Baxter rolled his office chair in slow circles and took in the scene beyond his corner office. The walls and windows merged so that the room was dominated by a panoramic view of London beyond. But it was the woman who sat facing him that held his attention.

She had been trying to see him for weeks and now that she had he wasn’t entirely sure if he believed what he was hearing.

“If I screw up, you spank me,” she said with an easy smile.

“That simple,” he snorted.

“That simple,” she shrugged.

Baxter sized Jenny Bauhaus up. She was a little taller than average, which coupled with her short brown straight-haired bob, gave her a sharp look. Her skirt-suit was certainly expensive, charcoal grey with subtle pinstripes that added to her confident demeanour.

Her greenish-brown eyes smiled back at him, although her full mouth was firm and serious.

“What’s in it for you or for me for that matter? This isn’t some kind of scam is it?” Baxter looked her over without blinking.

Her strange approach was not exactly what he had been expecting and although he was not averse to spanking a woman now and then, he didn’t usually expect to mix business with pleasure.

“Scam?” Her eyes narrowed. “Not at all. Why would you say that?”

She seemed genuinely puzzled.

“It isn’t the way business is usually conducted,” Baxter pointed out.

“I am not a client I am a… consultant. I have a lot of useful contacts but I don’t know the business, not really. I want to learn,” she sounded sincere. “I am old school and I require unique motivation. I really want to learn. Mr Baxter, you have the best track record in the business and over 30 years’ experience. I am new to this game. That’s all there is to it.”

“And you think spanking is the way forward.” Baxter sounded calm enough, but he suspected that she was either nuts or that he was way out of his depth.

“I found out when I was still at college that I need good sound spankings to keep me on track. I am something of a…”

“Submissive?” Baxter offered up the word. After all if this was a sexual thing he needed to know now.

Jenny frowned and weighed his question.

“I will be submissive to you for the duration of our… arrangement, but only to you. I will work for a minimum wage plus… shall we say five per cent of whatever I make for you. In return, you train me and show me around your world, you know the kind of thing.”

“You’ll do anything I say… for how long?” Baxter leaned back in his chair.

“I’ll sign a three-year-contract if you like,” Jenny smiled with her mouth for the first time.

“You are what… thirty three? This must be your third or fourth career since college,” Baxter glanced at the file.

“I am 34 and yes this will be my fourth career change,” Jenny nodded.

“And you always offer yourself on these terms?”

“Pretty much. You would be surprised who I know and what I have learned.”

“Okay, supposing I take you at your word, what limits would you need to set on this?”

Jenny looked off to the side as if considering for a moment. “As long as you are prepared to pay me for at least 40 hours a week and work me in a conventional business sense for 25 of those hours then I will take a chance and you can use me as you will. Oh, I was not joking about the spanking part. If I screw-up, I really do need you to spank me. How hard is up to you.”

“If I decide to take up your offer I will pay you £750 per week, plus your five per cent. You will generally work nine to five at my office but you will be on call 24/7 and expected to work an average of 12 hours a day, six hours a week. As a matter of company policy you will also receive a pension, but our arrangement will be a private one. And Miss Bauhaus, I will work you hard.”

“Yes Sir.”

“One more thing,” Baxter said in a gravel voice.

“Yes Sir.”

“Talk me through your average expectation of a spanking. Just to give me a base line, you understand.”

A hint of a blush touched Jenny’s face for the first time. She hated having to explain this.

“I-I… I will be bare-bottomed of course and you should expect tears from me; maybe for five or 10 minutes before you stop spanking me. I can acquire any necessary equipment, but household and general office items are best… eh… assuming you wish to be discreet. With regard to my sensibilities, well discretion is at yours, so to speak,” Jenny’s confident demeanour was tainted now and she was blushing. “But if you deem it necessary to spank, cane or whip me for a more prolonged time… well that is your prerogative.”

“Anything else?”

“I… eh… well that is… you should put me in the corner for… well a good long while. It is up to you really.”

“What about sex? I would rather know now if…”

“I meant what I said about obeying you… anyway I won’t have time for boyfriends so that works out to both our advantages surely.”

“This is a very…”

“Simple arrangement,” Jenny said emphatically, finishing his sentence for him.

“Very well, let us see how serious you are. In my secretary’s desk draw is a clothes brush, bring it here will you,” Baxter ordered.

“You mean to…” Jenny swallowed and became a little nervous. “But I haven’t done anything yet.”

“Apart from prevaricate and argue with me already,” Baxter said sternly.

“Yes Sir, sorry Sir,” Jenny seemed almost relieved as she amended her attitude.

Baxter watched as she obeyed. Jenny was confident again now and moved cat-like across the room to retrieve the brush.

“It has quite a long handle,” Jenny murmured.

“Any objections?”

“No Sir.” Jenny said as she handed it to him.

He took it and patted it firmly against his palm.

“Now remove your skirt and anything else that is between you and the business end of this handy tool.”

“The business end?” Jenny licked her lips nervously.

“Well, we will begin with the flat side, which is the business end as far as our arrangement goes,” Baxter said seeing her wide-eyed expression.

“Yes Sir,” Jenny said, quickly adding, “Not that I have any say if… if…”

“I must say, you don’t exactly seem very keen about this,” Baxter observed.

Jenny flushed pink as she stood up from removing her skirt. She even paused for a moment before lowering her knickers; underwear that was a high-cut affair in black silk.

“I… eh, well that is, if I were keen then spanking me wouldn’t do much good would it?”

“Are you being cheeky Miss Bauhaus?”

“No Sir,” Jenny said anxiously.

“No Sir,” Baxter said as he pulled the woman across his knee.

Her bottom was small but prominent, which on a tall girl like her, lent an air of added sophisticated defiance. He struck it once with the brush and extracted a distressed gasp for her. Undeterred he spanked her again and she wailed angrily.

“You really don’t like this do you?” He said puzzled.

“No Sir,” she said miserably her voice already on the edge of tears.

“Then why…?”

“I need it Sir, I really do and… and… I really want to learn,” she sniffed.

He spanked her again.

“And what are you learning now Jenny?”

“That you are in charge Sir.” Her voice was a low moan and as she looked back and up at him he could see her eyes were already well-framed with tears.

“Very good Jenny. You know I think you can take a good sound spanking like this every week,” he said gruffly.

“Yes Sir.” Her eyes rolled like a wild mare.

“And Jenny, you can come and ask me for it,” Baxter whispered with an air of menace as he spanked her again.

“Yes Sir,” she wailed and choked back some real tears.

“What will you ask for?” he pressed her, demanding total submission now.

“Once a week I will come to you and ask for a good sound spanking,” she said quickly as if to get it over with.

He spanked her hard so that she yelped angrily and wondered if he should demand more.

“On my bare bottom and then… and then… I should be sent to the corner Sir,” she said in an unprompted and pained voice.

“Good girl,” he said encouragingly and spanked her again and then again.

Her croaked reply was incoherent and ended in a squeal.

As she had suggested he spanked her for another 10 minutes until she was bucking on his lap and bawling. Then he sent her across the room to the corner of his office. Still bare, her bottom resembled two cherry drop spheres from a child’s marble set and he shifted in his seat.

Then as she settled down for a good cry in a small voice she said, “thank you.”

They hadn’t even signed off on this simple contract of hers, he realised, but she already seemed satisfied enough.

The End.

A Voice in the Corner has been nominated for the Spanking Spot 2012 Spanking Blog (Creative) of the Year Starts .

If you want to vote for it or any of the other nominees then you can vote here.

A big thanks for all those who nominated A Voice and for your consideration.

Thanks TipTopper.

Angharad sat at her keyboard and tried to concentrate. Her smooth dark locks had tumbled over her face like a curtain to hide her face. It was an old school trick and gave her the illusion of a temporary haven. It also meant that nobody could see what she was thinking for she was sure it must be written in her face. It was something that even at the age of 34 she had never grown out of.

“I’m sorry John, please John.” Sally’s words from the other room sounded quite distressed now.

Sally generally only said please when she was being spanked as she was now, although it usually took a while for the girl to reach that point. But then the spanking had been going on for some time now and Angharad desperately wanted to peek.

Angharad shifted on her seat, suddenly conscious of where her bottom touched the chair. She blushed.

John Henry and Sally were not an item, nor were they related. In fact their exact relationship to each other was something of a mystery to Angharad. She suspected that even Sally did not know. Relationships were never like this back home in Wales.

Some years before, Angharad had learned, Sally had come to work for John as his assistant, just as Angharad was now. She had claimed to have been 21, John had told her. But the girl had turned out to be hopeless at her job by his account, but he had felt protective towards the girl and not a little curious as something about her was off.

Later it had emerged that she had been only 17 when she had first arrived and had been on the run from some sort of home for criminally wayward girls. By that time Sally had turned 18 and John was able to prevent her return by taking responsibility for her in what, as far as Angharad could gather, was a kind of adult adoption arrangement.

“When he found out, he spanked me,” Sally had lisped shortly after Angharad’s arrival.

The revelation had not surprised the Welsh girl. It was already obvious by then that Sally was kept on a short leash and spanked when she transgressed.

“I have something of an unusual and old fashioned relationship with Sally,” John had told Angharad at the interview. “You are the third girl I have tried out in the last year since my arrangement with Sally has changed. The others have all taken exception to my domestic set-up.”

Angharad had been curious and far from being deterred, she had been intrigued by the situation. The post of assistant to one of the country’s most successful authors also promised to be interesting and well paid.

John was a large man with salt and pepper hair and a gravel voice. When he spoke he managed to look both stern and smiling at the same time. It was an attribute that Angharad found comforting for some reason. There was also something familiar about him that she could not quite place.

“Will your family mind you being so far from Wales?” John had asked at the same interview.

“Oh I, eh, don’t have a family. Well there is an aunt in Swansea, but I never see her. I grew up in a children’s home see,” Angharad had told him.

“Well as the post is a live-in position we like to foster a family atmosphere around here. I trust that suits?” John had said, although it seemed to Angharad that it was as much in a warning as a piece of information.

“I look forward to it, I never had a family before,” she had blurted with a blush.

“Yes well, just remember that I am in charge around here, I don’t need another wayward teen,” he had said with a wink.

Angharad had blushed.

That had been almost a year before and Angharad had seen a lot since then.

“Ow, ooh please John,” Sally wailed, the spanking was still well underway.

Angharad squeezed her thighs together and jiggled her bottom in her chair. Sometimes she wasted whole mornings sitting at her desk replaying Sally’s spankings in her mind. When John was out, she sometimes even went online to read about other counts or look at pictures.

Sally had been spanked once or twice for doing that and Angharad had sometimes wondered what would happen if she were caught.

Just then John entered glowering at the world and Angharad jumped and grabbed at some papers to shuffle in a fit of guilt.

“That girl… sometimes I think she wants to get spanked,” he said.

“Oh…” Angharad blushed. Why would he say that, she thought, her heart fluttering. “Wh-what did she do now?”

John sighed and then smiled indulgently.

“The little minx borrowed the car even though she is grounded,” he chuckled.

At the word grounded Angharad thrilled a little. It was so strange to talk about a young woman of 21 getting grounded.

“But I thought… don’t you check the diesel usage?” Angharad said as conversationally as she was able.

“She thought she could top up the tank from a jerry can,” John snorted.

“But you caught her?”

“Luckily yes, the stupid girl had put petrol in the can.” John employed is exasperated face.

“That’s not very good for the car is it?” Angharad tried to sound knowing.

“No,” John said pointedly. “That’s another reason that girl is going to spend the rest of the morning in the corner and tonight she gets a bed time spanking.”

Angharad went a little light-headed and dipped her head to hide a blush.

“Oh eh… that chapter you wanted…” She rapidly changed the subject.

John spent the next two or three minutes talking although Angharad barely listened. Her head was full of spankings and Sally.

Once he had left she got up and went towards the hall on the pretext of going to the toilet.

Beyond her office was an open area that served as a reception room and hallway. It was here that John met his agent and other visitors and it was here that Sally got many of her spankings. Angharad loved it when circumstances meant that she had to sit and watch, but she was far too shy to be seen to openly look without a pretext.

The pretext of the toilet now meant that she had to pass the sniffling blonde-haired Sally who stood in the far corner dressed only in T-shirt and short white ankle socks. Her bare bottom was facing the door and carried a smooth sheen of deep red all over both rounds. Angharad caught her breath and her heart skipped.

Sally shifted a little where she stood, knowing that she was being watched. Even from behind it was obvious that the younger girl was blushing, even her ears were peony. It must be so embarrassing for her, Angharad thought.

Then she thought of the times that Maxine the daily woman had seen the same scene or the days that she brought her grown-up daughter to help with the ironing. Some days the agent and his assistant called by. How much worse for the girl then?

Sometimes all of these people had seen her actually spanked. Angharad felt a little dizzy as she let the memories of past spankings overlay the scene before her now.

Then she thought of the times she had ordered pizza or Chinese and had let numerous delivery boys squint a look at Sally’s predicament. The guilt she felt over it made it all seem more thrilling.

On the way back from the toilet she paused in the doorway to appraise Sally’s bottom in profile. The red dome jutting into the room was even more starling from this angle and of course she could see something of Sally’s expression. Her sad eyes were downcast and watery. What was she thinking?

The rest of the morning was taken up with trips to the stationary cupboard, making coffee and at least one more trip to the toilet. Not a lot of work got done and for once Angharad didn’t need the internet.

*

Things might have continued in a kind of Celtic Twilight for Angharad with her creeping around the margins and savouring scraps from Sally and John’s relationship. However, one day things changed quiet literally out of the blue; a blue screen of death.

“Damn this computer,” Angharad raged.

She tried turning it off and then on again several times before calling John.

“Shit,” he groaned, “Another new computer.”

His had blown-up a week before taking with it half a morning’s work.

“Well at least after last time we have back-ups right?” He said wearily.

“Eh… well I told you the other day that the portable drive was full and that… eh… the online back-up wasn’t working so well.” Angharad heard a silent scream from a long way away and felt a little sick. “I am not sure the online has backed up today.”

“But I bought a new back-up,” he snapped.

Then his eye fell on the box next to Angharad’s computer; the unopened box.

“I was… busy. I haven’t connected it yet,” she winced.

John let a slow breath out through his nose.

Angharad’s mind raced as her face turned ashen white. She had been looking at the internet all yesterday afternoon.

“I’ll check my version and then call the agent, maybe we can salvage something,” he said woodenly.

“It’s only corrections right? I mean it’s just this morning’s work?” Angharad said tentatively.

“There was some old work… you know. My computer had the originals but that was my old one. I hadn’t finished uploading all the old files.” His voice sounded dead.

As soon as he had gone Angharad burst into tears.

*

John didn’t say much after that. The trouble was he didn’t want to say outright to the agent that he might have lost some work and so far they had been somewhat obtuse in their response to his hints.

Angharad felt absolutely sick about it.

“John I…” She had begun so many conversations that way.

He had always replied with a fixed smile and said something like, “It will be okay.”

Finally Angharad had phoned the agent herself and told them the problem.

“Typical,” the woman at the other end said, “These bloody creative types are always… well never mind. It will be a bit of a headache but we have everything that has ever been sent to us. I expect we can salvage most of it.”

“Look, it was my fault, not John’s, I mean…”

“I get it, your job is to take the fall, no sweat love,” the woman laughed.

Angharad didn’t know whether to be upset or relieved. She had certainly managed to convince the agent that John was some kind of flake, but at least they could recover some of the files.

The walk to John’s study took longer than usual and sick feeling in the pit of her stomach had never been stronger.

“John,” she said when she got there, “I think I have screwed up again.”

*

“So the agent thinks I am unprofessional, well that won’t kill me,” John said with a sigh.

He didn’t look happy, but then he smiled for the first time in days.

“At least there is some good news,” he said encouragingly. “What did you mean anyway, screwed up again? I already know about the back-ups and all you were doing was…”

“I was looking at porn.” There she said it.

He frowned.

“I had time to fix the back-up but I was… distracted,” she expanded her confession.

“Porn? Why…? Nothing too heavy, I mean…” He sounded panicked.

The only reason a woman would confess such a thing was if there was going to be some blow-back. Shit what has she done? Who has found out?

“N-no, nothing like that,” she gasped, “I was just… well you and Sally… well I… I…”

She took a deep breath and swallowed.

“It was spanking stuff,” she managed.

“Oh but I… well that’s no big deal,” he was genuinely embarrassed now.

“Except that I looked at in work time and…”

“Oh yes that, well…”

“Am I sacked?” She said bluntly.

“Oh for Christ’s sake, you messed up, it happens,” he groaned. “Just keep it down to a dull roar from now on will you.”

“Yes Sir,” Angharad said blushing to her ears.

As she walked away she felt faintly disappointed and didn’t know why.

*

Angharad rolled over and looked at the clock. It was 2.15, an hour later than when she had last looked. She glanced at the window in the hope of a hint of sunrise, but she knew there would be none.

She wished… she sunk back into the pillow and sighed. What did she wish? The tight sickness in her tummy had abated little since she had confronted John, only now she felt embarrassed. And something else; Longing? It sounded like a word from a romantic Victorian novel, but it was apt nonetheless. But for what was she longing; forgiveness? John had already forgiven her.

She closed her eyes and opened them again. It was 2.16.

*

Angharad opened her eyes with a start. It was still dark, but at least she had slept. She glanced at the clock again to be told that it was 5.23. This time there was some light at the window, but it was a long way off and faint; a yellow-grey glow just beyond the horizon which had turned the sky above from black to navy blue. The moon had set now, but one or two stars still shone against the early morning sky. Chief among them were Venus and Mars like a pair of lovers low in the sky. Love and war; was it an omen and if so, an omen of what?

She got out of bed and hastily pulled on her dressing gown. She had a purpose now, but she couldn’t identify it. An odd feeling, she thought, to set about a task without knowing what it was.

The pen glistened in the early morning night and cast a shadow over the vellum sat on her desk.

She slipped into the chair and switched on the lamp so that the desktop was bathed in a comforting light. Blank pages usually scared her, but today.

Dear Mr Henry, she began and then put the pen in her mouth to think for a moment before continuing.

Dear Mr Henry,

Ever since I came into your employ I have admired you. The clarity of your writing and your courage is inspiring. It is not only that you express unfashionable ideas, but you are living them in your relationship with Sally. A relationship which is as baffling to me as it is intriguing.

The other day when I should have been working, I was peeping at you and her together and wondering what it would be like to be…

Here Angharad paused, her pen hovering over the page. She could not bring herself to write the word ‘spanking’ even if she had no intention whatsoever of sending John the letter. She sighed and after pausing for a moment longer, she continued.

…punished by you in such a fashion.

I know that Sally appreciates your efforts and welcomes you as a mentor and a friend, so much so that I have always wondered why your relationship is not a romantic one. However, I know that it would be impudent of me to say more about this, if indeed I have not said too much already.

If this is the case then I apologise as I apologise for all my failings in your service. You are far to understanding and should have not been so lenient.

This brings me to my…

Again Angharad paused and struggled to find a word. Then boldly she pressed on.

…my humble suggestion and request.

I have seen how you give Sally a sound spanking on her bare bottom whenever her behaviour warrants it. Sometimes she is in the corner for some considerable time and yet thinks upon you without rancour. This I heartily condone and for my part fully understand her feelings.

My behaviour too has fallen far short of what I believe you deserve to expect and I realise now that I have long been puzzled by the fact that you do not punish me in a like manner when I fail you.

Is it that you think me too old for such treatment or that you do not feel you have the necessary authority. I have to tell you that neither should be a bar to handling me in any way you see fit.

In other words I hereby put into writing that I give you permission to spank me on my bare bottom for as long and hard and often as you think I should be. Further that I will submit to corner time and any other physical and related punishments.

Yours sincerely and truly,

Angharad

Angharad reread the letter several times and then folded it carefully and placed it in an envelope. It was then that she knew that she would put it into John’s in-tray.

*

“Angharad, will you come in here for a moment?”

John’s voice made her start, but it was not entirely unexpected. In fact she had been sitting anxiously at her desk all morning. It was now almost lunch time and she wondered if he had only just found it or had decided to make her stew a little before he… before he what? Suddenly she thought she had gone too far.

John appeared at the door, his face impassive. “Angharad,” he said.

“Oh, eh yes, I’m coming.”

She followed John back into his study convinced that she had really done it now. God, she was so stupid. Why would a serious man like John Henry be interested in the foolish ramblings of a frustrated woman?

Then she saw that the letter was open on his desk.

“Good news,” John said brightly, “The agent has found most of the lost work; largely thanks to you.”

“That’s good.” Angharad’s words sounded wooden.

“Yes, so you see there is no need to resign or face any consequences as far as I am concerned.”

Angharad blushed.

“You really are working out and are just about the best assistant I have ever had.” John beamed. “The last one who stayed for more than a month spent most of her time arranging my flowers as I recall. It played havoc with my hay fever. I wish her work-time hobby had been as harmless as yours.”

“Oh I… thank you, I think,” Angharad blushed to her ears.

John nodded and an awkward silence followed.

“But, I gather from your note that you want a much more… personal relationship and that you would like to be mentored like Sally?” John finally cut to the chase.

Angharad nodded.

“Exactly like Sally?” John had picked up a pencil off the desk and was rolling between his fingers. A nervous habit usually reserved for when he was negotiating a new contract.

“Well… you could be stricter with me I suppose, I mean…”

John chuckled and made a calming gesture with his hand to silence her, saying, “No, I don’t need you to sign off on the details. I just want to confirm with you that you are asking me to give you a spanking when you need it.”

Angharad went puce and looked at the floor. Then after a moment she gave a small nod.

“So, no more spanking porn, no more sneaking around and no more slacking off,” John said sternly.

“Yes Sir,” Angharad said quickly. She suddenly felt relieved.

“From now on I want you in by 10.30 on a weekday and in bed by 11.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Now, you can take down those trousers and whatever you have underneath and go and stand in the corner opposite where Sally usually stands.” John picked up the letter as he spoke and then slipped it into his desk draw. “You can wait there until I decide to spank you.”

Angharad worked her mouth and pointed behind her as if seeking physical confirmation.

“You heard me,” John barked.

“Yes Sir.”

“Oh and Angharad, if you want to change your mind at any point, just get dressed and get back to work and we will never speak of this again.”

Was that an out or was that a challenge? Angharad thought. She couldn’t meet his eyes though and in a moment of clarity she realised it was easier to obey than to confront her own emotions and she was suddenly free of all responsibility for what was to come.

*

When one lives in a house one never notices those small occasional sounds like the creak of a timber in the roof or the clunk of the boiler as the pilot light roars into life. Now Angharad heard them all and at each little noise she started in fear lest someone be about to come in.

The reality of standing in the corner with her bare bottom displayed to anyone who might enter the room was a more difficult experience than Angharad had imagined. For one thing the embarrassment was acute and never had she felt so vulnerable. For another, her mind raced with conflicting emotions of disbelief, denial and out and out nervousness about her inevitable confrontation with John. So much so, her right leg trembled uncontrollably.

At one point Sally entered the room behind and the blood fizzed in Angharad’s veins until she became light-headed. The older woman could hear the girl breathing not 10 feet behind her, but neither of them said a word and Angharad dared not turn around. The silence was oppressive. Then Sally beat a hasty retreat; heaven knew what she was thinking.

She was still coming to terms withal of this when she heard a heavier footfall on the stone floor by the door behind her.

“So you have decided to go through with it,” John said in a deep voice.

It was not until that moment that Angharad realised that that had never been in doubt and she knew her life was about to change. The fear and the excitement went to war within her.

“Yes Sir,” she breathed.

There was a sound of something being dragged across the carpet and she heard the heavy creak of John sitting on the Victorian straight-backed chair.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

She swallowed and unconsciously let her hands cup her front before she obeyed. He was sitting in the chair which now sat a yard or two from the wall. He was studying her with appraising eyes she could not meet as if he was seeing her for the first time. Instead her gaze was drawn by the hairbrush in his hand.

“Come here,” he said softly.

She nodded, but for a brief moment her legs wouldn’t obey. Then suddenly she was there tumbling over his lap so that her bare bottom was jack-knifed towards heaven.

Her bottom was large and wide with a deep-set cleft and heavy hams.

If he noticed her hot wetness between her legs or the way her thighs slicked together he made no sign, but she was mortified all the same. I shouldn’t be enjoying this, she thought; it doesn’t work if I do.

“So you have been a naughty girl,” he rasped. “You have been looking at porn in work time, slacking off and I wonder what else.”

“Yes Sir,” she reluctantly agreed, the shameful words torn from her.

“Say it,” he whispered.

“I have been a naughty girl.” Her voice was thick as her throat tightened and each moment became an hour. “I’m… I’m sorry,” she added in a hushed whisper.

“Are you,” he growled.

The first impact took her by surprise and her eyes flew open as she tried to make sense of a suddenly changed world.

“Are you?” He said as he spanked her again.

“Yes,” she hissed, “I’m sorry.”

He spanked her once more and she grunted. This time the pain was intense and seemed cling to the curve of her bottom and grow until it became half her existence.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped.

The next spank made her dance and buck on his lap and she took a moment to draw a breath.

“I’m sorry.”

He spanked much harder now, so that the tangy thwack echoed back at them off the ceiling.

“You won’t do it again, will you,” he barked at her, his words drilling into the back of her head and the set of her shoulders.

“No,” she said in a long drawn out wail, “I’m sorry.”

“No you won’t.” He spanked her hard on the underside of her curves so that she was tipped forward a little.

Her next words were indistinct and she bared her teeth in a grimace.

“What was that?” He demanded and spanked her where she sat in a series of short sharp blows.

“I’m mmmmm,” she groaned and then hissed, “Ssssssssssorry.”

The firm broad curves of her bottom held two dark red ovals, the one on the right buttock a little larger, he noted, although between the deep cleft of her bottom it was still white. He shook himself and returned to the task in hand.

“I do hope you are,” he remembered to say.

“I am,” Angharad wailed, her accent as strong and as a wet as the Welsh hills.

With the target area now stained red John picked up the pace and spanked until she rock and rolled in a parody of a dance on his lap. Her hands fluttered around the lower legs of the chair and she crossed her ankles to keep from kicking.

Halfway through the tirade Angharad hooted with a sob and from then on brayed like a welsh lamb. By the time the spanking was done the red areas of her bottom were tight like tanned leather so that her behind seemed to be twice its normal size.

“Now you know what a spanking is like,” John soothed.

“Yes Sir,” she sobbed.

“You can go back to the corner. It’s not as if you’ll get a lot of work done now.”

“Yes Sir,” she sniffed.

“Any regrets?”

She managed a smile as she stood rubbing her bottom and then added in her small Welsh voice, “No Sir.”

“Good girl.”

Then like a lamb she trotted over to the corner and settled down for a good long cry.

End.

This week’s pictures were taken from Warm Glow, Spanking Starlets, Cutie Pie and Devlin O’Neil respectively.

Also on Devlin’s blog is an unusual encounter with Humphrey Bogart who reveals his own spanking secrets from the grave.

For more pictures Richard Windsor continues his sorority feature with an update and if you like your images moving then Chross has a  TV spanking clip.

Staying on the subject of moving images, The Spanking Library has published the latest issue of Wellred Weekly with articles on old movie spankings and topping for Lupus Films among other stories.

The Spank Statement has another British Bot amid a lot of site updates and maintenance, so you may rediscover some old favourites.

And on a final note there is still time to vote for your favourite creative blog and not strictly from last week, as of today you can vote for your favourite general blog.

Once at a fetish market I got talking to a young woman in her early 20s who said she was paid for her work in ‘spanks.’ As it turned out she had a completely different idea about what constituted a spank than many of us. I later saw her strapped to a cross of St Andrew collecting her wages in a room full of strangers; she appeared to be in her element. At one point during our conversation she even stood up to reach for something to show me and as she turned around and bent over I was somewhat disconcerted to see that she had a no back to her skirt and had a bare bottom.

Now there are many other women, I venture to say most in fact, whilst not be averse to a spanking or two, see it as very much a private affair. However, for others, the embarrassment factor can sometimes play an important part. This is often the case where actual punishment is involved.

Here are few comments culled from various places to illustrate this point.

Julie K says, “My boyfriend and I having spanking in our relationship and it is usually just a bit of fun. But I decided early on that sometimes I need a proper spanking as punishment. To mark a difference between the fun bits and my punishments my man incorporates a little bit of embarrassment into the proceedings. This can take the form of corner time or adding a public element to a spanking, like letting certain friends know when it is about to or has just happened.”

A public element to a spanking is a high risk venture but is more common than one might think. Several young women in their 20s have commented here that they have public corner time, some with bottoms fully bare.

In Lesbos Lives Cassie writes: “When Ellen said that she was going to spank me for real whenever I deserved it I was secretly thrilled. But I had no idea what was to follow. I was 28 back then and living with a woman 12 years my senior who was my lover, mentor and big sister all rolled into one.”

“She had absolutely no discretion at all and even the old lady in the apartment below knew I had a curfew and was subjected to routine punishment. She would insist on such remarks as, ‘oh late today dearie,’ and ‘you’ll be for it now,’ just to let me know she knew and approved.”

“Once Ellen realised our neighbour was more amused than shocked she decided that I would not only be spanked but my corner time would become more public. Sometimes I was put partially nude on the landing or in the stairwell. I could have died on such occasions, but I must admit, it all added to the thrill.”

Louise is a 22-year-old college girl still living at home as does her 20-year-old sister. She commented, “We are still subject to spanking no matter who is around. Although any guys might not actually see the spanking, they will hear it and often see us standing in the corner afterwards. We are not allowed the lower parts to clothing at such times, so I always wear long sweaters or shirts to cover myself. But sometimes we have to put our hands on our heads so I guess we oftentimes get seen from the back if not the front.”

“Strangely it is worse when there are just other women around like friends or cousins as they get to see the spanking and the fuss we make and everything really. But it is not just that. I think there is sometimes a bit of excitement in the shame when a boy knows you are spanked.”

For the most part public humiliation is usually confined to fantasy rather than reality, although I suspect that many women are thrilled at the idea of it. Sometimes it is enough just to receive a threat. How often has a man said to his girl, “If you don’t behave I’ll take down your knickers here in front of everybody and give you a good spanking,” only to see her turn into a quivering and simpering bundle of girlishness?

Our story began here.

Temptation

Fear had been sitting by the fire for hours. The patterns were strong and he could even see where the stone around the hearth was touched by heat. At times like these he could lose himself in the ebb and flow if the world until his mind was clear.

War was coming and soon. It would come hard and fast and probably from a direction that he and the Magister had not even considered.

Davidus had taken him aside only that morning to ask, “What do they want? Their motives I mean. If we could only determine that, then perhaps we might guess where they will strike first.”

At any other time Fear might have rejoiced at his friend’s naivety, but the truth was the Magister was ill prepared for what was coming. The enemy had no scruple and sought to alter the world merely because they could. That was the hard bitter conclusion that Fear had come to. The temptation of power was strong and he had fought it all his life.

Why though? Why had he bothered? He turned his full attention to the hearth now and saw deep into the stone, into the very heart of the rock where the fire and earth power danced and vied for existence.

It would be so easy for him to mould them to his will. In his mind’s eye he saw them meld and bubble until the stonework of the fireplace became twisted into new and fantastic shapes that would take a master sculptor a life time to craft.

For a moment he yielded.

Two columns either side of the hearth twisted into fantastical trees and angel faces and imps crawled in living rock as lively as rabbits around the fire.

Fear pictured a waterfall of living rock, liquid yet cold rolling forever in tumbling bas-relief and Pandoria groaned around him. Waves of power emanated from his efforts sending ripples through the patterns out through the vast halls of Pandoria.

Far below him in one of the lower studies an adept looked up from her studies and shuddered. The very rock around her shock a little and the girl could see where patterns strained across her ceiling. For a long moment she thought the roof above her would melt to pour over her like lava but then as quickly as the phenomena had started it stopped. Never had she seen such power.

“To wield such a gift,” the adept whispered in awe and then her purpose renewed, she returned to her studies.

Several floors above her in his own room, Fear felt faintly embarrassed and was glad that no one was there to see his thaumaturgical doodles. Abruptly he withdrew from the patterns and allowed the stonework around hearth to return to how the stone mason had intended. But it was a good lesson nonetheless; in the wrong hands the world might be reshaped just as easily.

The knock at the door came as a shock.

Fear took several moments to come back to himself, then hastily he surveyed the fireplace for any signs of distortion or change. Finally satisfied he said, “Come in.”

Despite her being shrouded by a hooded cloak, he knew at once that it was Katrin. Her grace and body language were as familiar to him as the patterns of the world. But why, he asked himself, was she wearing such attire indoors?

“Katrin?” He frowned as he tried to gauge if the was something wrong.

“Master I…” Her voice was hesitant.

Then before he could say another word she let the cloak fall so that she stood naked before him.

“You have been neglecting me,” she said in a husky voice.

He looked up and strived to frown at her, but instead a lopsided grin crept across his face. They held each other’s gaze for a long moment until shaking himself Fear said, “You should not be here.”

“I know,” she breathed, “I’m out of bounds, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” he managed, shifting a little in his seat, but he was forced to swallow.

“Perhaps you should spank me Master,” she said playfully and turned slowly around.

His eye ran down her back and took in the curve of her hips and the rounds of her tight deeply split bottom.

“Perhaps I should.”

It was a difficult abuse of power for a black mage; the air magic not being his element. But he was an adept nonetheless and after a moment the fallen robe snaked across the floor towards him by its own volition until he was able to reach it with his hand.

Katrin gasped and felt suddenly exposed and moved her hands to cover the top of her thighs as she again turned to face him.

“Perhaps I should send you back to your room as you are too,” he teased.

“Command me and I will obey,” she said defiantly as drew herself up and let her hands fall to her sides to reveal the hard dark triangle of her sex.

“Come here,” he whispered.

She hesitated for just long enough for propriety’s sake and then with the grace of her lineage she walked towards him with confident steps, rolling her hips as she approached.

Fear rose to meet her and took her in his arms.

“We should not…” He began.

“Shush,” she whispered and kissed him full on the lips.

He drew her into his chest and let his hand stray to her hip and on to the curves of her bottom.

“What are you going to do to me,” she challenged him.

He smiled down at her and then sitting back down he pulled her face down across his lap in one easy motion so that her thighs and hips were pressed into his and her tapering back slipped down towards the floor.

“I was joking,” she exclaimed somewhat shrilly.

“I wasn’t,” he growled. “You should not be here.”

The first slap stung her and she gasped, but he didn’t hesitate and spanked her again enjoying the developing pattern of red on the lower slopes of her bottom.

“Please Arlon,” she said, her voice strained.

“Quiet or I will send you back to your room naked,” he scolded.

He placed half a dozen sharp smacks across both cheeks equally concentrating on the crowns of her bottom and down to the underside.

She gasped and kicked her legs a little so that her thighs parted and he could see her arousal.

“You can go, or stay for a spanking,” Fear rasped. “What will it be?”

He brought the weight of his arm down to show he meant business.

“Ah… ouch,” she yelped, “I’ll stay.”

Fear let his hand do his talking then and soundly spanked his lover and apprentice for several long minutes until her bottom was vividly stained.

“Master,” she cooed, not knowing if she were cowed by lust or pain.

Finally he took a knot of her long dark hair in her fist and pulled her into a kneeling posture before him. Unbidden she reached into his breeks and greedily took his aroused manhood into her mouth.

“Careful,” he murmured in a groan, “I-I might not have… have more than…”

“That’s my look out,” she said thickly, breaking off her ministrations only to kiss the sack of flesh hanging below his penis before continuing.

He groaned and seized her head.

*

A good while later they held onto one another without speaking. He pulled strands of her hair from his face and delicately smoothed them down.

“Shall I go?” She whispered.

By way of an answer he turned a little so that the hard length of his cock slapped against her thigh and then lifted her back to her knees by her hips. From behind he entered her easily, enjoying the dusting of red on her bottom as he thrust into her.

“Arlon,” she groaned, “Ah… Arlon.”

If he had not spent already he would have come at once, but instead she was ahead of him and slapped at the floor as he spanked her again with the flat of his lower belly.

Eager for more she arched her back and thrust back her hips into him.

“Katrin we…” He didn’t know anymore and together they were spent.

To be continued.

This is a candid swiped off Tumblr and was labelled ‘Pledge spanking.’

I cropped the girls face in case this has escaped into the wild. The girl who is blushingly pointing at the camera has either just been caught on camera spanking little sister and is saying ‘your next,’ or she is a fellow pledge remonstrating with her sisters out of shot because it is her turn.

Not sure where to begin with this snippet. I suppose it could be called a reverse startle. It was culled from a vanilla online magazine some time ago.

Two young women were overheard talking in the cafeteria queue in Catholic community college.

One said to the other, “God, I really hate penguins.”

“Oh tell me about it so do I,” the second girl agrees.

“No really, I wish I could line them all up against a wall and shoot every last one of them.”

Now the eavesdropper had apparently not made the Catholic connection here and was left wondering about the women’s extreme response to harmless Antarctic birds.

“I really hate Sister Marie, she is the goddamned worse,” the first girl continued.

“How many did you get?” asked her friend.

“Plenty I’d say,” the first girl winces, “I was out partying with Paula and we got back past curfew.”

“Ouch,” her friend said, adding the punctuation.

This little exchange puts me in mind of a story posted here about three years ago. (Sorry, but I can’t find it at the moment, maybe my memory plays tricks.)

A head of local Catholic women’s college run by nuns was quoted in the local press as denying that the cane was used in their college. The college handled sixth-formers through to first degree courses and Highers and the press got a little excited about all that caned totty. You know what the British press is like. This was some time ago, back in the 1980s or 70s even.

The story leaked out when it was reported that they were buying in canes.

The Sister-in-charge said it was a legacy of the old days and that they wanted them for props for the college museum or some such excuse. However, if that were the case, asked one correspondent to the newspaper, why did they need a regular order unless the canes were wearing out?

So my question is this. Has the woman in the picture above been paddled or caned? And does anyone even care?

Just a bit of nonsense to end the week.

Catherine sat on the end of her bed and stared at the paddle much as she had at the judge who had sent her here. It was hung on the door by a nail like a sign or a statement of intent.

The paddle itself was near two feet long and leaf-shaped. It had been fashioned from hard leather and although Catherine had not yet dare touch it, she was certain it was heavy.

Her cell, and that’s just what it was she reminded herself, was more like something out of a fashionable boarding school with tasteful prints and hardback books. It might even have been her room from her old school except for the en suite shower arrangements.

She turned back to the paddle and wished it away.

“Ooh, this is ridiculous,” she spat angrily, although there was no one to hear.

As the words escaped her well-formed pouty lips she drew up her long elegant legs so that both her smooth silk-encased knees came together level with her mohair covered breasts before dropping onto the floor in a double stamp.

Catherine hated her outburst and usually prided herself on her cool reserve. She had so hoped to get through the charade of this alternative sanction with the minimum of fuss or any assaults on her dignity. She was certain that good manners and keeping her cool would convince her gaolers that she didn’t require re-education and that she had already learned her lesson.

Then she had been confronted by the damn paddle; a humiliating warning of what she might yet endure.

“Catherine I had to pull an awful lot of strings to get you this alternative sentence,” her father had told at the lawyer’s office before the trial. “It’s practically an open prison and best of all; it won’t count as a custodial sentence on your record. That will look so much better for your future.”

“All you have to do is enter a guilty plea and show some contrition,” the lawyer put in, “A year to 18 months is not so bad, believe me. After that stunt pulled by your friend you could face three years in Holloway otherwise.”

Catherine closed her eyes in horror. She did not want to dwell on what Rupert Kemp had left in the bath of the flat. It was all too vulgar. It had only started as a prank. How was she to know that things would get so out of hand?

“Daddy can’t you just make it all go away?” She had pleaded.

Her father had looked back at her with sad eyes and whispered, “Not this time petal.”

Back in her room at Hardham House she sighed and then aloud she said, “Damn.”

*

Melanie Quaid stood to attention in front of the Assistant Principal and House Mother, Jeanette Barry. Her legs were easily spaced and her hands were clasped into the small of her back as she had been taught.

Melanie was a tall slim girl who had been at Hardham Hall for over a year now and the hard arsed gang-girl she had once been was now unrecognisable.

Jeanette remembered when the 23-year-old had had bright red hair with blue streaks and more ironmongery on her face than the local hardware shop. The young woman’s non-descript dark mousy blonde hair was now tidy after a fashion, with a reasonable fringe falling forward from a pony tail.

Being of similar height, the House Mother matched her brown eyes to the girl’s blue, daring her to eyeball her.

“That’s the third time this week, I thought you knew better Melanie,” Jeanette growled just inches from the younger woman’s nose. “I rather think Mr Alexander will have something to say don’t you?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Melanie said in a tight voice. “I’m sorry Ma’am.”

The girl had been on laundry duty and had mixed the coloured with the whites again. Now several house sheets were pink instead of white.

“Well, you had better cut along and see him hadn’t you?” Jeanette said with a sigh.

“Eh… Ms Barry, eh… couldn’t you… um… handle it?” Melanie ventured nervously.

“I handled it on Tuesday after the second mistake. Remember?” Jeanette said wearily. “Don’t think I don’t know what you were doing. You were mixing the batches for fewer washes so that you could skive off early.”

“I…”

“I really wouldn’t deny it if I were you,” Jeanette said pointedly. “Or you will take a well paddled behind off to meet Mr Alexander’s tender ministrations.”

“Yes Ma’am, I mean No Ma’am.”

The two women stared at each other for a moment longer until Jeanette said, “Well?”

“Oh… yes, Mr Alexander.”

After one more hopeful look at the house mother Melanie scurried away.

*

The afternoon sun through the great long gallery windows caused orange rectangles to fall across the parquet floor. The air was full of the scent of hardwood and polish that she knew she would remember all her life.

As Melanie stepped into each in turn it felt pleasantly warm and she wondered how many times she had walked this hall to Mr Alexander’s office. The tingle in her tummy was intense and she could feel the blood coursing through her head, which left her a little dizzy.

Melanie remembered her first few trips to see Mr Alexander. She had been angry and resentful. How childish I was, she thought, even managing a smile. After the second or third little meeting, she had been more scared than angry and had quickly made efforts to conform. The change in her treatment here and above all in herself had been a revelation.

After that, instead of resentment, she had felt cleansed, as if a weight had been lifted from her. Then she had begun to see herself and her life for what it was, so that these days her falls from grace were relatively rare and she could see that all her punishments were deserved.

Then the panelled door was in front of her and her heart began to race as if her previous nerves had been a rehearsal.

“Well here goes…” she whispered as she tapped lightly on the door.

The moment became glacial and for a small eon of time she though that there would be no reply.

She was about to try again when she heard a movement from within and a sharp voice called out, “Come in.”

*

The knock at the door startled Catherine and she stood up. Everyone in this place was her foe and she wanted to meet the enemy standing up. Then bravely she said, “Come in.”

The door was opened with a brusque confidence and Jeanette Barry stepped into the room.

Jeanette was a little taller than Catherine and she had darker tone that suggested the Mediterranean.

“How are we settling in?” The house mother asked with an easy smile.

Her friendly tone fell on deaf ears and Catherine scowled at her.

“Why are you new here too?” The younger woman sneered.

Jeanette frowned.

“I wasn’t born an assistant principal,” she replied, “And we all have to start somewhere. You can start by minding your manners. Now let us try again. I have settled in nicely thanks and some time ago. So I really have seen it all. How are you settling in?”

Catherine shrugged.

“Stand up straight and answer when you are spoken to,” Jeanette snapped.

“The room is okay and I have unpacked and sent my luggage to the storeroom as instructed.” Catherine spoke woodenly and made the minimum effort to accommodate her stance.

“Good,” Jeanette said pleasantly, “That is better.”

“I am so glad that you are pleased,” Catherine replied with a bitter edge to her voice that only just managed to fall short of sarcasm.

“Tell me, why did you choose to come here?” Jeanette said ignoring the younger woman.

Catherine shrugged again.

“Did you think it was an easy option?”

Catherine cringed inside and didn’t reply. She didn’t want to talk about it.

“Actually it is,” Jeanette said casually, “That surprises you doesn’t it, that I would say that?”

It did, Catherine realised. Her eyes narrowed and she considered. At school the pep talk would have been all about how tough it was, how the hard way was the easy option with all the usual platitudes.

“Here you get half a sentence in pleasant surroundings and instead of being brutalised and rendered unfit for society, you get to learn who you are,” Jeanette explained. “However, the question is, how easy do you want it? You can have an unpleasant 18 months or an interesting and challenging year. Which do you want?”

Catherine resisted the urge to shrug again and considered the point just made. She wasn’t stupid and at least the woman was being honest.

“You may answer,” Jeanette said.

“I’ll take the year,” Catherine said quietly. She felt like a five-year-old being scolded by her nanny in the nursery.

“Good,” Jeanette said with a huge sigh of relief. “Now that we have got that straight you had better know this. If you ever speak to me like that again I will put you across my knee and spank your precious little bare bottom until it is purple. Do you understand?”

Catherine’s lips stuck together and it was hard to open her mouth to speak and she was blushing. Finally she managed to say, “Yes.”

“Then before dinner I suggest you walk around the grounds and get to know the place. It is all quite simple, obey the rules and you will have that easy time you came here for. Don’t or give me any attitude and I will put you in your place and that place will mostly likely be the corner.”

Catherine nodded dumbly until Jeanette glared at her.

“Yes,” Catherine said in a whisper.

But Jeanette still wasn’t satisfied and continued to glare at her.

“Yes Ma’am,” Catherine quickly amended.

“Lovely,” Jeanette beamed.

*

Alexander had a kindly face that was constantly at war with itself whenever he tried to look stern. He had clear blue eyes that crinkled at the corners whenever he smiled and despite having topped 40 his hair was still dark, albeit a little receded. He was not especially tall, although not altogether short, standing near a head taller than Melanie who stood before him in a rough approximation of attention.

“Do I have to ask why you are here again?” He said in a disappointed voice.

“No Sir,” Melanie replied, a look of regret stealing across her face.

“Any excuses, reasons of mitigation or special requests for clemency?” he offered.

“No Sir, I am sorry though,” Melanie grimaced.

“So the dog didn’t eat your homework?”

“Homework Sir? No I messed up the…” Melanie began.

Alexander held up his hand and shook his head. “Please spare me Miss Quaid. I really don’t want to hear it.”

“No Sir.”

“Alright you know what happens next,” Alexander said wearily as he moved over to the cabinet at the far end of his study.

“Yes Sir,” Melanie sighed and began unbuttoning her skirt at the hip.

By the time Alexander had turned around with the cane she was already putting the folded skirt onto the seat of the chair and turning to face its back.

“Over we go,” Alexander ordered.

Melanie gritted her teeth and then after the briefest hesitation hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her knickers and slid them down her thighs. To minimise her exposure to him she quickly bent over the back of the chair and presented him with a view of her smooth pale bottom, which was neatly divided into two elongated globes.

Once she was in position her small prominent buttocks became pert and round and on closer examination Alexander could see a hint of peachy fuzz dusting her curves.

“How many was it last time?” Alexander asked as he slashed the air once with the cane.

“Sixteen Sir, if you recall I…”

“Yes, yes, I remember,” he said, cutting her off, “So how many do you suggest this time?”

It was the custom at Hardham to make a girl offer up her own sanction in accordance with an agreed formula. Like hanging paddles on the back of the girls’ bedroom doors and a dozen other little rules, he found that it created the right sort of psychological atmosphere.

“Eighteen Sir,” Melanie offered tentatively.

She might have said 17 and had still been within the rules, but after months of experience, she knew it was an inappropriate number and if he didn’t agree then he would make her suggest another, which by custom was required to be more than she first should have suggested and then he would add at least one penalty stroke.

Also given the clemency she had been shown by Ms Barry at the start of the week, he would have been within his rights to demand a higher count in any case. If incorrectly handled, 17 could have become 21 or 22 strokes as she would have been obliged to suggest 20 to make amends.

Mr Alexander might still reject 18 of course, but then she could still offer her behind up for 20 strokes in good faith and little would have been lost.

“Eighteen it is then,” Alexander said with a note of satisfaction.

Melanie relaxed a little. It was fair.

The first stroke cut across like the sword of justice and her eyes flew open. Her right leg kicked a little and she couldn’t help hook her foot up behind her left knee in a response. The cut continued saw long after contact was broken and the pain went on building.

Alexander was in no hurry. He waited while the stark white-on-pale line turned first pink and then deep plum and rose up in shocked rebellion from the surrounding flesh. Then he cut in two breadths of a stick below it.

“Uh,” Melanie grunted, violently wagging her bottom to shake off the sting.

Again Alexander waited until the corporal’s stripes had her attention and then he sharply promoted her to sergeant.

“Jesus Christ,” she hissed.

Alexander ignored her and after a short pause, took three or four minutes to double the count. On the sixth stroke Melanie gasped angrily and then as the pain built she began to shake as tears spilled from her eyes.

“Tell me Melanie, how long do you have to be in my good books before the count rolls back to a six or eight?” Alexander waited patiently for the answer.

It was a long time coming as Melanie could scarce catch her breath. Then finally she said in a thick wet voice, “One month Sir.”

“Good, just 28 days to be precise,” Alexander agreed, “And how many strokes could it get up to in just one month if you are not a good girl?”

Melanie was breathing heavily now. Few girls got as high as 18 before either getting into the clear or reaching a waypoint in the calendar like Christmas when all sanctions were reset. Melanie really loved Christmas and other such times, she rarely got out of jug on her own account.

“It’s a simple enough question Miss Quaid,” Alexander said drily.

“Yes Sir,” Melanie sobbed. She didn’t like the implications of his questions.

She ran the formula in her head as best she could. Six or eight rising to nine, then 10; skip 11, so 12, 14, 15, 16, 18, 20, 21, 22, 24, 25, 30, thereafter increments of four or two so that every two punishment it went up by six. Her mind raced. “Seventy-two,” she ventured.

“Quite possibly, and that is in just one month, assuming a punishment almost every day,” Alexander explained. “Although generally two visits a week with me is caning it, if you pardon the pun.”

“Yes Sir.”

“With you, if it wasn’t for our little amnesties, then you would get there quite often, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes Sir.”

“You see where I am going with this?” Alexander tapped her welted bottom with his cane.

“Yes Sir.”

“So behave,” he said sharply resuming the caning.

“Yah, shsss,” she yelped, or something like it.

Nearly halfway, nearly halfway, nearly halfway, the mantra ran through her head.

To be continued.

The Spank Statement is doing some more housekeeping and has revisited the top picture above. I am sure that with the pressures of the season there will be many such tensions in restaurants around the world.

The next pictures are from Cherry Red and the Beauty and the Birch, who has more in this vein.

Finally we have a Christmas Picture on Blossom and Thorn. You can see the whole striptease advert there.

For more pictures, Warmglow has a series of cartoons on the ‘you wouldn’t dare’ domestic scenario.

Rollin has a new story at Disciplinary Tales.

On the subject of tales Imagine the Stories has not updated this month and British Magazines is still on a summer break!

Able over the Spanking Writers has sad news about the closure of SSS forum; a classic from the early days of the web where many of us first met up.

Thanks to TipTopper for these images. The first two have been seen before, but are welcome nonetheless. the second is Melvyn Douglas and Myrna Loy and a spot of marital OTK from the 1940s.

The last one is new to me and looks like 1960s pop art.

Our story began here.

Melanie had given up trying to hold back the tears. There wasn’t the slightest chance that anyone seeing her walking back to her room wouldn’t know she had just been thoroughly thrashed in any case. Her hands hovered permanently over her behind, which managed to at the same time throb with aching lines of dull pain and be raspingly sore. Her footsteps were slow and awkward and to relieve the point where her two swollen buttocks met she had to keep her legs apart as much as possible to avoid chafing.

Sitting down wasn’t going to happen for the rest of the day and for a few days to come she would have a choice of either taking a pillow to the refractory or standing up to eat; both options being too embarrassing to contemplate.

As she turned the corner she took a quick look about her before attempting a quick massage of her bottom. She immediately winced as she hefted both her hams through her skirt but strangely the pain was addictive and she persisted with the surreptitious rubbing for a moment longer.

Then she saw someone coming and tried to appear casual.

The intruder was a new face at Hardham and for a moment Melanie forgot her troubles. The newcomer was a pretty girl in her early middle 20s, with something of a snotty look. That won’t last, Melanie thought with a snort.

As the new girl got nearer, Melanie could see that the she was shorter than she first appeared, almost like a scaled-down dinky version of a leggy supermodel. The girl’s head was bowed and she didn’t bother to look up as she passed.

*

Catherine barely noticed the tearful girl at the corner of the yard. Although she did spare a glance for the imposing main building where she knew most of the courses and all of the administration was carried out. She wanted to hate it and re-imagined it as a Colditz-like place. However, the warm red brick edged in stone was rather beautiful and it put her in mind of one of those stately homes her parents used to take her to.

It was so unfair, she raged inwardly, she wasn’t a criminal, she didn’t deserve to be in gaol; not even a posh one run along the lines of mid-20^th century public school. So lost in her self-pity she almost didn’t register the bell; a short sharp two toned clang that she only caught on the second ring.

She racked her brains for a clue to the meaning of the sound, sudden apprehensive despite herself that she had overlooked some petty rule.

“Can’t be a fire drill,” she murmured, “Not with just two rings.”

She looked back the girl she had seen who appeared to be limping so had got so far and hastened after her.

“Hey you, I say,” Catherine called out, “What the devil is the bell for?”

Melanie cringed at the other girl’s clipped glass tones, even subdued and muted, they screamed superiority. She hurried on.

“I am addressing you,” Catherine persisted, “What does that bell mean? Are we supposed to be somewhere?”

Melanie rolled her eyes up and turned around.

“Oh,” Catherine was thrown by the young woman’s obvious tears. “Are you alright?”

“What? Oh yes, sure. I have just paid a social call on Mr Alexander,” Melanie said ruefully.

Catherine returned a blank stare and slowly shook her head.

Melanie frowned, she hated new girls. This was so embarrassing.

“I made a muck of things in the laundry,” Melanie said, as if that explained everything.

“Surely they will understand, I mean it isn’t something to cry about surely,” Catherine said brightly.

Why she should offer comfort to a laundry girl Catherine couldn’t quite fathom, but maybe it was because she was the first person who had not either given her an order or looked down on her since she arrived.

“Oh Ms Barry understood alright, that is why she sent me to see Alexander,” Melanie said and looked askance.

“Oh? … Oh,” Catherine said, the penny suddenly very much dropping. “You mean he…?”

“Eighteen bitey-witey little swipes you know where,” Melanie said chewing her lower lip and again clutching at her behind.

“Eighteen, but surely that’s…?” Catherine gaped.

“Oh sure, it took some doing, but I have been running up a decent bill for weeks now. I can’t wait for Christmas I can tell you.” Melanie felt another stray tear roll down her cheek, but suddenly she felt okay talking to the new girl. “Name’s Melanie Quaid.”

“Catherine Overton, how do you do,” Catherine offered her hand.

“Oh… eh,” Melanie stared at it and then after a pause shook it. Just like the movies, she thought.

“Christmas? What has that got to do with anything?” Catherine continued with the previous topic.

“You know, the amnesty. Actually I was thinking of opening up a book. What are the odds do you think of not topping 24 before Christmas Eve?”

“A book?” Catherine was genuinely puzzled. “And what amnesty? An amnesty for what?”

“You know, a tote, making bets on my chances of racking up another two or three sessions with Mr Alexander before Christmas,” Melanie explained.

“Oh I see,” Catherine said, although she wasn’t sure she did. “Like the horses.”

Melanie grinned. She felt better already.

“And this amnesty…?”

“You are new here aren’t you?”

“I came last night,” Catherine explained.

Then the bell rang again.

“What was that?” Catherine asked nervously.

“Beginning of lesson, for those doing courses,” Melanie shrugged, “Last one of the day; I didn’t have any. What are you going in for?”

“Oh I… I already have a degree,” Catherine explained.

“Oh you too, I have one in Sociology,” Melanie said brightly, “Sussex.”

“Really but I thought… you mentioned the laundry?”

“Part-time jobs, part-time courses, country walks, it’s all good here apart from the paddy whacking,” Melanie laughed. “That I don’t mind so much. You kind of get used to it. I am studying for my Master’s; criminology this time. I reckon I have a bit of an insight now.”

“I have a BA in fine arts,” Catherine said woodenly. Nothing here was what she expected.

“So about as useless as my first degree then,” Melanie laughed, “How long are you here?”

“A year I hope,” Catherine sighed.

“You can do a Master’s too then,” Melanie said, “Or maybe something vocational. We have a lot of plumbers here.”

*

Catherine couldn’t quite take it all in. After her meeting with Melanie she could almost convince herself that she was in college and not in a prison at all. The girl had been altogether a surprise. While she wasn’t exactly from Catherine’s class, she was clearly not quite the ignorant plebeian that she had expected to meet.

It had irked her a little that Melanie had compared her sociology degree with Catherine’s own in fine arts. However, the suggestion that she might get a master’s degree went some way to lifting the gloom that had assailed her since sentencing.

She could hear her friends now, “Where have you been? I heard you had been detained at Her Maj’s pleasure.”

Now she could reply, “Oh no, nothing like that. After that business with Rupert, Daddy thought it best if I went away to improve my education. I have a master’s now you know.”

It was beginning to sound so much better.

The more she thought about it the more she wanted to talk to Melanie again about her master’s degree. After all, she could hardly talk to one of the staff or that awful Barry woman; it would look too much like she was buckling under.

The knock at the door at that moment came as an intrusion. Catherine ignored it until whoever it was knocked again.

Sighing in irritation she finally said, “Come in.”

The door swept open and Jeanette Barry came in and closed the door behind her.

“How are we settling today?” she said with an air of expectation.

Catherine glowered at her but swallowed the urge to be sarcastic.

“Everything is fine,” she replied.

“Good.” Jeanette had a knowing smile.

As Catherine watched, Jeanette made a circuit of the room, picking up objects and testing for dust as she went.

“Tomorrow I will assign you your duties for next week and allocate you a place on the roster for the coming weeks. Also we need to talk about which courses you wish to pursue,” Jeanette said without looking up. “Meanwhile, you need to clean and tidy this room. Is that clear?”

Catherine bristled, she wasn’t a child.

“Is that clear?” Jeanette said again.

“Yes, perfectly,” Catherine replied tartly.

Jeanette studied the girl for a moment and then nodded.

“Good, I’ll drop by later to see that you have.”

Once Jeanette had gone Catherine hurled a book across the room and stamped her foot in frustration. Who does she think she is, Catherine thought bitterly? I haven’t had to clean my room since…

“Ooh,” she howled in frustration..

In a show of defiance she grabbed her jacket and decided to go and see Melanie. She would carve out her own path at Hardham and Melanie seemed just the girl to advise her.

There were only two halls of residence and the 30 or so names of the inmates were posted in the lobby on a single sheet of A4. There was only one Quaid and Catherine found her quickly at the building across the green.

The residence was much like her own and smelt of polish and lavender and the walls were half panelled in a light tan wood that matched the parquet floor. Tasteful prints of Constable and early Turner England hung on the walls and only the fire and smoke alarms gave any hint that the halls were of an institution.

Melanie’s room was on the first floor at the furthest end from the stairs. Her door had a picture of a puppy on it and a name plate onto which had been stencilled some impromptu roses. There was no bell, so Catherine knocked with her fist.

“If that’s you Jan, piss off,” Melanie’s voice rang out from inside.

Catherine frowned. “It’s… eh… Catherine,” she ventured, “We met yesterday.”

The door opened almost at once and Melanie peered around the door.

“Oh you, um,” Melanie stuck her head out and looked down the hall. Then she added, “You had better come in.”

As the door was pulled back Catherine could see that Melanie was dressed only in a T-shirt and short white socks. She was holding a pillow over her front for modesty’s sake, although she didn’t appear the least disconcerted that she was half naked.

“Is this an awkward time?” Catherine asked hesitantly.

“No you are alright,” Melanie said easily, “Tea?”

“Eh… no thanks I…”

Her words were cut short when Melanie threw herself face down on the bed and Catherine saw her bare bottom. Near perfect parallel plum lines scored the girls behind from the top of her cleft down to just above her thighs.

“Oh gosh,” Catherine gasped.

“Pretty ain’t they,” Melanie snorted, but she had the good grace to blush a little.

“Oh gosh,” Catherine said again, “You weren’t joking were you? I thought…”

Catherine didn’t know what she thought. Until this minute part of her hadn’t believed that women were actually caned at Hardham.

“It isn’t so bad. So long as I avoid hard chairs for a few days more,” Melanie said ruefully, “I have had worse.”

After that all thoughts of courses and recreational activities at Hardham dropped off of Catherine’s agenda and she pumped Melanie for accounts of her punishments. In fact she was still gaping in fascinated horror half an hour later when she remembered that she was supposed to be tidying her room.

Suddenly the threats and promises Jeanette Barry had made seemed more real and any doubts about the Hardham regime were dispelled with one look at Melanie’s welted bottom.

“I had better eh,” Catherine gulped, “Go.”

“Sure,” Melanie beamed, “Next time we’ll have tea and you can do the talking.”

Catherine nodded uncertainly and made to leave.

“Bye,” Melanie said without moving off her bed.

“Yes, good bye,” Catherine said hastily.

*

Jeanette was just coming out of Catherine’s room as she arrived.

“Miss Overton, there you are,” Jeanette said sharply.

“Ms Barry, I…” Catherine felt the blood drain from her face.

“It seems that not only can you not obey simple instructions, but that you do not take me very seriously Miss Overton,” Jeanette cut her off. “Did I, or did I not tell you to clean and tidy your room?”

“I… I just popped out, I had to…”

“You had to do exactly as you were told,” Jeanette scolded. “Come here.”

Catherine felt her mouth go dry, but was unable to examine the reason for her discomfort too closely. Her stomach did a flip and somewhere in her head a vein gently throbbed. There was something about the set of Jeanette’s shoulders as she went back into Catherine’s room that suggested gravity and for a moment the world went into slow motion.

It felt as if someone else followed the house mother as Catherine went in to the room after Jeanette. As she did so, she saw that Jeanette had taken something from the back of the door. Seeing the paddle in her the house mother’s hand was a shock but not a surprise.

“What… why… eh… what’s that for?” Catherine asked, blustering.

“You know exactly what it is and what it is for,” Jeanette said, “It was explained at your induction. It was made clear to you when you signed the papers before sentencing.”

“But I…”

“Remove your skirt, take down your under things and kneel upon the bed with your head down facing the wall and your bottom up at this end,” Jeanette said brusquely pointing to the foot of the bed with the paddle. “It is high time we christened this.”

“Look, this is absurd, I only…”

“Do as you are told and at once,” Jeanette barked.

Catherine’s hands fluttered at her waist and taking half a step backwards she felt a little faint. Then she straightened up and put on her best confrontational face.

“I only went…” she began.

Jeanette didn’t hesitate but extended one arm and seized Catherine by hers. A moment later she was sitting on the bed with Catherine across her lap.

“What are you doing? Don’t… I mean…”

Jeanette flipped Catherine’s skirt up and in one smooth motion drew her knickers down her thighs to her ankles.

Catherine gasped and wriggled a little in shock.

“Whaa…” she exclaimed.

Hefting the paddle Jeanette patted Catherine’s now exposed bottom with it and shifted a little where she sat to adjust the girl’s weight.

“Three options,” Jeanette growled, “Take what is coming to you and that is more than you bargained for now you have added further disobedience to your crimes. Refuse and come with me to see Mr Alexander here and now; or demand an R386 form and request a transfer. Choose.”

“Ms Barry, this stupid can’t we talk about this?” Catherine spluttered.

“Choose,” Jeanette said crisply.

“Look I’m sorry okay,” Catherine wailed.

“Option one then,” Jeanette rasped.

Catherine gave a small nod; she was too mortified to speak.

The paddle blasted down and robbed her of all breath, but before she could regain it Jeanette spanked her again and then again twice more.

“Ahh, nuggh,” Catherine groaned.

She could not believe the sting in her behind.

“When I am done with you, you will go and stand facing the wall outside your room until I send someone to release you. Do you hear me?” Jeanette punctuated almost every word with a slam of the paddle onto Catherine’s bare bottom.

“Yes, Catherine wailed.

Jeanette spanked the girl three more times until she shook with giggle-like sounds that ended in sobs.

“Do you hear me?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Catherine yelped.

The crisp thwack of the paddle fell a dozen more times until Catherine broke to genuine sobs.

“Once released you will tidy your room and then return to face the wall once it is done,” Jeanette explained.

“Yes Ma’am,” Catherine sobbed.

“You will remove your skirt and under things as I told you to and you will stand outside and when told to, work without them. Do you understand?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Catherine said miserably.

“Later I will return and inspect your room again. If it meets my satisfaction then you will submit to the punishment you have already earned. Do you understand?”

“What… but…”

The paddle descended thrice more, extracting heavy wails.

“Yes Ma’am,” Catherine hissed as she shimmied her bottom in a hopeless attempt to shake out the sting.

“Good girl,” Jeanette said, allowing Catherine to fall to her knees. “Now let me see what you have learned.”

Catherine couldn’t meet Jeanette’s eyes and bowed her head as she knelt crying.

Jeanette was patient and looked down kindly, still holding the paddle. Then finally, still without meeting the house mother’s gaze, Catherine got to her feet and undid her skirt to remove it. Her knickers were already at her ankles and the spanked girl stepped out of them with a blush. Then as Jeanette watched, Catherine walked woodenly to the door and went out naked below the waist into to the hall.

She is a natural; Jeanette observed when she saw Catherine standing at attention with her nose pressed to the wall. The house mother paused to study the girl’s bright red domed bottom so stark in profile and then she nodded in satisfaction.

“Every so often a girl thinks she can slink back into her room and I won’t find out,” Jeanette said in a soft voice. “I always do. But I wonder if you believe me.”

Her voice cracking, Catherine said, “Please, this is so embarrassing.”

“I know. But it was your choice wasn’t it?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Catherine wailed pressing her face into the wall and wishing she could merge with it and disappear.

“Why do all you girls need to learn the hard way?” Jeanette sighed as she walked away.

To be continued.

Our story began here.

The first half-an-hour facing the wall had been a blur for Catherine. She had been too busy crying and processing the total humiliation of taking an over the knee spanking from Jeanette. Then as she came to her senses she became aware of the mundane, such as the draft on her legs and exposed bottom and the sound of other girls going about their business all around her.

Thankfully none had yet passed by, but she couldn’t be certain no one had seen her as she had as yet not dared to look around.

To her left was the window but a glance in that direction reassured her that anyone looking in would only see her top half, although it would be pretty obvious that she was in disgrace from her odd stance.

To her right was the main corridor for her floor, but it was a good 30 feet along and someone could pass by and not notice her. Risking a glance to look for witnesses, she then grabbed at her bottom and tested it with her fingers. The flesh was hot and felt hard to her touch. She managed to make it sting a little by pressing it with her fingers and after one more quick look down the hall she tried to look down over her shoulder at the polished red on her behind.

“This is stupid,” she groaned and she eyed the door and the refuge of her room beyond it.

What had Jeanette Barry said? She would find out if she did not do as she was told, but how? Would someone dob her in? It angered her that she had suddenly become to cowardly to put it to the test, but she wasn’t ready for another spanking or worse just then.

Catherine was still debating with herself when someone came around the corner and up the hall. Catherine wanted to melt into the floor.

“You Catherine Overton?” the girl asked.

Catherine’s face flooded red, but she managed to nod.

“Ms Barry says you can tidy your room now,” the girl said in a somewhat surly manner as if she was too busy for this chore.

“Thanks,” Catherine’s voice was tight and kept her face buried into the wall.

“Oh and Ms Barry says… eh, what was it? Oh yes. You are to go back to where you are standing once you are done. Remind you that is; yes that’s it. You already knew I guess. God I had to do that before. It’s a bitch ain’t it?” The girl snorted.

“Yes,” Catherine cringed and wished the girl would go away. She was far too embarrassed to move until she had gone.

Once she was alone Catherine could not get back into her room quick enough. For a moment she considered getting dressed, but then decided it was a risk with no gain. Nevertheless she felt foolish and self-conscious as she put her clothes and various detritus into draws and cupboards so that she could dust.

The biggest problem was that she had to hoover and the vacuum cleaner, if she remembered correctly, was down the hall in a broom closet.

She pondered the shame of fetching it as she was and found herself blushing heroically even though she was on her own.

“Damn,” she growled and then went to the door as she was.

Peeking out and seeing no one she made a dash down the hall and all the way along the passage to the closet. For a moment she wondered if she had to get a key from someone and her embarrassed-visage found a whole new shade that set her heart pounding. But the door was open and the vacuum was easy enough to retrieve. So easy in fact that she couldn’t help giggling as she dashed back to her room towing the cleaner behind her.

*

Despite her most thorough efforts, all too soon her room was immaculate and Catherine had to once again face the prospect of standing with her bare bottom displayed in the hall outside. Then she remembered the hoover and cursed.

“Oh well,” she said with a shrug.

This time she strolled along the corridor to the closet and took the trouble to put it away tidily, almost daring someone to come along.

This time someone obliged. Two women emerged from the fire doors by the stairs and went passed with barely a glance. Catherine decided that ducking into the closet would look too foolish, so she hovered in the half open door and tried to look busy. Then as a parting shot one of them said, “Ooh, I bet you felt that.” And then they were gone.

“No big deal I suppose,” Catherine sighed.

She remembered her games mistress when confronted with shy girls in the showers at school.

“All girls together,” she would sing out. It was true, Catherine realised.

Nevertheless, Catherine suddenly felt self-conscious again and hurried back to take her place facing outside her room. That burglary prank of Rupert’s really wasn’t that much fun, she thought idly as she touched the wall with her nose.

*

It took an age for Jeanette to come back and when she did, she ignored Catherine altogether. Instead she just breezed into the room and spent several minutes inspecting it. Finally she emerged and said, “Adequate I suppose.”

“Thank you Ma’am,” Catherine said shyly.

“Don’t you see, you could have just done what you were told before without all the unpleasantness,” Jeanette observed.

“Yes Ma’am,” Catherine sighed. It was true.

“Now we have one more chore,” Jeanette said. “Fetch the paddle and hand it to me. Then, let us see if you remember the position I told you to adopt from before.”

Catherine baulked. She had been praying that her punishment would be over, but she decided that she now knew better than to argue. Instead she said, “Yes Ma’am.”

The paddle was cool and stiff to her touch and it didn’t come off the hook easily and Catherine had to wrestle with it. Finally it came away and she could feel its weight in her hands.

Jeanette made her hold it for a long 30 seconds or so before taking the offered paddle and then she gave the girl a hard stare until Catherine bowed her head and turned to face the bed.

Catherine felt tears pricking at her eyes and she blushed again. The bed was set before her in an accusation and she was overwhelmed with a feeling that was somewhere between that of a condemned woman and her shame the day she wet herself during a school nativity play. Then nodding in acceptance, she stepped forward and clambered onto the mattress. It sank beneath her knees and for a moment she felt unstable as if she might topple off.

“Head down with your elbows level with the bed,” Jeanette said.

Catherine obeyed so that now her bare bottom was elevated and pointing obscenely at the ceiling. Then the room fell quiet and all that could be heard was the two women breathing.

Then Jeanette said, “When I tell you to adopt the position, you will do so at once. Do you understand?”

“Yes Ma’am.” Catherine’s voice was strained.

“Any further resistance from you and I will require this submission once a month as training; or maybe even once a week. Do you understand me? It can happen.”

Catherine looked back and gaped, but quickly looked away.

Luckily Jeanette did not demand an answer and the first blow of the paddle came as a hard sting.

“Yah,” Catherine yelped.

Jeanette spanked her again.

“Oh Jesus,” Catherine wailed.

“It is harder this time isn’t it? The thing about Hardham is that it can always get worse,” Jeanette explained.

The third swat was enough to set Catherine to boil over with tears and yelling at each impact.

The spanking was hard but it did not last as long as before and after 15 swats Jeanette returned the paddle to the hook on the door.

“We are done for now. What you get next depends on you,” Jeanette said with a shrug.

“Yes Ma’am,” Catherine moaned.

Once Jeanette was gone Catherine settled down for some serious bawling until she was thoroughly cried-out.

*

The next morning Catherine was astonished at the condition of her bottom and turned every which way in front of the mirror for a better look. Unlike Melanie, she found that although she could certainly feel it where she sat, sitting down was more than possible, which got her thinking about how very much worse the cane might be.

Also, even though she could die of blushing as she remembered every nuance of her humiliation: the vigil facing the wall, her public exposure and finally the spanking from Jeanette with her bare bottom sticking up in the air; she felt a strange comfortable tingle somewhere inside. It reminded her of the one time she had been scolded by daddy and of an imposition she had been given at school by a teacher she had had a crush on. What was wrong with her?

She pressed at her sore bottom with her fingers with the compulsion of a child pressing on a gap in a tooth with her tongue. It was the same compulsion she had when reliving her shame.

Later that day, she took an odd pleasure from showing Melanie her bottom and comparing notes on her spanking. She even felt ‘a warm fuzzy feeling’ at the embarrassment of talking about it and wondered if this was what having a sister was like.

“Looks like you had a good work out,” Melanie chuckled, “But it’s not so bad. It’s better than a session with old Alexander. In fact after a good spanking I feel all soft and kind of forgiven, don’t you?”

This last comment hit a nerve and Catherine hastily covered up and changed the subject.

“So what about these courses then? Anything I should know?” she said quickly.

*

As the weeks followed Catherine’s work schedule was not too odious and the MBA she had taken a shine to was fully accredited and genuinely interesting.  She wanted to knuckle down, but the same rebellious streak that had got her into to trouble to begin with burned within her and as much as she was settling in, she also hated toeing the line like a good little girl.

To satisfy her sense of self she tried to show small hints of resistance, but sabotaging her course was too much like ‘cutting her nose to spite her face’ and any hint of displeasure from Jeanette had her hurrying to obey as her bottom itched.

Finally, she heard from Melanie that sometimes girls crept out and went to the pub or to meet boys. Neither appealed to her and anyway Melanie refused point blank to ride shotgun. However, it did occur to Catherine that she could slip away to make a forbidden phone call home.

As it was her bi-weekly call home was recorded and could usually be overheard. If she could just talk to daddy uninterrupted then she might get a few extras in the post or find out if he could pull any strings to get her out.

Getting out of the grounds was risibly simple and within half an hour she was in a phone box outside a shop. Across the road was a pub with half a dozen young men sitting on motorbikes outside.

“Daddy?” she said once the phone stopped ringing, “Daddy, are you there?”

There was a long silence and then a woman spoke, “Is that Catherine? I thought… well your father is away on business.”

Catherine recognised her father’s housekeeper.

“Can I take a message?” The woman asked.

Catherine suddenly realised what a pointless errand she had been on. Her father had already done all he could and wouldn’t be best pleased that she had skipped out and jeopardised her position.

“No, no it is alright. Tell him… tell him I’m okay.” Catherine put the phone down.

The walk back to Hardham took longer than she remembered and she was almost glad to see the place as she slipped back in behind the kitchen block.

As she reached the corridor leading to her room it suddenly felt like home and she smiled.

“Maybe I should have gone to the pub while I was out,” she said aloud as she stepped into her room.

“Maybe you should have,” Jeanette said.

Catherine gasped and looked in horror at the house mother sitting on her bed.

“I was…”

“Mr Alexander will see you tomorrow,” Jeanette growled.

To be continued.

The evocative picture above is an old one, but it seemed to go with this snippet that has been waiting for an opportunity for an outing.

Taken from Life Forum and is by Clare1958:

Having messed up my A Levels twice I thought I was lucky to get a place at Higher Education College to have one more stab at them. I wasn’t even worried when it was made clear that smart dress and old school discipline would be enforced. I had never been in trouble much at school.

However, I was now 18 and 1976 was the year of the punk. We had parties, drugs, cigarettes and all the rest and I got caught. So it came as no great surprise that I had to go and see Mr A the Head.

Even when he said I would get the cane I giggled. But I was shocked when he said that canings were on the knickers or the bare and told me to pull up my skirts. Never let anyone tell you that six of the best doesn’t hurt.

I was determined to stay out of trouble after that but it was the summer of 1976 and I was 18… Lol.

“Do you require a female member of staff?” Mr A said at our next meeting.

I was numb and was still in shock that I was to get the cane again. So asked what for?

“Since you don’t seem to want to listen I am going to cane you on your bare bottom this time,” he said.

I felt sick and I argued, but I definitely didn’t want a witness.

It is strange experience bending over with your knickers down and if I thought six on the knickers hurt, then six on the bare was hell.

I never told anyone and I was certainly better behaved afterwards. The marks lasted days and hurt for a long time. I have to say though, that once it was over and I was on my own, I did feel a little fruity. But not enough to make me go back for more. Lol.

Our story began here.

Catherine felt sick like she had drunk too much and reality was spinning around her head trying to have nothing to do with her. Each step she took towards the admin building felt as if someone else was walking and she had to carefully plant each foot before trusting it to carry her forward.

She had a case of nerves that she associated with the dentist or final exams, only much, much worse. She had tried explaining that she hadn’t meant to run away or any real harm, but Ms Barry hadn’t been interested.

“Mr Alexander will see you tomorrow,” she had growled. “The matter is out of my hands.”

As Catherine made her way there she ran excuses and explanations through her mind and tried to convince herself that the right form of words would get her out of hot water. She had always thought of her charm as her strong point, but since her arrest and being deserted by most of her friends, she realised that nobody liked her, not really; so much for personal charm.

“You’ll duck this,” Rupert had told her with a cocky grin. “Pretty with money does it.”

Only she hadn’t and pretty with money just didn’t cut it here.

Mr Alexander’s door looked huge and she actually swallowed before knocking.

“You may come in,” a distant voice called out.

Catherine eyed the door handle as if it were a snake. She must have stood staring at it for too long, because suddenly the door opened and Alexander was there.

“Miss Overton, didn’t you hear me?” Mr Alexander said in an almost kindly voice.

“I… eh… yes… sorry…” Catherine tailed off, her mouth hanging open in the centre of her pale drained face.

“We met at your induction, I had hoped not to see you so soon,” Alexander sighed, “Come in.”

Catherine followed him to the study, a bright room lined with books, the corners of which were cluttered with tatty second hand furniture. Except that was for one, Catherine noted, a detail that pre-Hardham she would not have even noticed.

“You know why you are here Miss Overton,” Alexander pursed his lips in disappointment.

Catherine replied with a small nod.

It obviously wasn’t a fulsome enough reply because Alexander peered at her expectantly.

“I-I went into the village Sir,” Catherine ventured. Then added hopefully, “I… I came back.”

“Yes, well I can see that,” Alexander pinched his nose, “Anything else?”

In something of a confessional spirit, Catherine suddenly wanted to make a clean breast of it.

“I called my father,” she gushed, “I just wanted to…”

What had she wanted or still want? She looked away and fixed her eyes on a point on the bookcase as if it held the answer.

“Did you meet anyone? Or visit the pub perhaps?” Concern was etched on Alexander’s face and his blue eyes twinkled a little.

“Oh no Sir,” Catherine said eagerly, “I just wanted… I needed to know that my old life was…”

‘Over’ sounded so final, but ‘changed’ sounded lame.

“I think I see,” Alexander smiled, “But you know there are rules.”

“Yes Sir, I know,” Catherine said gloomily, “But I won’t do it again.”

Alexander gave her a warm smile and then his face became thoughtful.

“Well I am certainly pleased to hear that,” he said.

Catherine relaxed a little and allowed herself a little smile.

“Leaving the premises without permission is a very, very serious matter,” Alexander explained, “It is actually a breach of your bail conditions and in all honesty I should report this to London for a ruling.”

Catherine felt something rise from the pit of her stomach and reach her lower throat. She couldn’t have screwed this up too, she just couldn’t.

“However, it is a first offence and I am empowered to deal with it,” Alexander continued.

“Deal with it?” Catherine said uneasily.

As she watched, Alexander crossed to his desk and picked up a cane that he had already placed there. She blinked hard and licked her lips.

“Please remove your skirt and place them on that chair,” Alexander said brusquely, “Then when you are ready slip your…”

He made a vague gesture at her, indicating the general area of her waist.

“… things down,” he continued.

Catherine gaped. She was not entirely surprised, but still the reality was a little hard to swallow. Literally, as she demonstrated not once, but twice as her throat worked over time.

“I believe I gave you an instruction,” Alexander said pointedly.

Catherine smoothed down the front of her thighs and blushed. Then with her eyes downcast, she began to fumble with the button and the zip of her skirt; unzipping and then re-zipping it before deciding to tackle the button first.

“Today would work for me,” Alexander said crisply, then seeing the woman’s apprehension, he pointedly turned his back.

With a fresh resolve Catherine hastily removed her skirt and then carefully folded it to place on the chair. Then she looked over at Alexander’s back to make sure he wasn’t watching before slipping down her high-cut delicate black briefs and stepping out of them.

The blood pooled at the crown of her cheeks as she demurely stood with her hands strategically crossed over her sex.

“Sir I…”

Alexander whirled around and seeing that she was naked below the waist, he nodded.

“That chair,” he said pointing at an old stuffed armchair in front of the fireplace. “If you would bend over the back of it with your head and arms in the seat, if you follow.”

The specs of red on Catherine’s cheeks exploded into a full blush as she crossed the room, realising that Alexander could now see her bare bottom.

“This one?” she asked in as a casual a manner as she could managed and pointed to the chair her had already indicated.

Understanding her disquiet he merely gave a quick nod.

She turned to fully face it, conscious that he was watching her and probably looking at her bottom. She felt a strange thrill at the idea. Then she leant against the back of the chair so that it pressed into her sex. The old coarse texture rubbed at her in a parody of pleasure and she subtly shifted her hips.

He coughed.

It was her signal to fold herself over the back of the chair so that her exposed bottom was arched upwards.

“Try to keep your legs together more,” he suggested with another little cough.

Catherine’s eyes widened as her thighs closed.

“This is…” she breathed, but she was too embarrassed to speak.

“A first caning calls for six or eight,” Alexander explained, “And then next time, should there be a next time, we add a little as an incentive.”

Catherine nodded dumbly, although he couldn’t see. She was in no mood for arithmetic just then.

“Given the nature of your offence I shall give you eight,” Alexander said.

Eight didn’t sound too bad, Catherine thought, not as bad as sticking my bottom up at a strange man anyway. So now what?

The stroke stole her breath and redefined her concept of pain. She yelled incoherently and if it hadn’t been for gravity, she would have shot to a standing position. Nor did the cane’s bite end there, for it seemed to go one building until the world shrank to that one line of pain.

She was still trying to process the stroke when Alexander gave her another.

“Shit,” she said in a gurgle that ended in a hiss.

The first stroke was still singing in her behind and now its fellow formed a duet.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she panted, bracing herself for more.

The third stroke did not seem as bad, especially as the first had finally begun to fall back to a dull roar. I can handle this, she asserted quietly.

“Sheesh,” she gasped as the fourth amended her view.

This one sawed in and kept sawing.

God please let it end, she prayed.

After the fifth impact she began to make a whining sound and shouted out at each slice of the cane right up to the final stroke until she was left in a panting heap over the chair-back.

“Alright,” Alexander sighed, “Let’s stop there. I really ought to have you cool your behind in the corner for a while, but it is your first time and I think you are actually sorry.”

“Yes Sir,” Catherin squealed, barely able to hold it together, “I am so sorry.”

She hadn’t been told to get dressed so she didn’t. She didn’t even try to cover herself. She had been thoroughly mastered and letting him see her seemed only respectful.

Alexander offered her his hand which she gratefully took, happy to be forgiven.

“Thank you Sir,” she said.

He smiled.

“You’re welcome.” Then seeing that she still hadn’t moved to get dressed he added, “You know my predecessor used to make naughty girls walk back to their rooms in the state they had been caned in.”

Her jaw dropped and she worked her mouth for something to say.

“Miss Overton, get dressed,” he smiled, “Oh, since you are in no hurry, please get dressed in the hall outside, there is no one about after all.” Then seeing her hover in confusion he added, “Before I send you away as you are.”

“Yes Sir,” Catherine blushed.

As soon as she hastened away the ridges across her bottom flared and once outside she burst into to tears.

*

Catherine cried all the way to Melanie’s room. She didn’t care who saw her, but she didn’t want to be alone, not just then.

Once she got to her friend’s door she didn’t wait and after a cursory knock she tried the handle.

“Piss off,” Melanie called out.

“Oh, sorry,” Catherine said miserably.

“Oh, it’s you. Hang on,” Melanie called back.

After a long moment the door lock clicked and Melanie appeared.

“Shit. What happened to you?” Melanie asked. “You had better come in.”

As Melanie turned to walk away Catherine could see that once again her bottom was very bare and as usual on these occasions her behind was scored with vivid welts.

Melanie winced as she lowered herself face down on her bed and Catherine gaped. Her hand stole to her behind but her little caning was virtually nothing next to Melanie’s adventures.

“You look as bad as I feel,” Melanie said ruefully.

“I-I just… I have been to see Mr Alexander,” Catherine said dully.

“Ooh, your first time,” Melanie cooed in sympathy, “Come on let’s see, I bet you have some beauties back there.”

“But you…”

“Oh it’s nothing. I’m used to it. Here I have just put some on. You’ll need it too,” Melanie said dismissively.

In a few moments both girls were laying side-by-side on Melanie’s bed while Melanie eased some pink sticky ointment onto Catherine’s bottom.

“Oh God, that feels so good,” Catherine groaned.

“Welcome to the club,” Melanie said cheerfully.

“Come on, give me that and I’ll do you,” Catherine said, realising that she was being selfish.

“I did mine,” Melanie said ignoring her. “Besides you have a cute bum and I don’t mind a bit.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Catherine chuckled, “Anyway, you missed a bit. Quite a few bits actually. What did that man use on you, a machine cane?”

“Alright, shift over and we’ll get head to toe,” Melanie giggled.

“How many did you get?” Catherine said in awe.

“Oh, twenty, looks like I am well on my way to winning my bet; or losing it. It depends how you look at it,” Melanie laughed.

*

Somewhere an owl hooted and a chill night breeze rattled through the trees before falling still. Jeanette looked up at the crystal clear night and marvelled at the stars. Lights-out had been over an hour before and she had finished her rounds and was now confident that all was well.

Then from the west, the wind picked up again and Jeanette shivered and hurried on.

The main building was quiet as she entered, the day staff having long since gone to their quarters and the only lights were the small emergency kind set in discreet corners. Jeanette thought about turning some more on, but decided that the shadows better suited her mood.

As she made her way up the stairs she remembered the first time she had made this journey so long ago. She had been 24 and an inmate here herself. She smiled at the memory. She had been so scared and yet so defiant. Much like the new girl Catherine, although her story was not one of privilege.

Her crimes were not pranks gone wrong, but a catalogue of misdemeanours and bad turnings that were rapidly leading her nowhere. Hardham had saved her. No, it was saving her still, she amended.

As she reached Alexander’s door she felt the same trepidation she had felt all those years ago as an inmate. She even took a breath before knocking.

“Come in Miss Barry,” Alexander answered.

Jeanette sighed and then taking a grip on the handle entered his study.

Alexander was waiting with his cane in hand.

“Here for your regular straightener are you?” It was part of the ritual and gave her an opportunity to consent.

“Yes Sir,” Jeanette breathed.

“You are late,” Alexander said gruffly.

“I’m sorry Sir, the stars were so…” Jeanette realised what she was doing, “Sorry Sir, no excuse.”

Alexander nodded.

There was a brief silence while Alexander eyed her up and then he nodded again. “You know what to do.”

“Yes Sir,” she whispered and moved her hands to her skirt.

Alexander turned his back as he always did while Jeanette first removed her skirt and then her underwear. Then he turned to see her correctly position herself over the back of the chair.

At 34 her bottom was fuller than it once was, but still it was still smooth and tight. He was pleased to see that she had exactly the right posture, the one that he had taught her to do so well.

Jeanette remembered months of defiance at such times, she must have incurred more penalty strokes than any girl in the history of Hardham she thought grimly. She realised now that it was because she had always know that this was what she needed.

As a point of discipline Alexander had taught her to present her bare bottom exactly so, she remembered. It had been mortifying. The indignity, the submission; he had not tolerated the smallest display of rebellion in word or posture. He had persisted until she had been utterly conquered and ready to learn.

“Miss Barry, how many was it last time?” Alexander asked.

“Forty-four,” Jeanette said. Her voice was thick.

“So you are expecting…?”

“Forty-eight,” she whispered.

“I imagine it will be 50 before the amnesty,” he murmured.

“Yes Sir.”

The stroke cut in hard and without preamble taking her unawares as it always did. Her jaw clenched and her eyes flew open in surprise, but her bottom did not move even as the neat dark line developed upon it.

She could never take it without tears and with 47 more to come she also knew that she would rebel a little by moving her bottom out of position before the end. But she knew that Alexander would never tolerate that and would punish her accordingly. If the mood took him he would award strokes again as well as giving her extra.

The next stroke ended all speculation; it ended all things in her mind but the sting that clawed at her bottom.

“Oh Sir,” she cried out.

Alexander answered with another stroke.

The end.

Samantha first noticed the girl on account of her old-fashioned dress. She was walking across the courtyard towards the house right through the others without deigning to notice them. She had a forbidding air about her, which on some level at least Samantha’s cousins must have respected, for they made no move to hurl a snowball in the girl’s direction.

The girl had red hair, all piled on top of her head and under her aloof expression she looked rather sad.

I wonder who she is, Samantha pondered, making a note to herself to ask Aunt Mary. The trouble was there were so many cousins from both sides of the family that Samantha hardly knew any of them. Judging from their behaviour, she really didn’t care to.

Her mother said she would have fun at Aunt Mary’s house. She said there would be young people her own age, even some boys who weren’t cousins. True enough she was right, but the older boys had mostly secreted themselves above the garage to pass around joints with some of the more wayward older girls; and worse, Samantha shouldn’t wonder.

The others had mostly joined in with the younger kids in one great snowball fight in the courtyard, leaving only Samantha and this girl to fend for themselves.

Samantha watched the girl become ever more aloof as she disappeared into the old kitchen block.

The house had a lot of tumbled down areas that hadn’t been used since the house had had servants. That had been back in Great Grandfather’s day when Aunt Mary, the current custodian of the house, had been a child.

I bet she isn’t a cousin at all, Samantha thought once the girl had gone. I bet she is one of the girls from the village invited by Mary’s son Ian in the hopes of joining the orgy, or whatever they called it above the garage. Samantha was glad to see that the girl had more sense than have anything to do with them.

It got her wondering how many other people had come for Christmas that she didn’t know. I bet the girl knows some of them, Samantha thought excitedly. Then she grinned.

Dropping out of the window seat in the bay above the courtyard she broke into a run down the long gallery to the back stairs. The girl must come up them, unless that is she was going into the old kitchen wing in the disused part of the house, but why go there?

Samantha didn’t stop running until she reached the stairs. She was grinning all the way, her mother wouldn’t have approved.

“Don’t be so childish,” she would have said, “No wonder you can’t find…” a man, a job, a flat… her mother’s stock phrase for blaming everything that Samantha didn’t have.

Well at least she wasn’t having a snowball fight in the yard or smoking dope and snogging boys above the garage.

Suddenly Samantha realised that she had taken a wrong turn. She didn’t recognise this part of the house and anyway there was no sign of the girl. Then she heard a door close just above her.

Got you, she thought triumphantly. Doubling back she got to what must have been the closing door seconds too late.

The passage beyond was not as Samantha expected. The walls were hung with tasteful gold and red wallpaper and there were some old pictures of hunting scenes, which looked like the Penfold’s that Samantha had thought had long since been sold off.

Wicked old Aunt Mary, holding out us are you, Samantha grinned. She thought briefly about looking into some of the rooms she was passing for other treasures but she heard her quarry up ahead so she hurried on.

Just as she got to the turn in the passage she saw the girl at big door at the end. But before she could speak it opened and she was admitted to the room.

“I think you have found where the cool kids are hanging out,” Samantha sang under her breath in a happy voice.

Samantha took a deep breath and then ambled along the hall trying to compose herself. With any luck she would know some of the cousins inside and she wouldn’t be turned away.

She was about to tap on the door, her head swimming with thoughts of secret knocks, when she heard a man’s voice from within. He sounded like a grown-up and not at all like one of the cousins. The door was too thick to hear what he said, but the tone of the conversation was serious.

Samantha was thrown now. She had hoped to find her kind of party, but now she was probably intruding. Disappointed, she was about to leave when a sound seized her attention.

It sounded like a clap followed by another, but it was too slow for applause and too loud. Then Samantha blushed. The splat that followed sounded like the impact of something on to naked flesh and she knew what she was hearing.

“Oh God, it can’t be,” Samantha gasped. But she couldn’t tear herself away.

The spanking was loud and crisp and went on for some time before the girl began to cry out.

Occasionally the man would growl a little as if he were scolding her, but the main sound was that of the spanking and that went on for quite some time.

Then it occurred to Samantha that she could ‘accidentally’ go in, as if by mistake sort of thing. It was a thought that once entertained wouldn’t let go.

The spanking was proceeding with some vigour now and if she didn’t act quickly she would miss it.

Finally she took hold of the door handle and swept it open.

The girl she could see was around her own age. Her skirts were turned up and around her ankles were cream cotton knickers. The girl had tears pooled in her eyes and her face was nearly as red as her revealed bottom, which was angled over the man’s knee.

The man was older than Samantha expected; an uncle or a father figure rather than a lover. He was at least 40 with thick greying hair and big sideburns.

Both were looking at her now, the girl with a horrified expression and the man rather amused.

“Can’t you see we are busy?” The girl said haughtily as if striving for some dignity. “Please go away.”

“No I think she should stay and watch. After all she will be next and it will be far more instructive for you,” the man chuckled.

“Ooh you beast,” the girl wailed.

Samantha was transfixed. Surely he was joking but in any case, she would save her refusals for after; just then she only wanted to see.

The man resumed the spanking, turning an already very red bottom to an even more vivid shade and very soon the girl had more things to worry about than an audience, for despite her best efforts she began to cry.

“Now young lady, you can go to the corner,” the man said sternly.

Samantha felt a sense of disappointment, although she was glad to see that the girl did not cover herself and went to face the corner with her skirts still turned up and her knickers around her ankles. This left her sore bare bottom very well displayed.

“Your turn,” the man barked at Samantha.

“But I…” she didn’t say too old, not after what she had seen, instead continued, “I haven’t done anything.”

“You, young lady are a peeping tom aren’t you?” he growled.

Samantha blushed, but despite herself she nodded.

“You won’t tell will you?” she whispered. The thought of being teased by 30-odd cousins was too much to bear.

“No bargains, just come here,” the man snapped.

Samantha glanced at the girl in the corner and then took half a step forward. It was enough and in a moment she was across the man’s knee with her own skirts rolled up and her knickers at her shins.

Jacked-knifed over his lap she had never felt so vulnerable and she was about to protest that the door was still ajar, but then he spanked her.

“Yah,” she yelped, kicking her legs and bobbing her head in unison.

The fiery handprint on her bottom stung worse than she thought. Then he spanked her again.

“No, I don’t want to,” she wailed.

“Be quiet, you deserve this,” he scolded her.

Samantha crossed her ankles as he applied a volley of spanks to her bare bottom until she began to bawl like a lost kitten.

“Please I’m sorry,” she wailed, but he ignored her and went on spanking her until Samantha lost all track of time.

“Now go and stand next to Charlotte and don’t you dare move. I want to see that polished red behind of yours,” the man ordered her.

Samantha felt until shamed now, but it felt so good to cry that she indulged herself to the maximum.

“That’s it, let it out,” the man soothed, “Two Christmas cherry bums contrite and glowing in the corner.”

“Yes Sir,” the girl said.

“Ooh, I’m so sorry,” Samantha sobbed, and she was, but had no idea why.

*

At some point Samantha had drifted off and some considerable time had passed. The warm room had become chilly and she was dimly aware that she and Charlotte, if that was her name, had been dismissed and that man had gone.

By the time the dazed Samantha had pulled her knickers up the girl had also gone, not that Samantha wanted to chat just then. Later she would have a quiet word and learn more about the curious events.

It had got dark and the passage way outside the room was dark, but Samantha found the door to the stairs and heard the ubiquitous cousins before she had a chance to locate the light switch so she didn’t bother.

“Samantha, there you are. Where have you been? We are having charades in the drawing room,” Sarah one of her more palatable cousins called out.

Samantha grimaced and gave her bottom a surreptitious rub under her skit and then politely nodded.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” she called back.

Then satisfied that she would be left alone again she went off to see Aunt Mary.

She found her as always in the kitchen preparing yet more food.

“Auntie,” she said as casually as she could.

“Mm yes dear,” Mary said without looking up.

“Um, how many cousins are there here?”

“Oh I don’t know… thirty, thirty three maybe if we have everyone,” Mary replied, still placing her attention on the sausage rolls, “No, let me think…”

“Who is Charlotte?” Samantha interrupted; Mary’s thought processes could take a while otherwise.

“Charlotte? I don’t think we have a Charlotte,” Mary said, now she was looking up.

“A redheaded girl about my age,” Samantha prompted.

Mary frowned.

“No I don’t think so,” she said, “Redheaded you say? I had a Great Aunt Charlotte. She was a redhead. Lived here oh… until she married. Matter of fact she lived here with her husband for a time when I was about your age. She only died a few years back… oh sorry. I am rambling on. Charlotte you say? Could be someone from the village. Ian invited some people.”

“Oh yes, that will be it,” Samantha said thoughtfully.

Then as she went to go Mary said, “There is a picture of Charlotte in the hall with her husband; a strange chap I remember.”

Mary’s face took on an odd expression as she spoke.

“A very odd chap, when I was your age he used to… oh well never mind,” Mary said, suddenly becoming tight-lipped.

Matching her mood, Samantha nodded and beat a retreat.

Out in the hall one wall was covered with pictures of family, alive and dead; some going back generations. Under 18^th century portraits of bewigged squires sat dour Victorians and stiff-necked Edwardians. Nearer in time were Noel Coward-esque stylish young men and women from the 1920s, 30s and 40s.

There are among them, aloof and removed in time by at least half a century was Charlotte and the man who had spanked them both as clean and fresh as Samantha had seen them; attired in much the same clothes.

The End

Thanks to Rachel for this contribution. It has been edited and posted with her permission.

Rachel wrote:

Ever since I can remember I have had spanking fantasies and as the years have gone by they have got more extreme. And so on turning 30, after a few half-hearted experiences with boyfriends, I decided to get involved with the spanking and BDSM scene.

My main fantasy was being taken by a strong man and spanked. I mean really spanked with paddles and maybe followed up with a whipping or the cane. There are always others there, mostly women who are enjoying my submission and in my fantasy I never enjoy it.

I need to be spanked or caned until I am begging and can’t take anymore and then he will whisper, “We have only just got started.”

I realised that this kind of thing probably doesn’t happen for real and even if it did, it would need a level of trust that would be hard to find. At some of the clubs I went to, I saw women spanked until bottoms were red, but it was all pretty tame. I even said so.

Then I met ‘Gloria’ a professional dominatrix and she invited me back to her flat. I didn’t go at first, I was too scared I think, being new to the scene, but after a few times and many months I finally did.

I told her my fantasies and what I thought about the ‘play scene’ and she agreed, but she also said I was very rude.

This led to a genuine scolding and finally I had got a real bare bottom spanking over her knee until I was good and sorry and really crying. I hated it, but here is the thing, I loved hating it.

But it still wasn’t what I was after, but I was too scared or polite to say.

As months went by I saw a couple of session with her (and had a few more spankings) and all the ones with girls were pretty tame.

Then I saw one of her sessions with a man. It was his thing to have another woman watching apparently and I was curious.

It was not really my thing but I did notice that it was a very intense and heavy scene far beyond any I had yet seen. I asked why it was that the male sessions were harder than the female ones.

I was told that was what they asked for.

Finally I got up the courage to point out to Gloria that I had asked for it to, but she had been so tough with me.

“Are you saying I don’t spank you hard enough?” She was offended I think.

It was hard to explain but finally she suggested that we do a really heavy scene, but that I would have to think about it for a couple of weeks first. I can’t tell you how excited I was.

Finally the day came and I went around to her flat.

The first thing she did was spank me harder than I have ever been spanked before. I couldn’t stop crying and by the end I kept saying I was sorry for, well just about everything.

Then she put me in the corner in handcuffs and pretty much left me there.

Later on she had me bend over this padded bench thing with my bum sticking up. I had had the cane before, but not like this. It felt like cuts and after about four or five I was yelling and crying for real.

Not only didn’t she stop, but she made me ask and beg for more. On and on it went until I said I would do anything.

I am not a lesbian, but you can imagine what ‘anything’ consisted of. Well you probably can’t, it was pretty full on and she explored some fairly extreme BDSM stuff with me as well as the obvious. She really loved it, having a submissive hetro girl and she really made the most of it. I really got off on the submission of it, I can’t explain. Not properly.

I stayed the night with her and on Sunday afternoon before I left, she gave me another spanking with a strap thing that really hurt and left me unable to sit easily. The marks lasted ages.

The next time I saw her she asked if that was what I wanted and I said it was.

After that I got more of the same about once a month and she introduced me to a couple of guys, which was more my thing. I even got a serious birching from a man I had to call uncle. I swear it felt like my bum had been sandblasted during and afterwards, and I think I cried for about an hour. I felt so clean. Like my soul had been purged.

This was five years ago and I have my own man now. It is harder to make me cry these days, but about once a month he manages it.

Thanks for your blog and for letting me tell my story.

=

Thank you Rachel.

Actually it is raining, but rained-under isn’t so romantic.

It’s funny how the holidays leave less time for blogging than the usual working week. Never mind there is some cool stuff coming and I don’t mean snow, although now that it is surplus to requirements I bet that arrives too.