ask?"

"Oh, no charge, we do this completely gratis; as a service, and we're happy to provide it -- as it benefits both parties we feel. My Mistresses and Governesses get the live disciplinary practice they so need to fulfill their prerequisites. And the parents, they don't have to fuss with the punishments themselves."

Mary Whentworth gave the headmistress her address and they made the appointment for precisely three o'clock that afternoon.

Julie had only half believed any of this was going to come about when she saw a very good looking young redhead approaching the door with a case tucked neatly under her arm. She rang the doorbell.

Julie started to answer the door, but was cut off by her mother.

"Hello," came the very formal voice of the lady, dressed in a white blouse and pleated black skirt and heels. "I'm Miss Armstrong, I believe I have an appointment."

"Yes, please come in," Mary Whentworth somehow managed to stammer out, shaking her hand as the gentle looking young lady entered, catching eyes with Julie, whom she knew instinctively she'd be disciplining in a few short moments.

"I've been updated on your condition here in the home, so I'd like to get right down to business, if you don't mind Mrs. Whentworth?"

"No, not at all."

Julie sized up Miss Armstrong: At barely 5'2", and with long elegant red locks past her shoulders and deep-set green eyes, she was hardly an imposing figurine at that thought the recalcitrant teenager.

Miss Armstrong took off her coat, then placed her long black case on the table as she made eye contact with Julie once again -- this time a seriousness enveloping her face; a businesslike proficiency that Julie somehow likened to that of her mother. But this woman was different somehow. There was an air of seriousness that was a bit uncalming.

Mary Whentworth sat down, sipping her tea, watching what was unfolding before her very eyes. What she had dreamt of and wished for now for so long was finally about to come to fruition. For her daughter to finally get her just desserts. To finally feel the sting of the dreaded cane she'd been promised for so many years, but had been unable to deliver by her own hands.

"Julie, I'm sure you know why I'm here," Miss Armstrong continued.

"Yeah, you're supposed to ... punish me?" The teen's voice was again filled with a combination of wild disbelief and rebellious laughter.

"I'd like for you to clear the area here in the living room, move the furniture to the sides and bring me that old-fashioned chair in the corner. Place it in the center of the room. Just the chair. That's all I want to see there. Do you understand?"

Julie rolled her eyes, deciding to play out this charade to its fullest. After all, how bad could a "caning" from this diminutive woman be? She'd go through this, then tell her mother it was much ado about nothing.

Julie did as she was instructed and the chair was in place.

Miss Armstrong turned to Julie's mother: "Would you happen to have a spare house shoe I might use? Or perhaps one with a flat heel, a sandal, perhaps. One with some pliancy to it?"

Mrs. Whentworth bolted up out of her seat and went to her closet where she found a fifteen year old sturdy elegant sandal with a half-inch heel with a metal tip attached to the flat of the heel. She quickly returned and handed it to Miss Armstrong, who smiled with delight at her counterpart's proficiency.

Julie's eyes widened to full aperture now, watching the transference of the shoe from her mum to Miss Armstrong.

The Disciplinarienne sat down, calmly, on the seat of the chair, and with shoe in hand, called for Julie to come to her. Julie balked. How could she back down now, after boasting so much pride in front of her mother and this strange woman? She lowered her head and went to Miss Armstrong, who took her in one graceful motion by the hand and draped her across her lap, positioning her for punishment. It took a few moments before Julie was sprawled across her punisher's knee just right. Then Miss Armstrong laid the shoe on Julie's back as she very deliberately folded up her skirt onto her back, exposing her knickers. This brought a wave of shame across Julie's flushed facial features.

Miss Armstrong turned to Julie's' mum, who sat spellbound. "Would you like for this to be bare bottom, Mrs. Whentworth?"

Mrs. Whentworth did not hesitate and answered an immediate yes.

Miss Armstrong then slowly peeled down Julie's knickers, showing for the first time in a long time a well-rounded, unblemished, unpunished bottom.

She picked up the shoe, and in a very soft yet commanding voice, disciplined Julie verbally: "I want your head turned away whilst I spank you, do you understand?"


"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Ma'am," came the cheeky tone again, through clenched teeth this time.

"That's better. I think we're making some headway now. Also, I want your toes pointed inward. I don't want you clenching your bottom cheeks during this, do you understand, Julie?"

"Yes, Ma'am," came Julie's reply, a bit more feeble.

Miss Armstrong picked up the shoe again and without a moment's hesitation, began whacking away at Julie's poor behind. Six crisp, stinging whacks to one cheek, then another six to the other. Then twelve on one side and twelve on the other. Finally, after five solid minutes of this, Julie could keep her toes pointed no longer. Miss Armstrong stopped, a frown appearing on her fawnlike features.

"What did I tell you about those toes, young lady?"

"I'm ... I'm sorry, Ma'am."

"Well, get them back into position, we're just getting started here."

Julie repositioned her toes correctly, turned her head away as the tears started to flow. The vision of her mother, sitting at the kitchen table sipping her tea was simply too much for her to bear. She broke down completely, and the caning itself had still yet to be administered!

Finally, after another few minutes of torrid whacks applied with the shoe, Miss Armstrong let Julie up -- but with a warning not to rub her bottom.

Julie stood, crying, wanting to rub the sting out of her bottom as her Disciplinarienne strode to the table and opened her black case, removing two different crooked-handled canes. She bent the first one, an office cane, or "junior" cane which was quite thin, between her capable hands. Julie looked up to see this as she broke down again in tears, knowing fully now what fate awaited her. Then Miss Armstrong swished the cane quickly through the air and, shaking her head, replaced it back in its case. She then pulled out a senior cane, the type most frequently used in her establishment. It was longer and had a larger circumference than the office cane. It was also heavier. She gave a wry smile as she swished this cane, knowing it would be the rod to impart the bulk of Julie's lesson this afternoon. Miss Armstrong walked over to where Julie was by the chair and ordered her to kneel on the seat.

"Up on it, and I want you reaching over and grabbing the chair legs," do you understand?

"Yes, Ma'am. I do."

Miss Armstrong fussed with Julie's posture even more this time, taking the cane and using it as a pointer, motioning her to arch her back as she reached down low.

"Bum up, head down. And DON'T jump off that chair if you know what's good for you."

Julie was now sobbing incessantly, the tears flowing down her face as if a river had run amok. Her mother sat silently, watching with breathtaking fascination the absolutely flawless pre-punishment delivery Miss Armstrong was performing before her eyes. Never had she seen her daughter so controlled by a woman. So contrite. And THIS woman? So young, just out of college herself. And so tiny! How, she thought. How could this be possible?

Miss Armstrong, pleased with Julie's posture, went forth with the pre-caning rituals which she was now honing. She rolled back her skirt again, over onto her back and but did not have to fuss with her knickers which were still at the tops of her knees. Julie's sore bottom showed; welts from the heel of the shoe had "marked" her significantly already. Her bottom was literally a deep shade of crimson from the spanking and getting redder with each passing moment. Miss Armstrong took the cane and placed it between Julie's thighs, spreading them apart just a bit. "Turn your head from me ... I do not with to see your face as I cane you, young lady."

"Yes, Ma'am," came Julie's weak response again. The young girl complied totally and without question, having already been thoroughly disciplined by this woman -- yet the punishment was far from being over.

"You're going to receive a six-of-the-best caning, young lady," do you know what that means?

Julie nodded her head that she did.

"Followed by a five-barred gate." Do you know what that is?

Julie shook her head.

"You'll very soon find out. Now, on with it. Head down and bum up. Legs spread wide apart ... that's it. Bum up. Higher … higher … higher!"

Miss Armstrong drew the cane back to its full apex and with a lightning-quick motion and flick of her wrist, landed the first cane stroke squarely in the middle of Julie's bum. The tip had not wrapped around the edge and she was pleased with her first stroke in more than a week. A full-ridged horizontal cane mark quickly appeared as Miss Armstrong smiled to herself.

Julie let out a hysterical cry. Miss Armstrong pushed her back down and the errant girl obediently grabbed hold of the chair legs again, offering up her bum for further chastisement.

"How many was that, Julie?"

"One ... Ma'am."

"Very good. Do not lose count, or we start over. Do you understand. Do not jump off that chair, or we start over."

"Yes, Ma'am," Julie said, wiping her tears.

Miss Armstrong readied the cane again, slashing four vicious cuts in succession, one on either side of the first two then two cuts directly in the middle. The ridges fast-appeared again and were trapped within the fullness of Julie's bottom. No sloppy weals, just well-placed ladders exactly a half inch apart. The Disciplinarienne was truly pleased with herself, with how far she'd come as a Mistress of the cane. This would be nearly the hundredth caning she'd administered (she kept a detailed diary of every caning) and she felt very at home administering its style of discipline to the wayward.

"How many more, Julie?"

The girl paused, finally answering in a very meek voice. "


"Correct. Prepare yourself Julie Whentworth!"

Miss Armstrong measured her distance with the cane as Julie bent forward again. The Disciplinarienne swished the cane through the air and it landed just below the other cuts, directly on the seat, where sitting is a reminder. Not one weal was touching another. Julie let out another hysterical scream. How could she bare one more? And what was this "five-barred gate" her Mistress had mentioned?

"One more, Julie, then it's all over. Get into position. ... that's it, head down, bum up."

Miss Armstrong repositioned herself almost even with Julie's head, aiming her cane diagonally back across the previous five weals. This last stroke was meant to be the severest, "connecting" all six cuts thus making the caning appear as if it were a "gate."

Swishhhhhhhhhh .... Thwacckkkkkkkkk!!!!!!!

Julie remained in position, taking in a quick short breaths before breaking down into tears of pure contrition. Miss Armstrong watched, silently, to see if Julie would disobey her by rubbing her bottom or jumping off the chair. The girl remained motionless, except for her heaving body giving forth to her incredible sobs. Mrs. Whentworth sat, silently, too, satisfied that the job had been done properly and that possibly there was some hope for her daughter's immediate behavior problems.

Miss Armstrong, without uttering a word, then went to the table and replaced her cane, put on her coat and handed Julie's mother a white business card, which said, very simply, "Miss R. Armstrong ... Disciplinarienne." There was also a telephone number at the bottom.

The two exchanged admiring glances and Miss. Armstrong looked back over to Julie who was still bent over the chair, now deeply immersed in self-pity and the remnants of a good cry.

Julie looked up for a moment, catching Miss Armstrong's eye. She emotionally mouthed the words, "thank you" to the schoolmistress as her tear-stained face showed no signs of rebellion whatsoever. It was as if she was thanking this woman, this stranger, for taking the time, for showing her the attention, for disciplining her -- as she had so badly needed and wanted all these years, but was somehow unable to communicate to her mother.

Then the Disciplinarienne, her case tucked under her arm, gracefully exited the Whentworth home as elegantly as she came -- a wry sense of satisfaction washing across her soft, yet very satisfied face.

But would there be a need for her to return?

Wednesday, 15 December 2010

The Riding Shop

Sheila sighed heavily as she closed the cash register drawer. It had been a long week at the shop -- 12-hour shifts for the past five days – but she desperately needed to keep this job. She received a reasonable salary and the overtime pay was helping her climb out of credit card debt. She also liked her boss, Mrs. Carlisle, who had been gradually giving her more responsibility for managing the equestrian shop.

One Saturday afternoon, Mrs. Carlisle had even closed the shop early and invited Sheila to her farm to go horseback riding. Sheila rode Ebony, a jet-black mare with a gentle nature and a graceful gait. Mrs. Carlisle, however, commanded Star, a spirited chestnut Thoroughbred whose name came from the star-shaped white mark on his forehead. The two women had raced across the countryside, feeling as free and wild as the wind. Sheila urged her horse to keep pace with Mrs. Carlisle's, but she was no match for the powerful steed that the older woman rode. Sheila admired the sight of Mrs. Carlisle -- her auburn tresses flowing freely in the breeze and her lithe body rising and falling in rhythm with her horse's galloping pace. Mrs. Carlisle was 20 years older than Sheila, but she possessed boundless energy and a youthful countenance that belied her age.

After that afternoon, Sheila felt a special bond with her employer. She developed enormous respect for the woman who controlled a powerful Thoroughbred with the same style and grace as she displayed in the presence of difficult customers or her pesky ex-husband. Sheila was impressed when Mrs. Carlisle verbally chastised a supplier who tried to sell her inferior goods, and was awed when her employer physically apprehended a teenage shoplifter as he tried to slip out the door.

Sheila glanced at her watch. In another 15 minutes, she could close the shop and go home. At that moment, a customer walked in the door, glanced about the store and then headed toward the counter. The tall, slender woman was dressed in white jodhpurs, a dark turtleneck and a wool blazer. She wore black riding boots and matching gloves. Her long, black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her face was as tan as leather. She looked at Sheila curiously as she approached.

"Where is Mrs. Carlisle?"

"She's in the back," answered Sheila. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Perhaps, you can," said the young woman pleasantly. "I had placed an order for a new bridle two weeks ago and it was supposed to arrive today. I'm leaving tomorrow for a horse show in Virginia, and the bridle's for the horse I'm riding in the jumper competition."

Sheila pulled out the shipment book from underneath the counter. "What's your name?"

"Rachel York." As Sheila paged through the order forms, she sensed Rachel leaning closer toward her. She felt herself becoming more flustered as she flipped through the last of the order forms without seeing the one for the new bridle. When Sheila looked up, Rachel's face was only a few inches from hers.

"I'm also looking for a new riding crop," said the woman as she stared coolly into Sheila's widening brown eyes.

Sheila suddenly felt lightheaded and had to lean against the counter for support. She nervously brushed a wisp of blonde hair from her face and hoped that the sudden flush in her cheeks was not apparent. At that moment, Mrs. Carlisle emerged from the back office and seemed genuinely delighted to see Rachel. They hugged and chatted briefly about the upcoming show while Sheila continued looking for the shipment order. Finally, Mrs. Carlisle noticed Sheila's distress.

"Ms. York's order isn't in there. I keep a personal record in my office of custom supplies for loyal customers like Ms. York." Sheila breathed a noticeable sigh of relief and quickly closed the shipment book.

"Ms. York and I will be in my office. Please join us there after you close the shop."

Sheila hung the 'Closed' sign in the window, locked the front door and then brought the day's receipts and cash drawer intake back to Mrs. Carlisle's office. Both women were waiting for her there. Mrs. Carlisle locked the money and receipts in the safe and then asked Rachel and Sheila to follow her. Sheila assumed they were going to the stock room to find Rachel's bridle, but instead Mrs. Carlisle motioned for them to follow her to a room across the hall. Sheila had never been in the room because the door was always locked, and Mrs. Carlisle had told her she stored personal belongings there.

Mrs. Carlisle unlocked the door and guided Sheila into the unlit room as Rachel followed. When she turned on the light, Sheila first thought she was in another stock room. A dozen riding crops were mounted on a wooden rack on the wall directly in front of her. Brushes and other grooming supplies were stored on shelves alongside bridles and blinders. And there were whips hanging from the wall -- everything from leather quirts and short, horsehair whips to buggy whips and a menacing-looking bull whip. None of this surprised Sheila except that the harnesses looked too small for horses.

However, her heart leapt into her throat when she saw the paddles. Paddles of different lengths and thicknesses, some made of leather, others of wood, hanging from hooks in perfectly straight rows along the wall. They were even organized according to colour - some black, some brown, one was fire-engine red and another a cool, turquoise blue.

As Sheila willed her gaze away from the paddles, her eyes fell upon the object in the
middle of the room. It looked like a pommel horse, but it was about the height of a coffee table and covered in a rich, brown suede. Two padded handles protruded from the sides. A narrow cushioned shelf, about three feet long, was mounted on either side of the "horse," behind the handles. Sheila could not stop staring at it until Mrs. Carlisle placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her gently toward her.

"I hired you because I thought you possessed special talents. Now it's time to display those talents." Sheila looked at her employer in bewilderment, but Mrs. Carlisle simply ordered her to remove her clothes.

"I'm your boss now," she said sternly. "Do as I say."

Sheila turned to Rachel, who was now standing by the mounted crops and tapping one impatiently in her hand. Her expression turned foreboding as she spoke.

"Sheila, I understand that you lost your last job because you did not follow your supervisor's instructions. You don't want to disappoint two different employers in one month." Rachel's rebuke filled her with shame as she nervously unbuttoned her Oxford shirt and slipped it off her shoulders. She knew the two women could see her erect nipples pressing against the cotton fabric of her bra. When she bent over to remove her shoes and socks, she could hear Rachel tapping the crop against her boot. Sheila felt her stomach turning into a knot as tight as the braided leather in Rachel's hand.

After Sheila had undressed, Mrs. Carlisle ordered her to "mount the horse." When she hesitated, the older woman gently pushed her toward the middle of the room.

"Kneel down, grab the handles and then rest your knees on the cushions," she instructed. Sheila obeyed, positioning herself on all fours across the horse, her nipples brushing against the rough fabric and her thighs squeezing tightly against its sides. She heard Rachel's footsteps as she walked toward her, then felt electricity dance across her skin as Rachel laid a gloved hand on her bare bottom. Mrs. Carlisle stepped in front of Sheila and lifted up her chin.

"Because Ms. York is one of my most valued customers, I allow her to try out the merchandise before she purchases it." Rachel began to slowly caress Sheila's right cheek, causing the kneeling woman to inhale in quick, uneven breaths.

"Today, she's in the market for a new crop," Mrs. Carlisle explained dispassionately while Rachel teased Sheila's swollen lips with the tip of the crop. Sheila shivered and moaned as the whip made its slow passage back and forth between her anus and clitoris.

"Since Ms. York has a big competition next week, it's important that she has the best equipment. Don't you agree, Sheila?" Rachel tapped the crop gently against the inside of Sheila's left thigh, as if prompting her to answer. Sheila nodded and Mrs. Carlisle dropped her hand from the young woman's chin.

"I'm glad that you understand," she said pleasantly, "and that you're so willing to be of assistance to my favourite customer."

The crop lashed against Sheila's bottom with unexpected intensity, causing her to cry out in astonishment and pain. The whip hissed again through the air, landing a little lower than the first strike and searing a stripe of fire across Sheila's skin. She gritted her teeth in preparation for the next blow, breathing harshly through her nostrils like an excited horse. As the crop connected with her right thigh, she heard the snap of leather against skin and felt pain explode down the back of her leg. Again a tormented moan escaped her lips.

After Rachel had delivered several quick strokes, she paused to admire her handiwork. Five thin red lines clearly marked the pale skin. Sheila felt like she had been struck by lightening, momentarily transformed by a powerful burst of heat and energy. Rachel, however, seemed disinterested in Sheila's physical or mental state at that moment. She tapped the whip methodically against her palm, as if measuring its weight and flexibility, then said dryly, "I think this one is too light. My horse, Hitchcock, won't even notice it on his flank."

Without a word, Mrs. Carlisle strode briskly across the room and chose another crop from the rack. "Try this one, my dear," she said as she handed the new crop to Rachel. "The leather is braided more tightly and it's a little thicker than the other one."

"Thank you," answered Rachel cheerfully.

Although Sheila was not bound, she did not release the handles nor rise from her position. She knew she was going to be thrashed again, but she only wanted to please these two women who humbled her with their grace and power. Rachel began to whip her again, the blows delivering both anguish and arousal as they fell in an even rhythm across her buttocks and thighs. Sheila moaned and cried as the torrent of pain rained down on her exposed bottom. She wiggled her hips and arched her back in a futile effort to protect the sorest parts of her backside from the relentless punishment. Rachel toyed with Sheila, striking her in the same spot over and over, then delivering a series of rapid strokes all over her buttocks and thighs that left Sheila breathless and sobbing. Rachel paused to let the woman recompose herself, then finished the cropping with a dozen strokes that came in agonizingly slow intervals.

"I think this is the one," Rachel said breathlessly to Mrs. Carlisle, who had watched the entire scene from a prime vantage point right behind Rachel.

"Excellent, Ms. York. I'll have Sheila bring both the crop and the bridle out to your car. If you perform as well in the show next week as you have this evening, I'm sure the judges will award you first place." Rachel accepted the compliment with a smile and a gracious thank you.

Fire raged across Sheila's bottom and the backs of her legs. A thin sheen of perspiration covered her body. Her shoulders and hands were tired and achy from holding up her body weight, and her tear-streaked face felt swollen and hot. The conversation between the two women floated hazily through Sheila's consciousness.

"Get up, my dear," Mrs. Carlisle ordered. "You have performed your duties well this evening." Sheila rose slowly from the bench, then gently rubbed her swollen buttocks.

Rachel smiled at her with smug satisfaction. "Yes, you have performed quite well, but it's time now for me to take my leave."

Mrs. Carlisle turned to Sheila. "Get Ms. York's new bridle from the rack in my office."

Sheila glanced about the room for her clothes, but Mrs. Carlisle noticed her wandering gaze. "Go now, girl, before I turn you over my knee and use one of those paddles on you."

Rachel chuckled. "I'd enjoy watching that." Sheila blushed as she scurried out the door and across the hall to Mrs. Carlisle's office. She could hear the two women talking to each other and suspected she was the topic of their conversation. As the heat and soreness of her buttocks subsided, the ache between her legs intensified. She reached down and touched her wetness. "Yes, working here does have its advantages," she thought wryly.

When Sheila returned to the room with the bridle, Rachel and Mrs. Carlisle were still chatting casually. Rachel turned to Sheila as she entered. "Mrs. Carlisle tells me you're quite an equestrian. Perhaps, you and I could go riding together one afternoon."

Sheila blushed and stammered her reply, "Yes, . . . yes. . .I think I'd … um like that very much."

"Then I'd like to see your riding form this evening," answered Rachel devilishly. Sheila looked at her puzzled. "Get back on the horse." Sheila's face registered shock and fear at the thought of another whipping. "No, I'm not going to whip you again. I'm going to ride you."

Sheila hung the bridle on a hook near the door, then obediently remounted the suede horse. She could hear Rachel removing her boots then sliding out of her tight-fitting riding pants. Rachel straddled Sheila's hips so that she faced the opposite direction of her "mount." Her fingertips traced the fading red marks on Sheila's well-whipped bottom, causing the punished woman to wince when she touched a particularly sore spot.

Rachel's fingers worked their way across the woman's buttocks and down to her moist crevice. Sheila groaned softly as Rachel parted her swollen pussy lips. Mrs. Carlisle knelt down behind Sheila and began to run her index finger slowly up and down the folds of Sheila's labia. Mrs. Carlisle kissed Rachel passionately on the lips as she massaged Sheila's hard, little kernel of pleasure. Sheila began swaying her hips, trying to press against the elusive fingers bringing her so much delight.

Rachel released from Mrs. Carlisle and murmured. "That's it, baby. Rock those hips. I wanna go for a ride." Sheila arched her back and ground her hips against the suede fabric. The sensation of being pinned down by Rachel's weight while being teased by Mrs. Carlisle's masterful fingers was maddening. Sheila began to moan audibly. She lifted her hips and abdomen off the horse, shifting her weight from side to side, while Mrs. Carlisle ran her fingers up and down her slit. When Mrs. Carlisle suddenly thrust three fingers inside her, Sheila bucked like a rodeo bronco.

Rachel squealed with delight. "That's it girl!"

Mrs. Carlisle continued thrusting into Sheila, who rocked her hips wildly and moaned uncontrollably. She felt Sheila's hands on her sore buttocks, holding onto her for balance as she bucked and gyrated. Rachel was rubbing herself against Sheila's tailbone, bringing herself closer to climax with each frenetic movement. Mrs. Carlisle's fingers left Sheila's warm cavern and began to lavish attention on her swollen clitoris.

Sheila groaned as she felt the orgasm building inside her. The deft strokes across her pleasure spot were driving her closer and closer to the brink. She felt the dizzying heat rage through her body, increase in intensity and then strike her clitoris like a bolt of lightening.

She cried out as she came. The orgasm exploding inside her vagina at the same time that Rachel reached her climax. The two women panted and sighed as the waves of pleasure crashed over them. Mrs. Carlisle was so aroused by the sight of Sheila and Rachel coming simultaneously that she slipped her free hand under her skirt to pleasure herself. Her orgasm came so swiftly and powerfully that her entire body quivered.

When Sheila felt Mrs. Carlisle's fingers trembling inside of her, she came a second time. The three women sighed and moaned as the last contractions subsided
within them.

Slowly, Mrs. Carlisle slipped her fingers out of Sheila. Then Rachel rose unsteadily from her position and patted Sheila on the bottom. "Nice form, my dear."

Mrs. Carlisle smiled as she also rose to her feet. "I'm glad you were so pleased with my new employee. When you return from Virginia, perhaps we could go for a ride together again. I believe that Sheila has already expressed her interest in another ride with you."

Sheila nodded her head, now realizing the invitation that Rachel had extended earlier. "Yes, I'd like that very much."

Wednesday, 8 December 2010

How a young teacher found spanking

This extract is from 'Painful Pleasures’, published by Delectus Books a volume first published in France in 1931 and claims to be a genuine letter from a French female teacher and sent to a flagellant newspaper column.

'Without telling you at the start to what degree I am a flagellant, and to what category I belong, I am going to show you first, if you will permit me, the origin of the taste that I acquired for the whip, nor will I try to explore, before I go on, the motives or the circumstances which have determined this orientation. I shall begin, rather, by telling you that I was raised in a great deal of care by my parents and that never in my family was there any attempt to pervert me, unless I should admit that a predilection for the whip is a perversion - and that to me has never been demonstrated. Nor have I ever had any doubtful acquaintances, either at the elementary schools or in the upper courses, up to the taking of my bachelor's degree. Moreover I had never been whipped at school for the reason that such punishment was forbidden.

After my 11th year I was never whipped by my mother, and even before that only on very rare occasions, for my mother was by no stretch of the imagination a flagellant. My father, besides, never put a hand to me, and I never had amongst my relatives, either aunts or acquaintances who were in the habit of correcting their children thus, nor even any woman friend of my family at whose house I might have had the opportunity of witnessing corrections of this type administered to either boys or girls. Up to my fourteenth year the only spanking I saw was given to tiny children and those were few and far between. Even so they were scarcely spankings in the true sense of the word. They consisted usually of some light slapping, applied very gently. I had often heard mothers, governesses or nurses threaten little girls or boys in a public square or park with a spanking, but never had I seen any administered to children over 6 or 7 years old in any case.

However a little later in the park I came to hear mothers talk of it to older children. The first time it was a boy about 12 years old and the second time, some days later; it was to a young girl also about 12 years old, when I was about the same age. It made on me a certain impression. It struck in me a certain astonishing sensation, and it is from that day that my interest arose in chastisement.

Mother and I were in the habit of taking a walk every Thursday, when the weather was nice, in a nearby park; often, with father, we would return again on Sundays. Sometimes we had lunch there or we brought it along and ate it on the grass. During vacation we would go to the park almost every day. Papa would eat at his office and mother and I would take along food for us.

I mentioned above that, when I was 12 years old, I heard a girl of the same age threatened with a 'good whipping' and I experienced a certain frisson. That arose perhaps from gazing at the personality and physique of the girl who was taller and better developed than I was. If I knew her age it is only because her mother mentioned it when she was talking with Mama on a shared bench, otherwise I would have guessed her age as fourteen.

Playing with the child later, I did not dare talk to her of the threat I had heard a few minutes earlier and which left me in a disturbed state. But my curiosity which had brusquely awakened was prodding me towards questioning her on this subject, and I felt sure I could not restrain myself if I were to remain for any time in her company. Taller than myself by a head, and very well proportioned, she seemed quite the young lady beside me and, over the next few days, I pictured her correction in my mind and I was greatly troubled by bizarre and new emotions. In my imagination, I saw the girl denuded for her punishment, this tall plump and fair haired girl with her firm and well turned legs showing under her short skirt, and her thighs half disclosed enabling me to determine for myself how gorgeously her flesh must spread out further up when it was exposed to the maternal hand.

I thought more and more about it, especially, I believe, because of the expression employed by her mother, and each time I found myself in the presence of a big and well developed girl the idea came to me that she, perhaps, might have to submit to corporal correction. The girls hips indicated by their fullness that they were worthy of it, and I suspected that even that fullness did them scant justice, thanks to the adjusted skirts they wore and which were fashion at the time.

This had become an obsession which remained with me for two years. Then, once again in the park - I was about 14 at this time - I found myself separated from mother while following some children of my own age and whose acquaintance I was to make, and with whom I played various games. Romping about, I suddenly found myself alone, but in a thicket ahead of me I perceived three older girls playing at a game much less innocent than mine.

On their knees in the grass, two of them held a third who was lying flat on her stomach. They had lifted her skirt and both of them took turns slapping her over her bloomers. These bloomers fitted tightly around the hips of their friend who, like the others, must have been about 20 years old. All three were smartly dressed and apparently belonged to the comfortable middle class, but that they were young girls from good families was apparent.

During the week, in July, the park is little frequented. They believed themselves quite alone and amused themselves freely, but at my sudden arrival they stopped, surprised for the moment. Seeing me alone, however, and scarcely troubling themselves at the sight of a child, the two who were administering the spanking promptly returned to their sport, without the slightest annoyance, and started all over again to smack their comrade in the most beautiful fashion.

The place was deserted that morning as it usually is at this time of the year. No doubt they must have thought, seeing me bare-headed, and not accompanied my mother, that I must have left her some distance away. They continued - perhaps excited still more by my presence - and one of them had the idea, on seeing me glued to the spot by an ardent curiosity which completely betrayed me, of adding further piquancy to their entertainment. In a trice, without any hesitation, she pulled down her friend's bloomers and showed me, in full view, the naked full buttocks of her friend.

It was the first time in my life I had seen the absolutely naked buttocks of a fully grown young woman. The other two girls who were holding their friend down on the ground seemed to experience the same joy in seeing her thus exposed, and both seemed to invite me to join them. They stared in turn at the gorgeous twin beauties they had uncovered and at myself, who to them, appeared to betray so lively an interest. They seemed to read in my eyes the pleasure I took in contemplating that which they were exhibiting to me, and which they offered so generously to my charmed gaze. The expressions on their faces, which I have never forgotten, indicated that they took pleasure in the emotion my appearance manifested, at once astonished and shocked.

The exposed posterior before me was a beautiful sight and the memory of it I have unforgettably conserved. The very white skin, the perfect form of the hemispheres, has been fixed in my memory forever, and I wish I knew how to draw or paint so that I might reproduce such a sensual and thrilling sight.

The young girl who was being whipped turned herself toward me. She was a lovely brunette with passionate eyes that I likewise can never forget.

The girl, who had lowered the bloomers of the girl on the ground, had by now completely exposed the admirable contours by pulling the girl's chemise as high as possible. Then she took, between her soft hands, as much of the beautiful flesh as she could hold, and the expression which animated her testified to her sovereign pleasure. Under the soft but firm grip, the posterior muscles quivered, doubtless for my benefit, so that I might see the joy they were expressing and it was then that the punisher, still kneading the lovely flesh, spoke to me saying:

'You'd like to have this done to you, wouldn't you! You're jealous aren't you! You'd like your little bottom spanked just like this and this and this! Why don't you come here and.....'

I could not listen to any more. I fled from the thicket, ran toward the roadway and, finding my two comrades who had been looking for me, I returned to their game without whispering a word of what I had seen. I pretended I had lost them in my pursuit and they attributed my panting to the exertions of my search for them and suspected nothing else.

On my return to the house I found myself still trembling at the thought of what I had witnessed in the thicket. The beautiful naked bottom was still before my eyes, opened now I realised forever, to a world which until that moment was unknown. A world of ideas, desire, excitement and sensation. At the same time it confirmed for me the knowledge of a secret that had been lying dormant for two long years.

Monday, 29 November 2010

A humiliating public spanking

This extract is from 'The Institute' by Maria Del Rey, published by Nexus Books and is quite a remarkably stirring public spanking. The story is of a Government run school for female offenders to which a young girl, Lucy, has been sent as a spy by a newspaper. To her shock, on her first day in class, she witnesses exactly what a strict regime really means after some property has been stolen:-

"This morning I instructed the prefects to conduct a search of your rooms," Mistress Shirer announced. She silenced the eager buzz of expectation by jumping down from the desk, the crack of her heels a sharp report around the room. She stood, arms folded across her chest and long lithe legs placed apart, then stared at the girls.

"The thief among you will step forward now to receive her punishment.'

Lucy looked around the room. She felt relief that stealing still took place, for it was the first sign of outward normality she had encountered in the Institute. She recognised the girl immediately. Lucy had been in the same situation herself on a number of occasions and was not fooled by the girl who was looking around earnestly as if searching for the culprit. Lucy caught her eye and smiled at her, letting her know that she knew and didn't care if the girl was a thief. But the girl ignored Lucy, sneaking glances instead in the direction of Mistress Shirer.

"You will be punished whether you own up or not," Mistress Shirer told the girls. "But if you don't own up, you will regret angering me!" She waited, deliberately, letting the tension build up. Receiving no response she walked down the central isle with a slow elegant stride, a hint of menace flowing around her. The girls eyed her with a mixture of fear and fascination.

"You girls are destined for punishment," she continued slowly, prolonging the tension.

Lucy was gripped by a sudden, irrational fear that Mistress Shirer was talking about her and a dense wave of panic began to rise within.

"No matter how hard you try," she paused by Lucy, "you return again and again to your old modes of behaviour."

Lucy held her breath, but relaxed when Mistress Shirer took another couple of steps and stopped at the last row of desks. All the girls at the front were craning round in excitement, relieved that they had escaped. Lucy shared the feeling of light headed relief.

"Stand up girl!" Mistress Shirer ordered the girl sitting in front of her.

"Please Mistress-" the girl began to explain, her small round face collapsing. Tears welled in her bright blue eyes and her pretty little mouth trembled.

Mistress Shirer slapped the girl's face, and the retort echoed through the silent room. The girl clutched at her reddened cheek, eyes wide with dreadful anticipation of what was to follow. She looked at Mistress Shirer imploringly but the Mistress grabbed her by the hair and pulled her out of her seat.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" the girl whined. She managed to free herself from the Mistress' grip and fell to the floor and began grovelling on hands and knees.

Lucy was horrified. She turned and looked at the other girls but they were watching with excitement. Many were smiling gleefully, enjoying the sight of the girl degrading herself.

Mistress Shirer pulled the girl up by the hair, clutching a tight handful of the long brown locks. She strode purposefully back to the front of the class, pulling the sobbing girl behind her.

"This filthy little bitch is a thief," she proclaimed, standing the girl up to face her classmates, " and like all bad girls she has to be punished again and again!"

"Please, I'm sorry-" the girl whimpered, squirming nervously.

"Unbutton your shirt!" Mistress Shirer commanded brutally.

The girl started to undo the buttons but her hands were shaking and unable to grip the buttons properly. Mistress Shirer pulled the shirt open impatiently, ripping the buttons off. The girl tried to shrink back, attempting to hide her naked breasts but Mistress Shirer tugged the girl's hair to make her stand properly. The girl winced and stuck her chest out, displaying the fullness of her firm breasts to all the other girls.

"Cup your breasts," Mistress Shirer commanded and the girl obeyed, cupping her large breasts and raising them up, accentuating the swell of her flesh. The girl's face was blushing deep red with shame, her eyes fixed firmly on the ground.

The first blow startled Lucy, who had become lost in the contemplation of the beautiful raised breasts bathed in the bright sunlight that streamed through the windows. Mistress Shirer began to lay hard sharp slaps on the naked ripe fruit held out to her, the loud slap of flesh on flesh beating out a rhythm of painful punishment. The soft white breast skin was flawed with a deep crimson tan, the impression of Mistress Shirer's fingers clearly marked for all to see. The girl closed her eyes and bit deeply into her lip. Her chest was burning and stinging, the regular strokes on her breasts painfully sharp.

Mistress Shirer varied her strokes, ensuring that each breast was spanked in turn, and also spreading the strokes over each breast so that the girl's flesh was an even colour throughout. She paid attention to the nipples, landing several blows directly on each, so that the nipples stood out sharply and glowed a deeper colour than the surrounding flesh.

"Thank you Mistress," the girl whispered when the breast spanking was finished. Her chest was patterned with deep red finger marks on a carpet of smooth pink tan. Her chest seemed to be aflame, the smarting concentrated in the tight sensitive buds of the nipples, sending confused messages to the rest of her body.

"Let the girls see how you are marked," Mistress Shirer ordered.

The girl uncupped the two punished breasts and put her hands on her head, elbows parallel to her shoulders so that her breasts were displayed to the best advantage. The flesh on the underside was still milky white, but it merged gradually with the scarlet finger marked flesh where Mistress Shirer's expert hand had chastised her. The dark reddish brown nipples were hard little buttons, provocatively erect, aching for relief from the smarting ache that covered them.

The punished girl kept her eyes averted but held herself up, pressing her breasts higher. She glanced up at the other girls, trying to look defiant, but the blushes of shame were clear to see.

"Now bend over the punishment desk," Mistress Shirer ordered the girl. Disconsolately, the girl turned away from the class and bent across the Mistress' desk. She pressed herself low on its surface so that her breasts were squashed flat, finding temporary solace in the coolness of the desk top.

Mistress Shirer unbuttoned the skirt and it fell around the girl's ankles. Slowly, she pulled the white cotton panties down past the girl's knees. "Part your legs!" she ordered and the girl obeyed.

The other girls craned forward in their seats, enjoying the view of the young naked backside so temptingly exhibited. The tight round arse cheeks were pleasingly parted, just a hint of the puckered arsehole within. A mat of curly brown hair indicated the entrance to her sex. The girl turned her head back and her eyes welled with sorrowful tears, humiliated by her exposure before the entire class.

Mistress Shirer walked slowly round the desk, revelling in the sight of the girl so gloriously exposed. From a deep drawer in the desk Mistress Shirer withdrew a long, supple, cane and she tested its mettle by swishing it through the air several times. The girl looked up beseechingly, terrified by the sight and sound of the wicked cane being played through the air.

"This is how I punish naughty girls," Mistress Shirer told the class, using one hand to position the unfortunate girl, pressing her down into the desk so that her arse cheeks were raised temptingly higher.

The first stroke whistled through the air and landed with a sharp crack across the bare bottom. The girl cried out, the stroke biting deeply into her flesh as a sharp spasm of pain seemed to run through her. A deep red line was etched across the globes of her arse, a livid reward for her bad behaviour. Mistress Shirer paused deliberately before striking the next note of this painful litany.

The girls watched in awed silence, hearts pounding and minds racing. Lucy's head was spinning for she was at once repelled by the painful public humiliation yet fiercely attracted to it. Stroke followed stroke and the punished girl's bottom soon bore a patchwork of red lines deeply burned into her flesh.

Lucy turned away, checking her own behaviour against that of the other girls around her. The small Indian girl had pulled up her skirt and parted her legs wide, her neighbour now rubbing her hand slowly between the dusky uncovered thighs. Careful not to attract Mistress Shirer's attention, the Indian girl raised her bottom slightly. She pulled her knickers part way down and guided the other girl's hand into place. When she saw Lucy watching, she smiled. With her free hand she gently lifted her skirt so that Lucy could see the dark folds of the moist pussy being expertly fingered. The shock on Lucy's face was evident, and the Indian girl beamed in delight, turning slightly to give Lucy a better view.

Lucy blushed. She was aroused intensely by the two girls masturbating, but turned back to the equally arousing sight of the girl over the punishment desk.

The girl's arse was obviously on fire, the pain unbearable. Her breathing came in short gasps yet the muted sobbing was replaced by the unwanted, sexually charged, release of soft wordless moans. She lifted her arse higher still, trying to meet the downward stroke of the cane halfway. Her pussy was alive with pleasure, her tight bud a molten burning centre of desire.

Suddenly she collapsed into an almighty screaming climax and lost control as the last of the heavy strokes found her reddened arse. She seemed to wince, gasped audibly and then let out a fierce clear jet of urine. She was too exhausted, too overwhelmed to do anything. She let the piss stream out until the flow slowed to a trickle that dribbled down her thighs and soaked her skirt and panties.

Mistress Shirer had stepped back and not been soiled by the girl's piss. Her smile revealed her delight that the girl had so lost control as to abase herself completely and utterly.

"Jenny can be left to clear up her own mess," she said calmly, "the rest of the class is dismissed."

Sunday, 28 November 2010

The punishment of a proud young lady

This extract is from a novel called 'Sweet Dreams' and is a classic Richard Manton plot of a rich adventurer who, doing a favour for a friend who must travel abroad, reluctantly leaves his home in Paris to live in an English country home as mentor and guardian of two beautiful and headstrong teenage sisters, Sharon, the elder, and Victoria. Needless to say both these young ladies are in need of strict discipline and our hero and narrator, oh so sadly of course, feels the need to attend to their bare bottoms. The first to suffer, after disobeying an instruction, is the 18 year old Sharon who has just returned from horse riding to find her guardian waiting for her. Read on:

Presently I was alone with Sharon. She stood before me in her singlet and jeans, the veil of brown hair freshly combed and settled on her shoulders, the careless fringe of it on her forehead and the sweep of it framing the firm pale oval of her face. She stood there with arms folded, her expression suggesting that, though she would not resist me, she would do nothing to assist in her own punishment. A girl of eighteen has at least that much pride.

I turned to the cupboard, taking out the slim black riding crop. She stared at it, still unable to comprehend the degree of torment the crop may inflict upon her. At the centre of the room was a heavy oblong table of dark wood.

"Go over and stand facing the table, Sharon," I said quietly.

She turned and walked slowly across, still with her arms folded as if to show her indifference. I promised myself that she would show little indifference or self-possession in half an hour's time!

"Lie forward over the table, Sharon. Bend forward over it."

She did as she was told, still without a word, lying forward along it.

"Give me your hands."

She reached them out in front of her, above her head as she lay still. I slipped a strap around her wrists and drew it tight. Then I ran a length of stout cord around the strap, drew her arms out at full stretch and tied the cord firmly to the nearest table legs. Sharon turned her face aside and shook her dark brown hair into place, her cheek resting on the table.

I pulled the singlet hem free of the waist of her jeans. Now that I had Sharon bending fully over, the rear view of her riding jeans was of two quite plumpy swelling young bottom cheeks with the outline of her panties clearly ridged. I undid the clasp at her waist and eased the denim down, making her step out of her jeans when they had fallen to her ankles. She now lay there displaying briefs of white elasticated cotton.

"Now your knickers, Sharon," I said "You must be properly undressed for this."

I pulled her knickers down and admired the view. Sharon's bottom gained its seductive fullness from the slight pale sheen of adolescent puppy fat. I ran my hand gently over it and gave her a light cheek smack, causing Sharon's soft pale arse flesh to jump and quiver.

"Never had the crop before, Sharon?"

She bit her lip and said nothing.

"Answer when you're spoken to!"

There was a pause and then the answer came almost as a gasp.


I gave her bottom another light smack.

"You shall have your first taste of the stable crop then."

Though her face was hidden, her body now betrayed Sharon's panic. Her knees were pressed together and she was trying to compress her rear cleavage. I stood over her, put one arm around her waist, and closely inspected her young backside and the rear opening of her thighs.

"Relax your bottom, Sharon. I must have a good look at you first."

And so I did, admiring the rear aspect of her young sex at the junction of her trembling thighs. She tried to tighten again presently, when I pressed her cheeks hard apart and considered the little vortex before me. I straightened up, gave her another light slap on the bottom and walked across to the desk where the slim black crop was lying. I picked up the crop and a leather belt. The latter went tightly around Sharon's waist, for I intended her to remain very firmly lying over the table.

I cut the air with a crop and the sound of it made her jump with fright, Sharon's bare buttocks tightening instinctively.

I spent a little while taking my aim, touching the cold leather of the crop one way and another across Sharon's bare and flinching rear cheeks. My resolve had begun to harden and I very much determined to make this a long and fruitful session. I raised the long slim crop and brought it down hard with a flick of the wrist, catching Sharon's squirming young backside expertly aslant its cheeks. The room rang with the smack of leather on the soft flesh of Sharon's bottom. Sharon gasped and then her gasp rose to a cry as if the anguish increased for a moment after the impact. The silky twist of her brown hair slithered clear as she tried to twist her face round to implore me. The whip cracked keenly, making her young bottom cheeks quiver again and again.

Sharon bent one knee up quickly and desperately, as if that might ease the lingering smart of the whip, something I was later to see Victoria do. I caught her again with a cut that touched the searing red of the first stripe and Sharon yelled wildly. Her silky hair was spilling in confusion and, when I walked around to the front, I saw her brown eyes filled with tears of dismay. Sharon had never dreamt that she could be hurt like this in response to her conduct. Her legs were squirming and wriggling. The whip smacked low across her bottom cheeks and Sharon uttered a wild and wordless soprano squeal.

The pale swell of Sharon's bottom cheeks jumped and quivered under the force of each impact. She performed arse contortions that a professional belly dancer might have envied. The slim black crop whipped and whipped again across her young backside until Sharon made the walls ring after every cut. She kicked out with her bare legs this way and that, receiving six measured cuts across the backs of them to discourage such conduct. Her knees seemed to give way at this point. Had she merely been bending to touch her toes, Sharon would have collapsed on the floor. How wise I had been to secure her, bending over the table, so that she would have to take what was given her, whether her legs would support her or not.

I do not know if she was sorry for all her previous misconduct but she looked extremely sorry for herself! From its deep blushes and crimson streaking, Sharon's eighteen year old bottom looked as if she had been made to sit all day in a vase de nuit filled with a boiling brew of sharpest thorn twigs.

I stood back and gave her six more for luck, such that in her desperation she pushed herself up from her knees and balanced by her shins on the edge of the chair. Then, with some reluctance, I laid down the implement. I freed her and she burst out into a sobbing, heaving lament. I untied her and allowed her to stand up. Like a little girl who has just had a smacked bottom, she wanted only to be out of her chastiser's presence and safe in her own room.

"Have you had enough, Sharon?" I demanded.

She would not answer me, her head bowed, her face scalding with tears, and her brown hair hanging down.

"No answer, Sharon? What did I tell you about answering me? I assume you want some more then! I can call in the stable boys to put you over that table again and hold you while you're getting it! Would you like that, Sharon?"

She shook her head vigorously but would neither look at me nor speak.

"Have you learnt your lesson, Sharon?"

Still nothing. Before I could repeat the question or warn her again of the penalty for dumb insolence, Sharon snatched up her briefs and jeans. Without pausing to put them on, she uttered a desperate sob, ran from the room, and made the house echo to her weeping and running footsteps on the stairs.

Despite such discourtesy, I did not follow up on my threat. She had been punished enough. Sharon spent an hour in the bathroom before throwing herself painfully onto her bed, and sobbing herself to sleep.