Mr Whacker

Six off the best

2012-01-22T23:26:00.001Z

Alright I'll admit I've really been neglecting this blog lately. As you can see I've added a new story and, as this is supposed to be a blog, I'd also like to share some of my more personal experiences of giving corporal punishment.

I'm a very lucky old headmaster because I have a young and pretty wife who we'll call Elaine. Now Elaine is happy to dress up as my fantasy version of a naughty Fifth Form school girl and get her bottom spanked most weekends. She doesn't really enjoy the spankings but feels the need for correction and will take a mild punishment with the hand or slipper.

However last week she was more than usually naughty and so earned herself a proper school girl punishment, six of the best from her Headmaster on the bare bottom. I gave her the junior cane and made her count the strokes and thank me for each one. It hurt quite a bit apparently, left some lovely stripes on her cheeks and there were tears on the pillow from one very contrite school girl. Enjoy.

Kneeling on the chair, skirt up ...

knickers down ...

for six stokes of the cane ...

on her naughty schoolgirl bottom.

Tears before bedtime.

Into the corner to reflect on her behaviour.

Julie Visits The Gym

2012-01-22T17:09:00.001Z

A story from a prolific schoolgirl spanking author Mike from London. Unfortunately his story site disappeared a few years ago but I hope he wont mind me publishing a few of his excellent stories here.

Fifteen year old Julie Parker hurried along the school corridor hardly looking where she was going. She had loitered by her classroom until most of the girls had left, but now it was six minutes since the bell for the end of school had gone and she knew that she needed to hurry. Julie felt sick. She could feel her heart pumping away at twice its normal speed. The next half an hour or so was going to be awful in any case but at least she didn’t have to make it still worse by being late. She hadn’t wanted anyone to see where she was going, but now she realised that she might have waited too long.

"Hey, Julie! Wait for me!"

Oh, god. It was the voice of Sheila, a girl in her class. The last thing that she wanted was to talk to her now. Julie lowered her head, pretending that she hadn’t heard and continued to hurry along the corridor. It was no use. The other girl ran up to her and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Julie! Didn’t you hear me? Come on, let’s walk home together."

Julie carried on walking quickly along the corridor and shook her head, not looking into Sheila’s eyes. "Um, no. I can’t Sheila. I’m sorry."

"What’s the matter, Julie? Is something wrong?" asked Sheila, concerned at her friend’s unusual manner.

Julie decided that she would have to tell her. After all Sheila was her friend and she could trust her not to talk about it. It wouldn’t be so bad if Sheila knew - she’d been in the same position herself, after all.

Rather dramatically, she drew a small red envelope out of the pocket of her blue school blazer. "Look!"

Sheila immediately understood the significance. Red envelopes were given to the girls who had been told to attend one of Miss Drake’s weekly punishment sessions in the school gym. They contained the recommendation as to how many smacks from the gym mistress’s plimsoll or strokes of the cane the naughty girl should receive. They had to be delivered with their seals unbroken.

"Oh, Julie! I’m sorry . . . I never guessed. You kept that very quiet."

"Yes. I didn’t want anyone to know. You won’t tell anyone, will you?"

"No. Of course not. Don’t worry. It’s your first time, isn’t it?"

Julie nodded.

"Well, you’ll be okay. Just do everything Frances tells you straightaway. It’s horridly shameful and it does hurt but you’ll soon get over it. You’ll probably get the slipper, as it’s your first time - that’s not so bad. And you’re right. You’d better hurry - she’ll take it out on you if you’re late!"

Julie nodded and scurried on towards the gym. She knew that Sheila knew what she was talking about. Her friend had gone through a phase a couple of years earlier when she had attended more than one of Miss Drake’s punishment sessions. Sheila walked off more slowly in the opposite direction.

As Julie neared the gym she saw a queue of girls lined up outside the changing rooms under the eye of the young gym teacher. She was in time! Thankfully, she joined the end of the line.

The teacher looked at her watch and grunted. "Just in time! What’s your name, girl?"

Julie answered her, rather surprised that the teacher did not recognise her. She had taken her class for PE the year before. Miss Drake made a mark against her name in a list she was holding.

"Right! That’s it!" she announced. "It’s five to four. One girl’s still not here and she’ll be regretting that before too long! The rest of you file into the changing room and stand by the benches."

When they were all in the room the gym mistress addressed the naughty girls.

"Right, girls! You are all here for punishment. Most of you have been here before but I can see some new faces, so I’ll just explain a few things.

"First, you are here because you have broken school rules in a particularly outrageous way or have misbehaved over a long period after warnings. You all deserve punishment and every one of you will leave this school today with a very sore bottom. When I punish a girl I make sure that she feels it. So if any of you were hoping to be let off, you can forget that idea right now!

"Next, you each have a red envelope which contains the recommendations made by the teacher who sent you here. But it is I, not he or she, who decides how many smacks of the plimsoll or strokes of the cane your backside will feel. I have authority to double the suggested punishment or, if I feel that the girl’s demeanour justifies it, I can reduce the number of strokes by a third.

"So if a teacher recommends four strokes I can administer between three and eight strokes."

She smiled grimly. "All fractions are rounded up, you see!"

After a pause she continued. "If eight or more smacks with the slipper have been recommended I can change the punishment to a caning, and I can also vary a recommendation of the cane to a dose with the slipper. Teachers recommend up to twelve smacks of the slipper or eight strokes of the cane, but in their wisdom the governors limit me to twelve with the cane and twenty with the slipper! So a recommendation of eight strokes of the cane allows me between six and twelve. And, as those of you who’ve been here before know, even three or four smacks from my plimsoll is not a pleasant experience.

"I will not tell you how many strokes you will get, but I shall expect you to stay in place until I tell you that you may stand. You have called the tune and now it is time for you to pay the piper. If you do not stay in place I will apply extra strokes. And the maximum limits on strokes do not apply in this case, nor in any other instance of additional punishment for misbehaviour in my presence. So I strongly advise all of you to do what I say, when I say it!"

Julie had been looking around while the teacher was speaking. She hadn’t really been listening to what the teacher was saying - she had already heard most of it from the reports of Sheila and other naughty, or unlucky, girls. She also knew that the slipper was the usual means of punishment for the first two years, whereas girls in the higher years were more likely to get the cane, unless it was their first visit. Instead she was looking around to see if there were any girls she knew in the changing room. There were more girls than she’d expected - nine apart from herself. The first girl she recognised was Maxine Reynolds, a girl in her year but not in her class. That wasn’t a surprise. Maxine was always in trouble and she had not tried to hide the fact that she was due for another whacking. Maxine caught Julie’s eye and gave a rueful half-smile, welcoming Julie to the club.

But Julie was surprised at the next girl she recognised. Caroline Levy, a girl in her class, was probably the last girl in the school she would have expected to see there. She was always such a well-behaved, quiet girl. What on earth could she have done? Julie hadn’t heard a whisper about it. Still, she’d done her best to keep her own punishment secret and presumably Caroline had done the same. Caroline avoided Julie’s eyes and gazed down towards her shoes.

One more face was familiar - Sarah Brookes, the elder sister of Julie’s best friend, Mandy. Sarah was eighteen years old and in the sixth form. Unlike most of the other girls there she was not dressed in school uniform. Instead she was wearing light brown slacks and a blue tee-shirt. Like Caroline, Sarah avoided returning Julie’s glance. Julie could imagine that at her age it must be terribly humiliated to be spanked at all and that it must be even worse for her to know that her baby sister’s best friend would witness her shameful ordeal.

There was another girl also wearing trousers instead of school uniform. Julie knew that she must also be a sixth former like Sarah or else in the fifth year as all the girls apart from seniors had to wear the uniform, but she did not recognise her.

Meanwhile Miss Drake was continuing with her lecture, but just as she did so the girls heard a hesitant knock on the changing room door. The gym teacher walked over and opened it. A frightened looking girl who Julie guessed to be a second year was standing outside.

"Tracey Compton! You’re late!"

"I’m sorry, miss. I was on my way, but I really had to go to the toilet and when I got here the dmor was already closed. I didn’t know whether to knock or to go away. I’ve been standing there for ages!"

"Well! You made the right choice in the end. It would have been much worse for you if you hadn’t turned up at all. But, now, come in and stand there! You missed the part of my introductory talk when I explained that I can award corporal punishment for other misbehaviour - such as lateness - additional to that for the reason you’ve been sent here, so I will allow you to experience it for yourself. You will serve as a demonstration to other girls who haven’t been here before of what a slippering is like"

Tracey entered the changing room rather hesitatingly and trembling slightly. Miss Drake closed the door behind her and, telling the dilatory girl to wait, went into her office and emerged a moment or two later carrying a large white plimsoll. "Bend down and hold onto your legs below your knees!" the gym mistress ordered.

Tracey obeyed. Julia had a good view of how the girl’s blue school skirt rode up as she did so, however it still covered her bottom. She wondered if the teacher would order Tracey to lift her skirt, exposing her knickers. Instead, however, Miss Drake simply drew the slipper back and delivered an almighty whack to the naughty girl’s skirt covered rear.

Julie’s eyes widened in shock. She had never seen a slippering before and she was amazed to see just how much force the tall, fit twenty five year old teacher was using. There were gasps of surprise from a couple of her fellow culprits, too. But poor Tracey’s reaction was still more extreme. The force of the blow actually caused her to unbalance and topple forward. She was more embarrassed than hurt, however, although Julie realised that that whack must have really stung even through the younger girl’s skirt and knickers, and she soon scrambled to her feet and resumed her position, rather red-faced.

The gym mistress delivered a further five hard smacks to the tightly-stretched seat of Tracey’s blue skirt. The girl managed to stay in position, holding on to her legs, but she could not prevent an audible gasp as each of the last smacks smashed down. Julie was still shocked at how hard the teacher was hitting the naughty girl. Each impact of the slipper sounded as loud as a pistol shot.

Finally it was over. Miss Drake put the plimsoll down on a shelf. "Remain in that position until I tell you to get up, Tracey," she said, "just in case I need to make use of your bottom to provide further examples for your colleagues!"

Julie could see Tracey’s face, upside down and largely hidden by her cascading brown hair. It was nonetheless evident to her that the girl was crying quietly. Julie was very pleased that she had just managed to arrive on time, otherwise she might have been in Tracey’s position.

Miss Drake, ignoring the bending girl as she continued to wriggle in her uncomfortable and humiliating posture, continued her introductory remarks:

"I will expect you all to stay in position throughout your punishments. Like Tracey here you will not stand up until I tell you to." The teacher added point to her remarks by delivering a sharp hand slap to the girl’s bottom. Tracey’s whole body quivered but she remained bending forward.

"Anyone who does stand up before I give permission, or anyone who puts a hand in the way or tries in any way to avoid or delay punishment will get extra strokes.

"And after the punishment you will not rub, or even touch, your bottoms. Any girl who does so will get extra.

"You will all change into PE kit, apart from plimsolls, for your punishment. You will wear the school gym shorts, tops and socks which you will find in the appropriate cupboard for your year. Any girl who normally takes off her glasses for gym should do so. They might fall off. You will change quickly and without fuss, but without knocking into each other. And be careful walking when you get into the gym! The floor can be slippery when you’re just wearing socks.

"Now, unless there are any questions, you can begin to change. As soon as you’re ready go into the gym and line up along the far wall facing the horse, with your hands on your heads. Remember to take your envelopes with you; and remember, time wasting will be punished!" And with that the gym mistress delivered another sharp slap to Tracey’s rear and told the unfortunate girl to stand up and find a place to change.

Julie didn’t expect that there would be any questions and she was just about to move towards the fourth year equipment cupboard when she heard a nervous voice. "Please, miss!"

She looked around. It was the senior girl whose name she did not know.

"Lindsey Collins, 5A, isn’t it? What is it, girl?"

"Please, miss, can’t we wear our own gym kit? I brought mine with me." This was the sixteen year old’s first time at a punishment session. She was rather spoiled and didn’t want to wear shorts that other girls had worn. School gym shorts were navy blue but Lindsey’s own shorts, like those of most of the girls, were white in colour.

Julie thought that Miss Drake looked a little annoyed at the unexpected question, but she answered pleasantly enough.

"No, Lindsey. It’s the same for everyone - school kit."

But Lindsey could not leave it alone. "Oh, please miss. Why not?"

Julie drew a deep breath. The stupid cow was going to get Miss Drake angry and make it worse for everyone!

"Right! Out here Lindsey!" snapped the teacher, taking the plimsoll from the shelf.

Julie looked at the tall fifth former. Her face suddenly went white with shock and her mouth dropped open. She walked slowly to the front, looking close to tears.

"Stand where Tracey did and bend forward."

The dejected girl obeyed, taking hold of the material of her dark grey trousers just below the knee. For a couple of moments Julie thought she was going to say something, but in the end Lindsey had just enough sense not to.

"Further over and keep your legs straight!" ordered the gym mistress.

As Lindsey bent as far forward as she could Julie saw the dark grey material at the seat of her trousers plump out as they stretched tautly over the sixteen year old’s large and curvy rear.

Slipper in hand the teacher turned to address the watching girls. "Lindsey has, unintentionally I am sure, given me an opportunity for another useful demonstration. Tracey is a junior girl, so I let her off lightly. Now I will show you all, and especially Lindsey, what a real slippering is like!"

She turned towards Lindsey. "Right, Lindsey. Stay bent over until I tell you you can get up."

With that she raised the slipper up above her shoulders and walloped it down, twisting her body as she did so to put all her force into the blow. Julie saw immediately the gym mistress had not been bluffing. The severity of Tracey’s punishment had surprised her, but this was much worse. She saw the slipper dent deeply into the rounded curves of Lindsey’s trouser-clad bottom with a sound like a firework exploding.

The sixteen year old could not withhold a sharp "Oww!" but she remained bent over in position as the angry teacher continued to whack the rubber plimsoll down onto her large backside, concentrating on each bottom cheek alternately.

After six smacks Miss Drake showed no sign of stopping and Lindsey’s yelps were beginning to sound more and more frantic. Another two smacks proved too much for the naughty teenager. With a frantic shriek she half straightened and one hand went to her right bottom cheek to protect it from further blows from that slipper. But Miss Drake did not pause. Instead she whipped the slipper down for another smack, just as hard, to land right on top of the back of Lindsey’s hand.

"Yeeoww! Oh! Oh! Oh!" Lindsey couldn’t believe it. She twisted round dashing her injured hand to her lips where she blew on it and fondled it against her lips.

"I warned you," Miss Drake said, unsympathetically. "And it’s the same for all girls sent here for punishment. Anyone who stands up before I give permission, anyone who puts a hand in the way or tries in any way to avoid or delay punishment will get extra. Now, Lindsey, bend over again right now - unless you want me to go and get my cane!"

Evidently Lindsey did not. Slowly the chastened girl resumed the punishment position, straightening her legs when told. Four more powerful smacks followed - each one harder than the last. Finally Miss Drake stopped and stood back. Lindsey was now crying quietly to herself and wriggling her intensely sore bum from side to side.

"Well, Lindsey. That concludes your punishment for arguing with me. I hope that you have learned your lesson and that your experience will prove a valuable example for the other girls here. But I warned you that putting a hand in the way would mean extra smacks. You have two more to come."

With that the teacher rapidly delivered two final hard wallops with the slipper. The earlier smacks had alternated but these both landed on Lindsey’s right buttock and, judging from her anguished yells, clearly hurt like hell. Lindsey stayed bent over in position but at each impact her head shot upwards and her blonde hair flew wildly. Julie knew that the fifth former had brought her punishment on herself, but she was beginning to feel sorry for her. Like everybody else she still had her full punishment to come.

"All right, Lindsey. Stand up and return to your place."

Lindsey stood up and her hands immediately went to rub her sore bottom. Julie could hardly believe it and she heard gasps from the other girls that indicated that they, too, were astonished.

Miss Drake grabbed Lindsey by her shoulders. "Lindsey! You’re in the A stream, but you seem to have difficulties with your memory! I said no rubbing! Right! Bend over again!"

Poor Lindsey turned to the angry teacher, her face screwed up. She mouthed the word "Please", but it was no use. Very slowly she bent forward again, presenting her sore and tender bottom for further punishment.

Again the smacks came hard and fast, concentrating on Lindsey’s right bottom cheek. Each one evoked a yell, but she managed to stay in place. Four more whacks, meaning that she’d taken eighteen smacks on her bottom plus the one on her hand. This time when she was told to stand she stood shifting her weight from foot to foot and squirming in pain, but kept her hands well away from her punished bottom.

"Well, madam," Miss Drake enquired sarcastically, "do you think that’s taught you not to rub yourself after a punishment?"

Lindsey nodded, her lips still pressed tightly closed.

"Well, I think it’s taught your bottom a lesson, but your hands still need to learn! Hold out your left hand!"

Lindsey had learned something at least. She didn’t argue with the teacher but obediently extended her left hand, palm up. Miss Drake adjusted its position until she was satisfied and then whipped the plimsoll down across the soft flesh of the school girl’s palm.

It didn’t sound as loud as the noise of the slipper cracking onto the girl’s tightly stretched trousers, but it obviously hurt - a lot. Lindsey waved her hand frantically and hopped from foot to foot.

Miss Drake stood there impassively. "Other hand!"

Lindsey was very reluctant to hold out her right hand. It still throbbed from the smack it had received earlier. Eventually she did though and as soon as it was in position the gym mistress brought down her slipper again.

Julie thought that Lindsey’s punishment must be over now. But Miss Drake was not satisfied until both of the girl’s hands had felt another slipper blow. Finally the teacher let her wriggle her way back to her place, tears pouring from her eyes.

"Any other questions?"

Unsurprisingly there were none. Miss Drake positioned herself by the door to the gym and told the girls to start changing. Julie selected a pair of navy shorts from the fourth year equipment cabinet. The material seemed very thin, almost worn thrmugh in parts. Julie tried another pair, but it was just as bad. Unhappily, the schoolgirl wondered if the seat of the shorts had worn thin as a result of the numerous blows it must have felt over the years from slipper and cane! As she changed she noticed Lindsey Collins wincing as she pulled down her trousers and her knickers. The whole of the tall girl’s large bottom shone a bright red. Julie took a deep breath and concentrated on getting changed as quickly as possible.

One by one the girls, in full gym kit apart from their plimsolls, began to pass through into the gym and to form a line where directed by the schoolmistress. Julie was fairly quick in changing and she found herself between Sarah Brookes and a younger, West Indian, girl whom she didn’t know. In the middle of the gym she saw the large gym horse over which she knew they were to be punished. And in the far corner, opposite the door to the changing room, she could see a small trestle from which a large plimsoll, evidently the twin to that which Tracey and Lindsey had felt, and a long slender cane hung suspended. Before very long, Julie thought, one of those two implements would be whacking against her poor bottom. At the thought her hands crushed the red envelope in her dark hair as she suppressed their natural instinct to fly to her rear.

Lindsey was the last girl of all. She was obviously still feeling the effects of her slippering and she walked slowly and carefully to take her place at the end of the line.

When all eleven girls were lined up Miss Drake addressed them once more:

"I shall deal with you in the order in which you reported to me. When I call your name you will come forward and hand me your envelope. I will then tell you to bring me either the slipper or the cane. You will do so and then assume the punishment position across the horse. You will not leave that position until I tell you that you may do so. Is that understood?"

There was silence in reply. Miss Drake consulted her list. "Linda King, 2A!"

Out of the corner of her eye Julie saw a small girl move forward. She handed the envelope to the teacher, who opened it and examined the contents. "Fetch me the slipper, Linda", she ordered, dropping the envelope and the note onto the floor of the gym.

The girl began to walk towards the trestle but, on hearing Miss Drake’s "Faster girl!" broke into a trot. She returned and offered the plimsoll to the teacher.

"Over the horse, Linda!"

It took the girl some time to get into position over the gym equipment. Miss Drake made her reach right down the other side to grasp some hand holds. Julie saw that the blue gym shorts were stretched tight over the girl’s small bottom.

The teacher raised the plimsoll and took a step back. Julie realised that Linda could not know how many smacks she was going to get.

THWACKK!

The slipper came down at terrific speed, the sound of its contact with Linda’s shorts echoing around the gymnasium. Julie realised that, despite the disparity in the girls’ ages, Miss Drake was using as much force with Linda as she had earlier with Lindsey.

Bravely Linda remained silent after that smack and for the two following. But the fourth smack brought out a sharp yell of pain which was repeated more frantically as another two slipper-smacks crashed onto the girl’s smarting backside.

After six strokes the teacher stood back. Linda squirmed across the horse in obvious discomfort, her bottom wriggling and her legs moving tremblingly.

"All right, Linda. You can get down."

The little girl obeyed too quickly and in her hurry fell down - onto her sore bottom. She gasped in pain but, as she struggled to her feet, Julie saw that she was quick-witted enough to resist the temptation to rub her behind.

On the teacher’s instructions Linda returned the slipper to the trestle and scuttled back. Miss Drake then made her go over to one end of the wall bars and stretch herself right up as much as possible so as to grasp the highest bar she could. When she was satisfied with Linda’s position Miss Drake consulted her list again.

"Andrea Garner, 3B"

Andrea was the girl standing to Julie’s right. She went forward and offered her envelope to the teacher.

Miss Drake stared at the naughty girl for a moment and then pronounced: "Right, Andrea. This time it’s the cane for you!"

Julie saw how, just for a second, Andrea’s eyes had widened in shock and her mouth had gaped open, but she soon recovered herself and went to bring back the cane.

Unlike Linda, Andrea had no difficulty in assuming the proper position over the horse. Julie guessed, correctly, that she’d been there before.

Miss Drake whipped the cane through the air in practice strokes. Julie felt sick. It was horribly flexible and hissed like a nest of maddened hornets. Andrea’s bottom flexed as each stroke flailed the air. And then, with no further warning, the next time Miss Drake landed the cane squarely across Andrea’s quivering bottom.

Andrea yelped and Julie saw her whole body shudder at the violent blow. Three more strokes followed and Julie was impressed to see Andrea take them bravely in silence. The teacher stood back after the fourth stroke had bitten home and told Andrea that she could stand up.

Andrea walked very slowly when returning the cane to the trestle and when coming back afterwards. Several times she stopped and, Julie felt, was on the point of clasping her hands to her bottom. Julie thought she was relieved when she was standing next to Linda, holding onto a wall bar. Still, Julie thought it was encouraging that the first caning qhe had ever witnessed had not reduced its victim to tears.

The next girl to be dealt with was Claire Williamson. Claire was in the same form as Andrea and had arrived with her. Claire, unlike the West Indian schoolgirl, was not a repeat offender and she was sent for the slipper, not the cane. However she was by no means let off lightly. Claire’s bottom received no fewer than twelve resounding slipper smacks from Miss Drake’s plimsoll and the fourteen year old was in tears well before the infliction was over.

Miss Drake was not satisfied when Claire stretched up to hold onto the wall bars after her slippering. She insisted on Claire grasping a higher bar, until the tips of her toes barely touched the gym floor, with her arms forced to take nearly all of her weight. When the gym mistress was finally happy with Claire’s position she walked slowly towards the bars to stand in front of Andrea.

"You were told to stretch up as high as you could, Claire. While you are here I expect you to do as you are told or to face the consequences! Now, hold on tight. This is going to sting!"

With that she administered two sharp slaps to the backs of Claire’s thighs, below the blue gym shorts. The naughty teenager yelped at each slap and twisted frantically, but managed to retain her hold on the metal bar.

"I hope that the rest of you benefit from Claire’s experience. I expect you to hold on as high up as you can."

As Miss Drake walked slowly back to the horse Julie saw the twin splotches of red spreading out on the pale flesh of Claire’s legs.

Julie wondered who was going to be next. It was Caroline Levy, the girl she had been so surprised to see there. As her name was called Caroline walked slowly forward and handed her envelope to the teacher. Julie was shocked when Miss Drake told her to fetch the cane. Once again she wondered what on earth Caroline could have done. She had hoped Caroline would get the slipper. This was a bad omen for her.

As Caroline handed the cane to the teacher Julie saw that she was already crying quietly. Caroline had considerable difficulty getting into place over the horse. Miss Drake was not willing to wait and she encouraged the clumsy girl with a couple of hard slaps to her bare thighs.

When Caroline was finally in place the teacher raised the cane and lashed it down hard onto her flinching bottom. Julie winced sympathetically as her classmate howled in pain, her body bucking over the large horse. Like Andrea, Caroline received four strokes, but she did not take her punishment nearly so well as the younger girl. It seemed to Julie that the teacher was laying on the cane with considerably more force. After the fourth whack Miss Drake instructed the caned girl to stand up, but Caroline remained wriggling over the horse, crying bitterly.

Only after another two sharp hand slaps to her still reddened thighs did Caroline dismount. She danced around on the floor of the gym wailing and, completely oblivious to everything except the pain in her bottom, pressed her hands to the seat of her shorts, vainly trying to control the stinging.

It was the worst thing she could have done. Miss Drake grabbed her roughly and shook her until the nearly hysterical girl could understand what she was saying. Then she made her bend over again for extra strokes. The teacher unleashed a workmanlike stroke, not quite so hard as the ones Caroline had already received but still at least as powerful as those Andrea had felt. Caroline straightened, but did not reach back and bent down again when ordered. Miss Drake delivered one more stroke. Once again Caroline leapt upright, but this time the gym mistress allowed her to dance around for a few moments.

The girl’s punishment for "touching" was not over yet, however. Miss Drake made her hold out her left hand. Caroline did so, the smart in her rear inducing her to obey any instructions. The teacher warned her to hold it steady, because if she didn’t do so her fingers might be damaged. The cane lashed down and Caroline responded with a high pitched cry of agony, waving her hand wildly and frantically blowing on it in a fruitless effort to ease the unbearable pain. Caroline’s right hand suffered similarly before the teacher decided that she had been punished enough.

Poor Caroline found it hard to carry the cane as she stumbled back to the trestle. Finally she hobbled over to the wall bars, the cold bar perhaps bringing some slight comfort to her throbbing hands.

The next girl over the horse was also from Julie’s year. Maxine, too, got a caning and it seemed to Julie that Miss Drake hit her even harder than she had Caroline. Maxine took six strokes, all genuine stingers, before the gym mistress told her to stand up. She had taken her caning in silence but as she stood, on unsteady legs, Julie saw that involuntary tears were running down her classmate’s pale cheeks. As Maxine reached up to grasp a high wall bar after returning the cane to its place her tight blue gym shorts rode up to reveal some of the swollen marks left by the cane. Julie shivered at the thought of how much they must be hurting.

The next girl to be called was Lindsey Collins. Lindsey had obviously not yet recovered from her recent slippering. Miss Drake looked at her red envelope and told her to fetch the cane. But when the fifth former reached the trestle she just stood there and turned round and looked at the gym mistress, silently and tearfully.

Julie was surprised as Miss Drake showed that she could be merciful. "Very well, Lindsey. Bring me the slipper."

Lindsey scurried back to the teacher, holding the slipper carefully in her still-throbbing hands, before she could change her mind. As she draped herself across the horse Julie could see that the gym shorts the fifth former had unwillingly chosen were a little small for her. They clung like a second skin to the girl’s curved bottom, revealing areas of flesh still glowing bright red from Lindsey’s earlier dose of the slipper.

Miss Drake had mentioned earlier that she could give up to twelve strokes of the cane or twenty of the slipper, and Lindsey now received a full twenty smacks. Julie couldn’t imagine how much it must hurt on top of the eighteen smacks Lindsey had taken earlier. Despite her status as a senior girl Lindsey made a tremendous fuss but she stayed in position. Eventually the gym mistress told the sobbing girl to stand up.

It took a while for Lindsey to replace the slipper and to go and stand next to Maxine, stretching high up the wall bars. Like Claire, Lindsey had to be told to grip a higher bar and earned herself a stinging slap across the back of both thighs.

It was Sarah’s turn next. Julie felt isolated. Her neighbours on both sides were gone. Now only three other girls and herself were left in the line-up. She was not surprised when Sarah was sent for the cane.

Miss Drake always made an example of any six formers unfortunate enough to be sent to her for punishment. Sarah had hit another girl in the heat of a quarrel about boyfriends. Her teacher had recommended eight strokes of the cane. Miss Drake smiled grimly. She intended to give this young lady the maximum of twelve strokes!

Julie wondered if Sarah had had the cane before. In fact she had, but the last time was over two years earlier. The eighteen year old was very embarrassed to be there again - and especially in front of her baby sister’s best friend.

Once Miss Drake started, though, Sarah forgot about the embarrassment. Her priority, her only thought, was the intense stinging pain in her nether regions. She screwed her mouth and her eyes tightly shut, resolving to take her punishment in silence.

The teacher whipped the cane onto the girl’s bottom again and again. This time she let herself go and exercised all her strength and skill. Sarah’s previous encounter with the cane had been just four strokes. This time it seemed as if it would never end.

Somehow the sixth former managed to take the first eight strokes in silence. But the next, landing on the swelling weals left by earlier strokes, evoked an ear-splitting howl. Sarah started to sob like a baby. Julie watched horrified. She had thought it might be funny to watch her friend’s sister get the cane - but this wasn’t funny, it was terrifying.

Despite Sarah’s tears, her barely comprehensible pleas for mercy and the way her juddering bottom encased in the tight blue shorts moved across the horse, Miss Drake did not moderate the force of her last few strokes at all. Only when Sarah had taken a full twelve of the very best did she stop and order the girl to dismount.

Sarah obeyed but her legs would not support her and she tumbled to the ground, landing on her poor injured bottom! She shrieked and remained writhing on the ground, howling. Miss Drake clutched her hair and dragged her upright. Julie watched as the caned girl returned the punishment implement to the trestle and stumbled over to take her place by the wall bars.

Susan Brown was next. She was the smallest and youngest girl there, still in the first year. She took her six from the slipper bravely enough. As she dismounted the horse, in tears, Julie realised that there would just be one girl more and then it would be her own turn. Tracey would obviously be the last girl to be dealt with, and she had been the last one to arrive before the second year. She wriggled her bottom involuntarily, her hands still tightly clenched in her hair. She wondered if it would be better for her if the next girl also got the slipper - so Miss Drake might have gotten into the habit by her turn - or if she should hope for the cane - so that by the law of averages it would be the slipper for her.

Whatever Julie’s private wishes Lisa Whitaker, the third year girl whose turn was next, was sent for the cane. She received four strokes and each one evoked a loud shriek as the supple rattan slashed down onto the thin cotton shorts tightly stretched over her teenage rear. Poor Lisa walked slowly and stiffly as she returned the cane to the trestle and then made her way to the wall bars to stretch high up next to Susan. Julie felt a shiver go through her body. It would be her turn now.

Miss Drake must have known that she was next, but she made a point of consulting her list.

"Julie Parker, 4B!"

It was some relief to Julie to be able to move her hands from her head. She took a deep breath and walked forward, handing her envelope to the gym mistress. Miss Drake opened the envelope and read the note it enclosed. She looked at Julie, running her eyes up and down assessingly. Julie’s knees knocked together.

"Fetch me the slipper, Julie!"

A very relieved Julie ran off to retrieve the plimsoll. She was keen to bring it back before the teacher could change her mind and ask her for the cane. She handed the plimsoll over and obediently draped herself over the leather horse.

WHACKK!!

From the first stroke Julie realised that she had not got off all that lightly. It stung unbelievably!

WHACKK!!

Before she had had a chance to come to terms with the smart, the next stroke followed. Now her entire bottom was on fire and Julie was struggling hard to hold back the tears.

WHACKK!!

WHACKK!!

Two more swingeing strokes followed. Julie was now in tears. Her poor bottom felt swollen to twice its normal size and stinging with unbearable intensity. "Please no more!" she prayed silently as she tasted her tears through her tightly closed lips.

But Miss Drake was not ready to stop. The teacher’s recommendation had been four eight slipper whacks, and that was what Julie was going to get. Ignoring the girl’s frantic reactions the gym mistress applied a further four hard whacks to her bouncing bottom, encased in the blue school gym shorts. Each whack now evoked a high pitched yelp.

After eight whacks Julie lay across the horse weeping bitterly, her blazing bottom wriggling in the expectation of further punishment. The teacher’s barked order came as a relief:

"Off the horse, girl!"

Julie dismounted, slowly and painfully. All her instincts were telling her to clasp her hands to her so-sore posterior, but by a great effort of will she resisted. She took the slipper from the teacher and returned it to the trestle. Then, as instructed, she went over to the wall bars, next to Lisa and reached up as high as she could.

As she did so the just spanked flesh stretched, sending another tremor of pain through her whole body. Her hands clenched the metal bar tightly as she tried, without noticeable success, to ignore the pain and the shame.

Julie expected that the sequence of punishments would now continue with Tracey. But scarcely had she gripped the bar and tried to adjust her position to reduce, even slightly, the discomfort than there was a commotion to her left. She dared a quick glance. Claire Williamson had fallen off of the bars!

"I’m sorry, Miss! I lost my grip!" Julie heard the younger girl’s frightened tones.

"You’ll be sorry, Claire! I can guarantee that," barked the teacher, "Fetch me the cane!"

"Oh, no Miss! Please! It was an accident! I didn’t fall off on purpose!"

"Don’t argue with me Claire. That would not be a good idea!"

Julie heard Claire set off to retrieve the cane and her own bottom throbbed in sympathy.

Claire took "only" two strokes - one for not staying in position and one for arguing - but they were both real stingers. Miss Drake told the schoolgirl to return the cane and to get back in place on the bars. Claire did so, but her sobs showed how much those two strokes must have hurt her already tender behind.

Julie was finding the intense sting in her own rear was now coming down to a more bearable level, almost a pleasant tingle. A pity it hadn’t been Sarah who had fallen off, she thought. That would really have given her something interesting to tell Mandy!

"Tracey Compton, 2B."

At last it was Tracey’s turn again. Like Julie, Tracey was sent for the slipper. Her allocation was six hard whacks that left her crying quietly to herself, just as her earlier dose had done.

Soon Tracey was stretching herself up on Julie’s right. The gym mistress addressed the wriggling backs of the punished girls:

"Well, girls, I imagine that you’re all feeling rather sorry for yourselves. But remember that your punishment is not over until you have got dressed again and leave the changing room. Until then any disobedience, any slackness, any talking, any time-wasting - in short anything that annoys me - will be dealt with in the manner with which you are all now painfully familiar! Now, I am going to tidy up in here and you will all stay in your present positions reflecting on your behaviour and its consequences.

"When I am ready I will walk along the line. When I slap your behind you will let go of the bar and go, quickly and quietly, into the changing room. You will change back into your school clothes as quickly as possible. There will be no talking. There will be no comparison of marks. You will put your gym kit into the laundry basket and then leave. And don’t linger in the corridors or washrooms - Mr Hawkins, the janitor, has standing instructions to bring any girl he finds hanging about back to me. I won’t spell out the consequences, but I dare say you can guess!

"Finally, a small incentive to get changed quickly. The last girl to get changed will get the slipper!"

With that Miss Drake turned away and began to clear things away, taking the trestle, cane and slipper to her office and moving the horse to the side of the gym. The girls shifted uncomfortably in their awkward, stretched posture. For Julie this was now the worst thing, but several other girls like Sarah and Claire were still trying to come to terms with the effects of Miss Drake’s cane on their posteriors.

When the gym mistress had completed her task she stood watching the girls for a few moments. "Not too bad," she thought, "I think they know they’ve been punished!"

She walked to the end of the line and noticed how Linda tensed herself in anticipation. Miss Drake liked to keep the girls guessing in these circumstances. She walked past Linda and delivered a terrific slap to Andrea Garner’s caned behind. The West Indian girl squeaked in surprise and pain and then dismounted from the bars and trotted back to the changing room.

Slowly, Miss Drake walked down the line of punished girls. She knew they would all be wondering who would be next. She walked all the way up to Tracey, smiling grimly at the girls’ involuntary reactions as she passed by. Then she slowly walked back again, before pausing behind Lindsey Collins. Then she delivered a hard slap across Sarah’s bottom and, simultaneously, another, with her left hand, to the seat of Maxine’s blue gym shorts. Poor Sarah gave vent to a loud shriek that echoed around the gym and both girls set off for the changing room.

One by one the girls received their slaps of dismissal. Julie was last of all and by her turn the slap was rather more symbolic than painful. Perhaps Miss Drake’s hand had become rather sore by then!

Julie started to get changed quickly. She didn’t want to be the last girl and earn another dose of the slipper. But she soon saw that she had little to fear. Sarah Brookes was still in intense discomfort after having taken a full twelve from Miss Drake’s cane. Every movement aggravated the stinging and the eighteen year old appeared to be changing in slow motion. Julie decided she would time things so that she was one from last. Then she would leave the room but wait outside so that she could listen to Sarah’s slippering and pass the details on to Mandy. She would risk the janitor!

It wasn’t difficult for Julie to carry out her plan. She had been the last girl into the changing room, after all and the other girls were all keen to get out of there as soon as possible. Soon only she, Sarah and Claire were left. Sarah was just beginning to try to manipulate herself into her brown trousers. Julie fiddled with a shoelace as Claire left the room gladly. She allowed her a few moments to get clear and then left the room herself, stopping to one side of the open door. She could hear everything that was happening.

There was a delay while Sarah evidently finished changing. Then the voice of the gym mistress:

"So. Just you and me, Sarah. You know what’s going to happen next. Stand where you are, while I fetch the slipper!"

"Please, Miss!" Julie was delighted to hear the tearful voice of her best friend’s sister begging for mercy. "I’m really sore! You know how hard you caned me. Please let me off!"

"Rules are rules, Sarah. It’s the same for you as the other girls. If you didn’t want the slipper, you should have got changed quicker!"

"Can’t I have the slipper on my hands, then, or come back next week for it? Oh, please miss, have a heart!"

Julie heard the ice in the gym mistress’s voice as she replied. "You will be slippered here and now, madam, just as any other girl would have been. And if you are not happy with that then, yes, you may come back next week. But not just for a slippering. For another full punishment session where you can expect another dozen with the cane!"

There was another pause. Evidently the unhappy Sarah had accepted her fate and Miss Drake had gone off for the plimsoll. Julie listened intently for what was going to happen next.

"Bend over, Sarah! Let’s get this over with. I’ve got a home to go to!"

Suddenly, as Julie listened intently, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She squealed in shock and jumped away. It was Mr Hawkins.

"Eavesdropping, were you girl? Let’s see what Miss Drake thinks about that!"

"I wasn’t listening, honestly. I was just going. Please don’t report me!" Julie could scarcely stammer out a coherent excuse. It wouldn’t have been any use, anyway. The janitor grabbed her by her shoulder and hustled her into the room.

If Mr Hawkins was surprised at the sight of an eighteen year old girl bending down while Miss Drake stood over her, slipper in hand, he didn’t show it. He had probably seen such sights often enough before. "She was standing outside the door, miss. She was listening to what was going on."

"I wasn’t, miss," exclaimed Julie, "really I wasn’t. My shoelace got undone and I had to do it up. I had just stood up after tying it when Mr Hawkins grabbed me!"

Miss Drake did not dignify the excuse with a reply. "Thank you, Mr Hawkins. You may be assured that that young lady will get what she deserves. Stand by the wall, Julie."

Mr Hawkins nodded politely at the gym teacher and left the room. "Right, Sarah. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting!"

With that she swung the slipper down onto the seat of Sarah’s brown trousers. To the watching, and agitated Julie, it did not seem that the teacher was using much force. But Miss Drake obviously knew that in the present state of Sarah’s bottom it was sufficient.

To young Sarah it was more than sufficient! She gasped sharply and desperately wriggled her bottom.

Three further firm taps followed, each one evoking a yell and more frantic wrigglings from the eighteen year old. Julie’s pleasure at this interesting scene was eclipsed by the thought of her own likely prospects.

After the fourth smack from the slipper, Miss Drake placed the plimsoll on a bench and regarded the errant sixth former’s punished rear. Sarah couldn’t keep still and the well-curved bottom encased in its tight cotton covering wobbled like a jelly. The teacher gently placed her hand on the punished rear, feeling the girl flinch at the contact. She could feel the tremendous heat radiating from the well-spanked bottom. As she delicately stroked the taut trousers she felt the swelling weals on Sarah’s firm flesh. The teacher sighed.

"Stand up, Sarah!"

The teenager straightened and did a quick war dance before standing as still as she could in front of the gym mistress.

"Very well, Sarah. You are dismissed. I don’t want to see you sent here again!"

Sniffing back her tears, the sixth form girl left.

The teacher turned to Julie.

"Evidently I was over lenient earlier, Julie. I won’t make that mistake this time! Come over here and bend over, touching your toes!"

Julie thought about repeating her excuse. But the expression on the teacher’s face convinced her that at this time discretion was the better part of valour. She bit her lip, moved forward and assumed the ignominious position as ordered.

Miss Drake smiled grimly. She picked up the plimsoll from the bench and looked at Julie’s small bottom, wavering slightly in its blue school skirt. She turned and walked into her office, leaving Julie bending down. When she returned she was carrying the cane, not the slipper! Julie was completely oblivious to the exchange, guessing that Miss Drake was keeping her waiting to make the tension worse.

To Julie’s consternation Miss Drake grasped the hem of her skirt and pulled it up, revealing her school knickers. That hadn’t happened to Tracey earlier! Still worse followed. Julie’s large school knickers covered most of her bottom and the gym teacher wanted to see the effect of the earlier slippering. The teacher leaned down and pulled the knickers into the cleft between the schoolgirl’s bottom cheeks. The marks of the earlier punishment could now be seen on Julie’s practically bare bottom. Miss Drake nodded her head. Still fairly red and one small bruise starting on the right cheek, but this girl had definitely got off lightly earlier.

The teacher tapped the cane lightly on the girl’s bottom. That touch was Julie’s first signal that something unexpected was happening. That wasn’t the slipper! The awful implications had not had time to seep through before the cane swished noisily through the air. It arrived at its destination with a resounding thwack. Julie’s earlier slippering had not prepared her for the intense sting that the cane could cause when wielded with any degree of force. She roared at the top of her voice in protest and jumped upright.

Julie did a war dance of pain, alternately flapping her arms and clutching herself below the school skirt which had fallen back into place.

"Julie! Back down again, NOW! That stroke won’t count. If you stand up again, you’ll get two extra."

Tears were pouring down Julie’s face. She couldn’t believe how much that one stroke had hurt. She had no idea how many strokes Miss Drake wanted to give her. She sobbed in shock, unable to speak.

"Do I have to keep raising my voice to you? Get back down at once!" Miss Drake shouted as Julie’s moans started to subside. Julie tried to steady herself. Her friends Caroline and Maxine had taken canings earlier on. Surely she was as tough as Caroline, at any rate. Julie drew a deep breath and reluctantly resumed her position. Miss Drake pulled her skirt up again, this time tucking the hem under the waistband to keep it in place. The girl’s knickers were still pulled up between her buttocks and Miss Drake could see a weal swelling painfully on both cheeks. Julie, now with more idea of what was to come, braced herself and tried to squeeze herself together as if trying to reduce the size of the target.

The angry gym teacher applied a further four full blooded strokes of the cane. Julie shrieked at each one and twisted and writhed frantically as the stinging in her bottom increased way past the point that she would previously have regarded as unbearable.

Finally, it was all over.

"Stand up, Julie!"

The fifteen year old straightened, sobbing pitifully. The teacher waited until her howls had started to die down.

"Don’t be such a big baby!" she said. "Let that be a lesson to you. You can go now - and don’t linger this time!"

Julie did not feel like lingering!

Part of this story is based on "The School Record" by Angela Richards - a must read book for anyone interested in schoolgirl punishments.

State of the blog

2010-10-03T10:51:00.001+01:00

Hi, I don’t go in for a lot of personal comment on my blog, which is the opposite of most bloggers. My blog was always intended as a way of giving everyone access to some of the great spanking material I have collected over the years. I admit I haven’t always been regular in my posting habits, often leaving gaps of several months while I go off and concentrate on other projects, and I don’t think that is going to change in the future. But I do intended to keep posting, however erratically, and I hope you will all continue to enjoy results.

I’d like to pay a special tribute to all the writers, photographers, artists and most especially the models, both known and anonymous, who have created all these wonderful fantasise that I’m privileged to share.

Justices' Night

2010-09-26T10:50:00.002+01:00

By Richard Manton

This is an extract from the Richard Manton novel ‘Girl’s Reformatory’ published by Blue Moon books. It repeats a scene found with variations in a number of his stories, something that could be regarded as a fault in most authors but I think in spanking literature repetition with small variations often works to increase the erotic appeal. Feel free to disagree!

Chapter Four:

"Be sure you are at hand on Friday evening," said Master Miles to me one morning, "It is justices' night, when several of the magistrates attend here to dine and see discipline inflicted. It is a matter of courtesy that we should oblige them."

I had no intention of showing other than courtesy to the wealthy and influential patrons who had found me my present employment. Apart from that, I was mightily curious about the famous institution of justices' night in a girls' reformatory. There were several girls who had lately joined the fourth and fifth forms of the reformatory school. I could not help hoping that some of them would be under discipline that night. I supposed that Sally Fenton would be dealt with for her scandalous conduct by the seaside. Other than that I had, as yet, no idea of what was intended.

The day arrived and the master's dining-room was prepared for his guests. I recall that the fine summer evening was still light as they were received in the parlour and treated to Dry Sack or German hock. They were, for the most part, middle-aged or elderly gentlemen of worthy appearance, regarded as pillars of respectability in the county.

You may be sure that they were universally praised for their resolve in committing young sluts and trollops to the reformatory. Indeed, the most respectable ladies of the county and its society were among their surest admirers. If it was rumoured that certain delinquent girls had their knickers taken down privately and their bare backsides tanned within the forbidding walls, our respectable ladies thought none the worse of the master for that.

As we went into dinner, where the table was laid with silver and cut-glass upon the purest linen, I was able to take a view of these dignitaries. Mr Snook was the eldest, rather piping and shrill in his dotage. Next to him sat the stout and burly figure of Mr Bowler, the famous saddler who supplies many of our mounted regiments. There was young Lord Frederick Cyr with his fair hair and limp moustaches. Who the others were, I did not know as yet.

The iced wine and strawberries with which we concluded dinner were scarcely enough to cool the excitement of the upright justices at the thought of the fun they were going to have with the delinquent girls. Brandy and cigars were handed round. Soon after nine o'clock with the last light of the summer evening fading from the western sky, we walked casually towards the scene of discipline, while fragrant Havana smoke drifted from the fine cheroots.

What I must describe now is a custom which will seem strange and disturbing to anyone not acquainted with English justice. It is a scene which includes lewdness and oddity. Yet if I am true to my task in keeping a faithful record, I cannot pass over it. There is no other nation on earth, I believe, where disciplinary zeal is stronger than in England—or where it is tinged with so fine a hue of moral satisfaction and private excitement.

The room in which Master Miles thrashed the girls on these occasions was a cavernous place of some size. It was prudently located out of sight and earshot of the main buildings.

The interior is lit by gas, flaring harshly on whitewashed walls. The windows are narrow, set very high up and closely barred. The paving of the floor is flagstones and the birching- block, slightly raised on a wooden surround, is securely bolted down at the room's centre. There is also a tall stool and a step-ladder, each equipped to hold a wayward nymph bending over it. To one side of the room stands a whipping- horse. This resembles a padded leather vaulting-buck, to take a proper young woman lying astride it. I saw that there was also a padded bench. A youngster like Jane Mitchener or Sally Fenton would be made to lie over it on her belly and present her bare bottom-cheeks to the spanking-strap.

On a narrow mahogany table is an assortment of such spanking-straps, birch-rods, canes, and whips of every sort. Among these, stands a bottle of pungent smelling-salts. If the head of a petite young wife like Jacqueline Grant or a cheeky little imp like Sally Fenton should droop during punishment, one of the master's assistants will hold the pungent aroma under her nose. By this means the culprit may be speedily restored and her punishment will be continued with little interruption. A randy young wriggler like Jackie Grant will be taken far beyond the ordinary limits of a judicial whipping by such means. Sally Fenton, Jane Mitchener and the other pert young fourth-form girls may have their bare bottom-cheeks skinned to an extent which might otherwise be questioned even in the case of a sexually mature young woman.

Such are the possibilities which the legal system offers, through its provisions for strapping down young wantons and curing a temporary swoon.

Several cushioned chairs had been set out a couple of yards to the rear of the block for the portly magistrates. Their bill of fare was to be varied and exciting that evening. It ranged from pretty Sally with her curls and impudence to auburn-haired little Madam Jacqueline who was almost ten years her elder and had tasted the pleasures of the bridal couch!

The punishments started at nine in the evening and would last all night, if that should prove necessary to complete them. A girl who had committed two offences would be thrashed twice during these hours. If she had committed three, she would be dealt with thrice. At each appearance she was treated as severely as the first time. The fault was hers for her repeated offences!

You may be sure that none of the justices favoured leniency, even when the discipline was to be of repeated severity. They took their places and cast their eyes upon the board which listed the names and misdeeds of the girls to be thrashed. I have a copy of it before me as I write.

I would be the first to admit that the strictest magistrate is also a man of normal masculine passions and eager sexual feelings. Were it not so, how should Old England breed her future leaders from such noble loins? The ruler of an estate, who sits as a justice, will stiffen in excitement to see a graceful sixteen-year-old nymph like Tracey Hope laid bare and strapped down, bending over a tall stool. Many a grey- haired member will stir as Tracey's demure young buttocks are stretched apart by this posture and her strained thighs offer a glimpse of lightly-haired femininity.

Yet this is no reason to condemn the system. It is advisable that a willowy nymph like Tracey or a young fifth-form siren like Michele Page should take her knickers down and receive the master's cane. In the reformatory, deprived of boys of their own age, such girls become fretful and heated, nervous and prone to outbursts. A little undressing and thrashing is far and away the best cure for such frustrations in a teenage nymph or schoolgirl tomboy. Better by far than that she should be at liberty to ride astride some young ruffian's erection and spawn a brood of infants to be supported at the cost of the parish. One cannot sufficiently commend punishment-lessons at regular intervals to cure Tracey Hope of wanting boy-friends or curbing a randy schoolgirl of fifteen like Michele. How 'wise the law of England is to insist that the sentence passed on such seductive little witches is at least four or five years—and that ample canes and birch-rods shall be provided!

Master Miles removed his black jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Choosing a bamboo cane that was wickedly long and supple, he went to the fat door and called in a stentorian voice.

"ELAINE COX!"

The girl who entered, a matron holding her by either arm, was a sturdy adolescent rebel dressed in school uniform. Elaine had first been consigned to the reformatory when she was thirteen. She would remain for five more years.

Elaine Cox was notorious as a shouting, striding youngster, defiantly tossing back the lank fair hair which was combed from its central parting to lie loose upon her shoulders. The broad oval of her face, with its slum-child's features of narrowed eyes and thin mouth, was a portrait of snub-nosed insolence. She was dressed in her white school blouse and striped tie, her grey pleated skirt worn brazenly short, as if to flaunt the pallor of her robust young thighs and to suggest the sturdiness of her adolescent hips.

She stood before the justices, her contempt for them clearly shown in the narrow slant of her dark eyes with their fleck of green.

"Remove your skirt for your punishment-lesson, Elaine Cox!" the first matron said sharply.

With a look of indifference, the youngster undid the short pleated skirt, let it fall, and stepped out of it. Without waiting for the next command, she turned her back on the magistrates and knelt down over the block. Elaine Cox's school knickers were tight pants of white elasticised cotton. She knelt on all fours over the block, craning round with snub-nosed defiance. Her full-cheeked backside was broadened and even fattened by her posture. In her stretched cotton pants, Elaine appeared quite a big-bottomed girl for her age,

The master strapped her wrists to rings in the forward corners of the block. He pinioned her bare pale thighs with another strap just above her knees. Next he tied her ankles to prevent Elaine kicking out during punishment. Finally, he tightened a wide leather restraining-belt round her waist, pressing her young belly down hard on the block. This hollowing down of her waist caused Elaine Cox's fifteen-year-old arse to swell fuller and broader for the bamboo cane.

It was to be expected that the pulse of each justice quickened and each magisterial penis stirred with excitement. I regretted I had not witnessed the girl's earlier punishments. Master Miles first used the birch on the bare pale cheeks of Elaine Cox's thirteen-year-old bottom when she was still walking to school in white knee-socks! Though it was now in the past, I hoped that he had used extreme severity on her then with the birch-rod switches, not sparing her bare arse, the rear of her thighs or even the backs of her young knees!

Now he took the elastic waistband of Elaine's school knickers and stripped them down to her knees. He did this slowly and with much fingering to remind her of her situation! Being a lusty man and fond of a good feel, he greatly enjoyed himself with a tomboy like Elaine. It would be absurd to begrudge him this amusement. A score of street boys of her own age had had their hands inside Elaine Cox's knickers at rowdy parties or behind a convenient wall after school!

While Elaine was having her pants taken down, the cotton caught a little under her legs and between her buttocks. She had been wearing the same pair of knickers all day and no doubt her warmth and humidity caused them to twist and catch somewhat. Even a teacher who was going to thrash her could not have resisted the pretext which this offered him. Nor did Master Miles! In order to free the cotton briefs, his fingers pried between her legs and in her feminine slit! How she gasped and cursed! His hands wandered over her smoothly pale thighs and buttocks. Then his fingers played lewdly between the tomboy cheeks of Elaine Cox's bottom!

Furious at this, the youngster tossed back her lank fair hair and craned round at him with a shout of anger.

"You dirty filthy thing!" she yelled. Slum-child though she was, Elaine was the first to protest in this way against any threat to the "purity" of herself or her sisters. The chairman Of the justices smiled at the absurdity.

"You're a dirty little scrubber, Elaine Cox!" he chortled, "Next week I'D visit you myself and punish your insolence. I'll give you thirty strokes with the prison birch across the bare cheeks of that fat young arse to cure you of impudence. And have your big sister over the study sofa. I always punish a pair of sisters for the offence of either! You'll both remember your lesson all the better for watching each other get it!"

Mr Bowler whispered to me that Elaine's big sister, a plump slut of eighteen or nineteen, had had the whip across her fat bare bottom last month. Old Mr Snook had done it to her privately. He had put the girl arse-upwards over the study sofa and skinned her fat bursa-cheeks finely with a woven lash of snakeskin. Elaine had been put to work in the next room, deliberately, so that she should be made to hear her older sister getting it! Perhaps the memory of Pau- line's screams inspired the youngster's present fury and defiance.

The youngster still wore her white school blouse and striped tie. The master stooped and tucked the tail of the blouse well up above her hips, so that the full pale cheeks of Elaine Cox's fifteen-year-old bottom were properly bare.

In the privacy of the reformatory punishment-room, the magistrates had no need to conceal their enjoyment. Elaine was strapped down in a posture which offered a glimpse of light-haired folds of intimate feminine flesh between the rear of her somewhat heavy adolescent thighs. Drawn tightly forward over the block, her sturdy young buttocks were broadened and drawn apart a little. It was part of her punishment that she was made to show her full rear view. These disciplinarians relished a close look between the pale and fatly presented cheeks of Elaine Cox's schoolgirl bottom!

For the first time the anger faltered in the broad oval of her snub-nosed face. She craned round and watched them. Each of the plump middle-aged magistrates was leaning forward, his tongue running eagerly on his lips as he peered into the forbidden valley between the bare cheeks of Elaine's teenage backside. A sensible man does not make romantic love to young ruffians of her sort. Elaine Cox's arse was the only part of her which interested them just then—and they let her know it!

Those who are innocent in the matter of England's ruling class may be surprised that the justices enjoyed themselves with a fifteen-year-old reformatory girl in this way. It was Mr Bowler who subsequently expressed to me their wisdom in the matter.

A young slut like Elaine Cox, he said, must be enjoyed when she is fourteen or fifteen. Otherwise she will not be enjoyed at all by a man of discriminating taste. She would never be a beauty, as a teenage nymph like Tracey might become despite Tracey's common birth. In the years of her adolescence, however, Elaine had the exciting challenge of an impudent tomboy. There were men of the finest breeding who relished an afternoon playing the part of a disciplinarian teacher with such a girl.

To take Elaine into the study or the tiled closet and teach her a bare-bottomed obedience-lesson with the cane or the whip, while she was still a fifth-form schoolgirl, was the only use which a man of taste would make of her. Mr Bowler spoke very openly about this. While the youngster was strapped down awaiting her tanning, he said, a man of mature years would make Elaine Cox have an hour or so of his tool. He would give her an ample helping of it now, knowing that in a few years more such a girl would be a fattened drab.

By then some lout of her own class would give her a swollen belly or two. In no time at all, Elaine would be a plain slattern with a train of bastards clutching at her skirts. Before that happened, he said significantly, it would be better for the law to convict her of felony—to put a judicial noose round her throat and dangle Elaine Cox from the gaol- house beam.

The other justices smiled quietly and gave their consent to these views when Mr Bowler aired them. Mr Snook being an elderly gentleman, his amorous powers have somewhat waned. Yet he too agreed. To warm his memories, he keeps a collection of girls' underpants removed from them on justices' nights and other such occasions. Among his treasures is a pair of white briefs in stretched cotton—Elaine Cox's school knickers. The youngster had worn these a day or two before having them taken down by the master who was going to cane her. In the privacy of his study, Mr Snook will spend an evening browsing over such mementoes, examining them and smiling at the memories they revive. Such is the devotion to public duty which the old gentleman shows.

No wonder then that the portly magistrates closely scrutinised the rear view which the youngster presented to them as she lay securely fastened on all fours over the block. The eyes of the learned justices wandered over the pallid weight of her bare teenage thighs, which were strapped tightly together just above her knees. And how could they resist gazing at the pale double swell of the girl's impudent bottom- cheeks and prying between them?

All this time, Elaine herself, with her lank fair hair thrown back, watched the magistrates over her shoulder. The broad oval of her slum-child's snub-nosed face was suffused with contempt as she saw how they inspected her rear view. But the justices were used to such ill-mannered girls. They looked up from time to time and met the anger in her eyes with knowing smiles. Then they would let her see how they leant forward again. Their smiles directed her eyes to watch their own as they peered at the-lightly haired folds of intimate feminine flesh peeping between her thighs--and as they closely inspected the exposed rudeness of Elaine Cox's schoolgirl arsehole! Then they sat back and smiled at her again.

"Seen all you want?" Elaine shouted at them in sarcastic fury.

The master himself smiled at this outburst. He flexed the supple bamboo and cut the air once or twice with a trial swish. Despite her adolescent rebellion, Elaine's broadened buttocks tightened with instinctive fright at the menace of the sharp sound. She kept her eyes on the master as he taunted her.

"We're going to make you ask for your punishment tonight, Elaine. You'll call out the number of each stroke before I give it to you. If you refuse or if you miss the count, you'll get the stroke just the same. But it won't go towards the total of your punishment."

The youngster gasped and cursed. She pulled vainly at the stout restraining straps in her fury and panic, but the pale fattened rear cheeks of this fifth-form tomboy offered a perfect target for the bamboo. The master grinned at her anger and then his voice grew stern. He boomed out for the justices to hear.

"THIRTY-SIX STROKES OF THE PRISON CANE ACROSS YOUR BARE BOTTOM, ELAINE COX! CALL FOR THE FIRST!"

To the delight of the magistrates, Elaine was spurred to greater anger by the humiliation of having to ask for a thrashing from the man she loathed and despised. She called Mr Miles a filthy old bastard and refused to obey the order! Her impudence and her defiance of a command, lawfully given, now entitled him to deal with her in the severest manner.

What a curiosity this youngster was! Elaine Cox had first had her bare bottom spanked and birched when she was twelve or thirteen. She knew the torture she was inviting by her rebellion. She knew also how they would treat the bare backside of a strapping young fifth-form girl. They would cane her and cane her until the most vivid weals had been raised. Then they would continue the obedience-lesson by thrashing her young arse—across those swollen prints of the bamboo until she was frantic in her anguish. Elaine must have known they would make her scream, as she had heard her big sister do under Mr Snook's pony-lash. And still they would continue to cane her young backside and legs until she would shriek her submission, promising to do anything they wanted. Anything at all!

She must have known all this before she defied us. When the justices had a bare-bottomed tomboy of fifteen like Elaine Cox over the block they were absolutely pitiless. Indeed, they looked keenly for pretexts to add strokes to her sentence. The girl knew from the start that sooner or later she would scream for the first counted stroke of her punishment. And only then, when she could bear no more, would the official caning begin! When she was frantic with the throbbing agony of the bamboo weals across her bare bottom- cheeks, they would make her ask to be thrashed from the very beginning! Elaine must have guessed this from experience. It was as if the young rebel was deliberately adding to her punishment while she could still endure it, knowing that later she would shriek the number of each stroke at the top of her voice, desperate not to miss the count.

Like the justices and the master, I was greatly looking forward to the discipline, as I gazed at the full pale cheeks of Elaine Cox's young backside. I was eager to see her caught in the predicament of not being able to bear the touch of a feather on her thrashed buttocks—and yet still having to count her official punishment from the very first stroke.

The master touched the cane lightly across her bare bum- cheeks, aiming with great care.

"Thirty-six strokes of the bamboo across the fat young cheeks of your bare arse, Elaine Cox! Call for the first!"

Still she defied him and cursed us all! He raised the cane high above his right shoulder. The taunting smile vanished mid his mouth tightened with vindictive pleasure. There was a pause and the justices held their breath in anticipation. Then his arm came down with flashing energy. The bamboo landed with an ear-splitting smack across the pale broadened cheeks of Elaine Cox's fifteen-year-old bottom!

The youngster caught her breath in a short cry at the ferocity of the smart. I saw that her strapped hands were clenched into fists as she struggled against the man whom she loathed. She twisted her face round, watching him, and gnawed compulsively at her lower lip in her growing apprehension. Her sturdy young buttocks tensed and squirmed, pressing together and then rounding out, as she tried to work away the lingering agony of the cane's impact. Where it had landed, a fine double-edged print of bamboo glowed aslant the swelling and writhing pallor of Elaine Cox's backside!

For all her defiance, Elaine's broadened schoolgirl buttocks tensed and shifted, as if the smooth curves of white skin crawled in anticipation of the next stroke. The master carefully measured the cane—wickedly low across her bottom-cheeks, as one hoped he would! He raised it again and slashed it down across the faint flesh-crease, dividing the cheeks of Elaine's young arse from her upper thighs. Urgently she controlled her cries, mewing through her pressed lips. There was a hint of desperation in the impudent face which she turned to us now. The justices met this with malicious smiles, to show her their private enjoyment of what was being done to her.

Mr Bowler thought I could not see, as his eyes teasingly directed Elaine's gaze to the front of his trousers. While the youngster looked at his trouser-front, he drew the cloth tighter and there was dismay in her narrowed eyes. Mr Bowler smiled as he showed this impudent fifth-form girl the shape of his penis, harder and heavier with the enjoyment of watching her thrashed.

Twice more the cane smacked agonisingly across the softer undercurve of her rear cheeks. The first pain of the impact did not diminish but swelled to a crescendo over several seconds. Mr Miles naturally took pleasure in timing each stroke to land just as the torment of its predecessor reached a climax.

Elaine was soon gasping at the searching intensity of the bamboo's torture. The justices watched, enthralled by this battle of wills between the master and his rebellious schoolgirl. Between the strokes, the silence of anticipation was broken only by the creak of the block and the breathless squirming of the fifteen-year-old girl in the straps which held her down. Twice more the bamboo lashed diagonally across her burn-cheeks. Six weals, each a deepening red, now embossed her young hind-quarters. The master aimed a low stroke, catching her almost across the backs of her upper thighs. There was a jump of excitement among the onlookers as, for the first time, Elaine Cox screamed.

The bare whitewashed walls sharpened the girl's adolescent shrillness and gave a new edge of enthusiasm to the excitement of those who watched her. The justices leant forward a little, several of them licking their lips eagerly, taking a closer view. Elaine Cox's arse and hips surged as if in a dance of the lewdest sexual invitation! She tossed back her hair and craned round at us again. But now the broad oval of her snub-nosed face was a delightful study in consternation. The narrow eyes brimmed with tears and the thin mouth was stretched in a woeful self-pitying bowl. The very utterance seemed paralysed by the intensity of the pain which another lash of the bamboo inflicted across her bare teenage buttocks.

Drawing breath deeply at last, she howled at the magistrates—pleading to have the nine or ten uncounted strokes included in her punishment. Elaine sobbed out that her bottom smarted so that she could not bear another thirty-six strokes of the cane across it. The magistrates took a visible pleasure in refusing her such leniency.

"But I can't bear any more!" she cried in fright and indignation.

How often have those walls echoed such words from cheeky Sally Fenton at fourteen or a beautiful nymph of sixteen like Tracey Hope, from grown women like Jacqueline Grant! Mr Bowler grinned.

"Get arse-upwards over the block, Elaine Cox, you dirty little scrubber! Don't presume to tell us what you can't bear. We'll make you bear it anyway!"

There were smiles and quiet laughter at this. The master caught the girl with another stroke, savagely low across her backside—and another, deliberately given across the rear of her thighs. Her pleading ended in a wild scream.

'Count the strokes, Elaine Cox!" smiled Mr Bowler, "We know how to give a lesson in obedience to a little whore of your sort!"

The cane smacked across her young backside once more before she could obey them. And then Elaine Cox surrendered with a shriek that made our ears ring.

"ONE!"

It is impossible for those who have not experienced it to know the pleasure there is in imposing such obedience on an insolent and ruffianly girl like Elaine. There was a pause and an air of satisfaction among the justices before the thirty- six strokes began. The master teased the youngster by taking a long time in measuring the cane this way and that across the stripes already printed crimson upon her squirming backside. The other justices commanded her sharply while she writhed over the block and waited to be tanned.

"Elaine Cox! Get right over the block, you little slut! Show us your fat young backside properly while you're being thrashed! You weren't shy of walking home from school every day in the little grey skirt that shows your thighs and the seat of your knickers every time the wind blows!"

"Don't act bashful with us, Elaine Cox!" added Mr Bowler. "We had your big sister over that block for the lash a few weeks ago. We all had a good look at her bare backside while she was whipped. You needn't think we'll let you hide anything that she showed us! Two fat young female arses in the same family look much the same."

II is no part of my intention to betray confidences. Yet the world guessed something of Mr Bowler's private intentions towards the women of that family—a trio of sisters and a slattern of thirty-seven or thirty-eight who had encumbered society with them. There was to be collective taking down of their knickers and bending them in a row. By the time he had examined and chastised them, Mr Bowler might have written a learned paper on the comparative shapes of the female backside in one family. To some moralists, his enthusiasm would have been the cause of misgiving, had it not all been done in the pursuit of virtue and correction. The law approves the whipping of such a woman and her daughters together—when the aim is to enforce a moral upon them.

After they had reprimanded Elaine a little more, the chastisement was resumed. With a whip-like savagery the supple cane smacked across the bottom-cheeks of this rebellious girl., The very walls sang with the sharpness of the impact. The impudent youngster cried out, wild and shrill. But she tried desperately not to miss the count, dreading those extra strokes that would earn her! But you may be sure that the master did not let her succeed in avoiding these extra whip- smacks of bamboo. He thrashed her sturdy tomboy bottom very quick and hard—and again before she could curb her scream!

"Two!" shrieked Elaine, and the bamboo lashed aslant the pallor of her strapping young schoolgirl buttocks, branding her with its fiery imprint, "Three! ...Four! . . . Stop!

SHIT! ... Pl-e-e-ase! Stop! Just for a moment! Oooooow! ...NO! . .OOOW! Don't do it again yet! ... NO! NO! . . . PL-E-A-S-E! OWWWW! . FIVE! ... S-I-I-X! ... OH, MY BOTTOM! MY BOTTOM! . NOT ACROSS MY LEGS! .. AHHH! ... SEVEN! ... OOOW! ...EIGHT! . OH, FUCK YOU! . . . OH, MY FUCKING

ARSE!!, PLEASE DON'T! . . . NINE! . . .1 CAN'T BEAR ANY MORE! . . . NOT LOW DOWN ON MY ARSE AGAIN! NO! NO! O-O-O-W! ...LET ME GO! ...PLEASE! . I CAN'T WAIT!!! . .TEN! . NO! ... NO! ... PLEASE DON'T. ...N-O-O-O-O-O-O!!!! ...MY ARSE!! ...OH, MY ARSE!!!"

At every stroke her full and pale-fleshed hips rose while Elaine Cox's bottom-crack was compressed to a thin tight line, as if to contain the torment and her own unladylike urges. The master and the justices were unmoved by the youngster's cry that her fifteen-year-old backside would blemish the dignity of the occasion unless they allowed her a respite. Discipline would soon be undermined if it could be interrupted by such threats or vulgarity. Judicial chastisements are an object-lesson in the ways of feminine behaviour. It is intriguing to witness the extreme lewdness and vulgarity which the most disdainful young woman can be driven to employ! At twenty-five, she is at heart no different to a rude and immodest schoolgirl!

It was fortunate that Elaine was firmly held down by leather straps which were broad and stout. Had not her bare thighs and ankles been pinioned, the rebellious pupil would certainly have kicked out at her master as he corrected her with the cane. With each impact of the bamboo Elaine's pale teenage bottom-flesh jumped and quivered as if touched by an electric shock. She tried to expel the swelling torment of each whip-like smack by surging the sturdy pallor of her backside outwards. Fortunately, this made the soundly- thrashed cheeks of her teenage arse a superb target, more fully and fatly presented.

In her present state Elaine would have been a teacher's delight! The slight adolescent heaviness of her hips and seat made her look quite a big-bottomed schoolgirl as she knelt over the block. The raised cane-stripes across her bare buttocks might have moved a few pedagogues to leniency. In the case of a big girl of fifteen, however, the bamboo weals across Elaine Cox's bare buttocks would have put some very cruel ideas into most scholastic minds! Among the prints of the cane, there was one low down upon the softer curve of her swelling and broadened young buttocks. It was a- deeper and more vivid plum-colour. The hue of it assured us how tender and smarting it must be. Any teacher who had endured Elaine's insolence in his classroom would have wanted to smarten her up across that stripe. And so did Mr Miles. He measured the bamboo lightly across that deeper- coloured brand. In her panic, the girl twisted her bare hips and contorted her robust but reddened rear cheeks. There was indignation as well as pleading in her void. She turned her impudent young face round and yelled at her master.

"Don't tan me there! Not across there again! Not again! No! DON'T! DON'T DO IT THERE!" A wicked smile softened his stern face.

"Lie fighter over the block and stick your backside right out at the justices, Elaine Cox! That strapping young bottom of yours can take much more caning yet! I'll give you a dozen strokes across that welt, if I choose. And you'll lie arse-upwards and take every one of them! I've always wanted to give your insolent young bum-cheeks a proper punishment-lesson, Elaine. I shall enjoy making this one last a long time. I know you won't be able to bear it. That's why I shall give it to you—and why I'll enjoy myself doing it!"

He teased her a little longer, measuring the bamboo lightly upon the tender stripe. Then he raised the supple wand and lashed it down along the plum-coloured imprint. Elaine uttered a frenzied soprano shriek, her body taut with the searching anguish. Her toes curled and her hands were clenched until the fingernails bit into the palms. The weal that ran low across the youngster's sturdily broadened bottom- cheeks was now deeper in colour and more dangerously swollen. But such a target was far too tempting to be ignored. The master touched the cane lightly across the throbbing stripe once more, taking careful aim. The full-cheeked behind of a fifth-form girl was irresistible.

Thrash! The slim bamboo smacked across the burning welt with an impact like a ringmaster's whip. Thrash! Thrash! Again and again he lashed her along that swollen stripe with savage energy. The walls rang with a peal of her adolescent screams. Presently the justices drew sharp breaths of delight at what they saw. A red line of punctuation dots welled up from the crimson bamboo-print and trickled down the surging cheeks of Elaine Cox's backside. To have a vulgar and rebellious young tomboy with her arse in such a predicament was profoundly exhilarating! Her obedience-training was now beginning!

Mr Miles stood back. His tongue licked along the mischievous smile which seemed to pluck secretly at the severe line of his mouth.

Elaine felt the little trickles down her lower seat-cheeks, momentarily gathering in the flesh-crease under the weightier curves of her adolescent schoolgirl buttocks and then running down the backs of her thighs. Tossing back her lank fair hair, she twisted the broad oval of her face round to us, animated by a last defiant fury. In a wild outburst, Elaine Cox yelled,

"MY ARSE! OH, MY ARSE! YOU BASTARDS! .. . OH, YOU FUCKING BASTARDS! "

I could only catch a few phrases of what the master said as he stooped and whispered teasingly in the girl's ear, his hand lying against her bare hip. You may be sure that his words caused a burst of laughter among the justices.

"I'll have the skin off that fat-cheeked young arse, Elaine Cox! ... I'll teach you a lesson in manners, you impudent little bitch! ... Must I silence your impudence? . . . Shall it be your own knickers, Elaine? Or a pair of Michele Page's!"

The moment of amusement was over. The mouths of the justices tightened and a vindictive gleam showed in their eyes. No wonder the youngster gave a gasp of fright as she met their gaze. Had I not been there, I believe they really might have made a wad of Elaine Cox's knickers to muzzle her defiance.

"you've counted nineteen strokes so far, Elaine," said Mr Bowler calmly, "You chose not to count the other seventeen your master has given you—and so they will not be considered. Seventeen strokes of the cane still to be counted, you little bitch! Call for the next!"

"No!" she wailed. "Not yet! I'm not ready yet!"

How often do the walls of girls' schoolrooms and reformatory punishment-cells echo to such frantic appeals for delay! The cane smacked hard across Elaine's writhing and contorting buttocks, ending her protest with a shrill surrender.

"TWENTY!!"

By this time there were other eyes watching the scene. Behind the justices was a row of small barred windows set high in the blank wall. Neither the master nor the magistrates looked in that direction, though Elaine saw them every time that she craned round at us. A dozen lads of her own age, fugitives for the night from their own reform school, had shinned up the brick walls to perch on the outer ledges of these windows. To watch the girls having their knickers taken down in the punishment-room and their bare beauty chastised was a treat for these boys. As Elaine twisted her face round, they grinned at her knowingly. Each young scamp had unbuttoned at his window and smilingly showed her the fine young instrument in his hand, which he pumped for dear life in the excitement of watching her bare bottom caned,

The master and the justices had nothing to fear from these young masturbators. The boys knew that they would be separated from the girls and never given the chance of having fun with them. Each lad's own girl-friend whom he once spoke sweetly to while his hand played inside her knickers was now beyond his reach in the reformatory. Yet he was as eager as any magistrate to see and hear her over the block while the whip was used upon her naked charms! The more extreme her punishment, the better the young spark was pleased!

I was later to watch our graceful nymph of sixteen, Tracey Hope, strapped over the step-ladder. What dismay she showed in her fine blue eyes when she looked around and saw her own boy-friend at his window. The magistrates had put an end to their passionate fondling and cuddling by sending Tracey to one reformatory and the lad to another. Now he was excited as any of the justices at seeing the whip snaking and lashing across the elegant ovals of Tracey's rear cheeks or round the long graceful sweep of her young thighs.

At present the reform-school lads longed only for the girls' thrashings to last all night. The greater the humiliation of a fifth-form schoolgirl like Elaine, the more they enjoyed it. Just then, the master aimed the bamboo with consummate skill. He caught the sturdy slum-girl agonisingly aslant her bottom-cheeks with it. Unable to contain herself under the atrocious smart, Elaine Cox farted.

By her adolescent rudeness, the youngster brought smiles to the faces of the middle-aged magistrates which the wittiest compliment of the drawing-room could not equal. The lads at the windows met the consternation in Elaine's narrowed eyes with grins of delight. They knew that her sturdy young rear cheeks would now be bamboo'd with even more se-

verity than they had hoped. Even if he had had the power, not one of them would have intervened to save her from the skinning of her schoolgirl bottom-cheeks that she was going to get! Since the boys could not have their fun with her in any other way, they wanted to see her tanned with the greatest possible zeal.

Elaine tossed hack her lank hair and craned round at the justices with an "Oooooo!" of fright at what she had just done. She knew that such impudence by her young backside would earn an agonising addition from the cane. The smiles on the faces of the portly gentlemen assured of this. At the six barred windows, six faces of reform-school boys of her own age grinned eagerly at her. Each boy humorously showed her his young erection, holding the hard and swelling penis so that she should have a good look at it.

To make matters worse for her, it seems Elaine knew that, in her present state, the naked torment of the next lash of the bamboo would make her young bottom repeat its impudence. She confided her predicament to the justices and begged an interval to regain her self-possession.

You may be sure that they refused her with smiles and chuckles! The master quickly touched the cane across her writhing rear cheeks to take aim before she could curb herself. His lips tightened vindictively. Then he thrashed the whippy bamboo across her backside with savage accuracy. The impact was sharp enough to make the very air sing! As the cane smacked across her swelling rear cheeks Elaine Cox's tomboy bottom farted more lustily still. Still smiling at her, the justices awarded her eight extra strokes to teach her a lesson for behaving in such an unladylike manner!

Any supporter of law and order will commend this. Perhaps her young backside's first retort was accidental. But I am quite sure that Elaine's second vulgarity was deliberate.

The youngster was frantic and was trying to interrupt the discipline. What is to become of justice and chastisement if such a young slut is allowed to insult the law and impede her sentence in this manner? It will not be schoolgirls alone but young women of twenty-five or thirty who attempt to frustrate their punishments in this fashion. What then will become of decency and decorum if the fair sex is taught to employ such base ruses? In no time at all, the drawing- rooms of Mayfair might echo to the same retort in matters of feminine displeasure.

I was delighted that the master took Elaine Cox to the very last stroke, including all the extras which she had earned. It was an exemplary discipline and richly deserved, as any moralist would agree. Mr Miles was reluctant to finish with the girl even then. One cannot blame him for this. It is entirely understandable. The fifth-form tomboy had been so soundly thrashed that less resolute men might call it by a more extreme name than discipline! Yet had the insolent youngster not asked for such severity by her own defiance?

The sight of Elaine Cox still strapped arse-upwards over the block, in a big-bottomed posture and with her buttocks burning red, was a great temptation! She could not have borne a breath of wind upon her rear cheeks without flinching. In such a tender state, her robust young arse would have been responsive to a real lesson in obedience. I wished that she had been left thus at my disposal. Of all the girls in her class, I would have chosen her. Safe from prying eyes in this place from which no tales are told, I would have used the short woven lash of snakeskin. The walls were soundproof and the straps which held her over the block were broad and stout. Heave you to imagine the sequel but I assure you that Elaine would not have been able to wear the elasticised cotton of her school pants for several days afterwards! To sit on the wooden seat of her classroom desk with Michele and the others would have been an ordeal of some considerable discomfort!

When Mr Miles laid down the cane at last, one was bound to admire his skill. The eyes which Elaine turned to us brimmed over with tears and her mouth had become a howling oval. What an improvement it was upon the insolent and rebellious look with which she had begun! As for her tomboy bottom and the rear of her thighs, she looked as if she had spent the day sitting on a ferocious thorn bush, infested by angry hornets! The cheeks of her backside were the colour of fire, marked across and across by the dangerous and deeper toned stripes of her finely swollen weals.

There was one last refinement, which is traditionally employed on a reformatory girl in this situation. The master took a jar of soft kitchen-fat. It had been heavily salted on purpose for its present use. He took some of it on his fingers and touched it lightly to the girl's thrashed buttocks. Elaine gasped and tensed herself at the burning smart of the salt grease on her cuts and her skinned bum-cheeks.

"You impudent little scrubber, Elaine Cox!" Mr Miles said sardonically, "Keep your fat young arse still! Swell it out properly towards the justices, so that they can have a good look at it while I salt you!"

Heedless of her gasps and cries, he massaged an ample quantity of the salted fat over her behind. Her broadened young buttocks were furnace-red and sleek with the grease. Indeed the sleekness of the grease and the slightly swollen state which the thrashing had imparted, gave a fuller and even a fatter look to the cheeks of Elaine Cox's bottom.

Two matrons unfastened the youngster from the block, though they strapped Elaine's wrists firmly together in front of her to prevent any sudden act of vengeance which she might attempt. Her misconduct also made it prudent to take her directly into the tiled closet at one side of the punishment- room. With the matrons holding her firmly by either arm to forestall a struggle, Elaine walked awkwardly, seeming to limp a little, which was merely the effect of the barn- booing. The little grey skirt and her schoolgirl knickers were left lying on the table. She would not be needing them in the tiled room. So she wore only her white uniform blouse and striped tie. The tail of the blouse hung untidily aslant her scorching buttocks, which gave her the look of a carelessly-dressed little girl. Her head was lowered, the lank hair spilling about her face, and she continued to sob occasionally in a most contrite manner.

The matrons had suffered so much insolence from this fifth-form girl that one could not deny them a little triumph .Low. Their mouths rounded with amusement and amazement when they saw how finely the master had skinned Elaine's young bottom-cheeks—and how dangerously swollen some of the weals appeared. As they led the girl across the room, they whispered teasingly and vindictively in her ear. Then three of them entered the tiled closet with her and the door was closed.

It did not remain so for more than a few seconds. Indeed there was hardly time for them to lift Elaine's blouse-tail and make a preliminary examination before the senior matron reappeared. With a smile playing about her lips she approached the justices and spoke to their chairman, Mr Bowler.

"If you please, sir, there are scores to settle with Elaine Cox—and the school spanking-strap hangs most conveniently above the toilet-basin in the closet. The little slut offered insolence to us this minute, as soon as we got her in there. It won't do, sir. It really won't do. She needs another lesson in respect already. If you wouldn't mind, sir, we should use the spanking-strap across her fat young seat.

She offered insolence, sir. All three of us shall swear that we never gave her more than a dozen leather smacks!"

Even Mr Bowler looked a little doubtful at what was proposed. The woman give him a private smile.

"The door being padded and soundproof, sir, we shan't disturb your honours at your justicing with the other girls! And we can give Elaine Cox's bottom the strap all night, turn and turn about between the three of us, and not leave a mark that can be complained of. The little bully can take a lot of tanning yet."

Mr Bowler relented, for he could not bear to see the good woman disappointed of the treat for which she longed— and of the retribution on Elaine which every one of her teachers must have dreamt of,

"Very well, ma'am," he said. "Let it be the strap across the dirty little scrubber's backside. We shall have obedience from her, I promise you!"

Smiling contentedly, the woman dropped Mr Bowler a curtsy. Then she walked back to the tiled closet where the other two matrons were waiting with Elaine. She entered and bolted the door behind her to prevent interruptions.

"You are to be congratulated, sir!" said Mr Bowler, standing up and shaking Mr Miles by the hand, "As fine a thrashing as ever I saw! Depend upon it, sir, we shall have all three of the sisters under the reformatory whip before I have done with 'em! And the woman that brought three such daughters into the world to burden respectable folk shall bare her backside alongside them!"

They had been so busy with Elaine that time had flown by and it was now after ten o'clock.

"Which of them comes next on the list?" asked old Mr Snook quaveringly, as he tucked Elaine Cox's schoolgirl knickers into his pocket.

"It is Jacqueline and Tracey," said the master sternly. "Both to be punished for an act of immorality committed in young Madam Jacqueline's bed."

"By all means," said Mr Bowler, "Let us have 'em in."

1970’s Schoolgirls

2010-09-23T23:15:00.002+01:00

Passing the test

2010-06-27T13:46:00.002+01:00

The second part of the story The Recruit, scanned by Dmitri from Blushes Uniform Girls 40

Sophie is feeling just a little faint. Well what girl wouldn't, standing for the first time like this? Standing on the seat of a chair in the Guides' snug retreat, Mr Minley's loft. Just herself and Mr Minley. And with nothing on! Sophie that is. Mr Minley of course is in his scoutmaster's rig. But Sophie is in the altogether. Well effectively. There are just her shoes and socks, and her knickers pulled down to her knees. And Mr Minley in close attendance, his tape measure in hand. In his left hand. His right hand is thus free to go here and there.

It is going here and there. Here... and there. At this moment it has slid between Sophie's quivering thighs. The hand is there and indicating that she should part her thighs some more. But if she does... she will be quite open... to that hand. It will be quite free to... well she knows what it will do. Inevitably. Where it will inevitably go. Right in to a girl's number one place. Yes. But.

She has to do it. She is one of Mr Minley's Guides now. Mr Minley is the Leader and so naturally she has to obey him. And accept... what Mr Minley wants to do with his hands for one thing.

Sophie gives a shuddering little whimper. The hand has gone where she knew it would. Right there. Softly fingering her. Ooo... ooohh..!

'Have you got a boyfriend?' Mr Minley quietly asks. His finger – or is it his thumb? – is gently tracing along her entrance. Along that so sensitive line. Making her wonder if perhaps her knees are going to give way. A boyfriend.

'Uh... ah... not really... Well... Oooohhh...'

'We don't really want boyfriends in the Guides. They are an unwelcome distraction, very bothersome to girls. And of course only interested in one thing. This thing. Eh Sophie?'

No doubt to make quite cleat what it is that boyfriends are only interested in, Alfred Minley's finger has slid in. Into Sophie. She is quite sure her knees are going to give way now. This is too much. The finger is in her... and doing things.

She gives a desperate little yelp. She is going to fall... off the chair.

Sophie does. Slowly toppling down. On top of Mr Minley. Somehow he manages to stay on his feet. And his hand manages to stay right where it was. His finger up in her.

* * *

They get sorted out. Disentangled. 'I'm s... sorry,' Sophie stutters. 'I... sort of lost balance. I... I'm not used to being measured.'

'That's alright,' Alfred reassures her, straightening his beret. 'Not to worry, you are a new recruit.'

Actually he is quite pleased with her. It was not all unpleasant having the lovely girl fall on top of him. And she has made no great fuss about where his hand was. Some girls can be ultrasensitive. Joanne for instance. Joanne made quite a fuss when he first tried to get his hand on it. It took a good deal of patience and careful explanation before she would submit to it without a lot of annoying struggling about. The delectable Sophie has done none of that however. Perhaps she has had some experience. Nonetheless.

'But... ah... we may need something. To remind you to show more disciplined behaviour in future. It probably won't mean a caning, Sophie. But I rather think a spanked bottom may be called for. However, right now we had better get on with the measuring.'

Yes, the measuring. There hasn't really been much of that as yet. Alfred gets her back up on the chair and this time really does get some done. Her lovely slim waist and those exquisite, really quite full tits. (The nipples need some manual attention first to bring them up to their erected dimensions, thus ensuring he doesn't get a false measurement.) The delicious flanks, the buttocks. And also...

There are also other measurements that one might not immediately expect. Certainly ones that seemingly Sophie does not expect. For instance Alfred Minley's tape passed between her thighs. High up. As high as it will go in fact, pulled tight into her crotch. Or more exactly tight into the lips of her pussy. Sophie's wide-eyed look of alarm – as Alfred pulls the tape firmly to and fro – gives perhaps some idea of the shock-sensation generated. The feeling, maybe, of shooting off into orbit.

Alfred finally takes the tape away. Pulling it out of Sophie's pussy lips. She slowly comes back down to earth.

'Was that nice?' he asks. 'Some girls find it rather interesting. Did you find it interesting?'

She doesn't know what to say. Her face is bright red. Possibly if Mr Minley had done it for much longer she would have come. Which would have been impossibly embarrassing. But anyway Mr Minley is not waiting for an answer. There is something else.

'Anyway I suppose, we should now have... that spanking. Yes Sophie? Now that I've got your measurements. For that business earlier.'

* * *

Yes an early spanking is always necessary with a new girl. An early caning is too but a caning is best coming just a little later, not on her very first visit to the loft. But a spanking on her first visit is a good idea. It can get a girl nicely attuned to Guide ways and Alfred Minley's disciplinary methods and requirements.

Alfred sits on the chair and Sophie has to get over his lap. She is still big-eyed from the tape working to and fro in her pussy. Now there is this other no doubt surprise dimension, because Amanda will not have mentioned spankings in her up-beat descriptions of Guide activities. Yes, Sophie's blue eyes are big and wide alright as she steps forward and presents herself, her nude body, over Mr Minley's waiting lap. A lap that at its centre contains an upright stiffness that the trembling girl cannot but be aware of.

Sophie is aware of what it is of course. It is Mr Minley's stiff thing. All big and stiff. And what does it signify? With what has already taken place in this snug but scary loft, and what is about to happen: this bare-bottom spanking – well there is a lot more to being one of Mr Minley's Guides than Amanda told her. A lot more. How much more? Mr Minley's thing... He is manoeuvring her now. His hand at her bottom. So that she is not pressing too painfully on his thing. Adjusting her... so that it pushes up between her legs. Mr Minley's hand is there too. With his final adjustings. It is where she is already extremely hot and bothered of course. That awful tape...

'Awooooohh..!!'

Yes the hand has abruptly ceased its adjustings and cracked sharply down. A sharp and painful spank. Sophie's lovely rear jerks in automatic reaction as she lets out her yell. She is a very mobile girl, a lot of movement. Alfred recalls her falling off the chair a little earlier when he had his hand between her legs. As his hand now continues to crack down there is a good deal more movement to accompany her yelps. But he has got a firm hold of her, his left hand gripping her with her arm caught behind her back for good measure. Sophie's bottom and legs can jerk about but not a lot else.

He continues the spanking. Until those ripe moons of her buttocks, and also of course the backs of her thighs are a nice uniform bright red colour. A really energetic spanking is always a good idea on a girl's first day.

* * *

'How did it go?' Muriel Stevens asks her daughter brightly. 'Did you have a good time?'

'Yes...' Sophie replies. She has just come from Mr Minley's and is still feeling a little dazed. 'Yes. It was... OK.'

In reply to a further question she says she should soon have her uniform, maybe next week Mr Minley said. And then... Sophie says no thanks, she doesn't feel like any supper. She is feeling a bit tired, she thinks she will go up to bed.

'Yes of course darling,' Muriel says, with a slightly quizzical look.

Upstairs Sophie gets undressed and puts on her nightie, then brushes her teeth and gets into bed. Lying under the covers flat on her back and gazing up at the ceiling. Her body still but not of course her mind, which is crammed full of all that has happened at Mr Minley's. Up in the Guide loft. A whole lot of experience that is quite new and scary and frightening but at the same time hotly exciting in a way that is not at all entirely unpleasant. Has she guessed that there might be something of that? That sort of thing, as well as what Amanda was telling her? Well not really guessed – but it crossed her mind.

Although all of what happened certainly didn't cross her mind. No, all by a long shot. Sophie's hand slides across, to push up her nightie. And then comes down again, this time onto her exposed pussy. She softly strokes herself. Opening her legs her hand slides further in, along the line of her slit. She doesn't usually do it, well not very often, but right now she can't help it. Not after her session with Mr Minley in his loft. She is going to have to bring herself off.

It is what Mr Minley did of course. After the spanking. With her still over his lap. 'I think you need something else now, Sophie dear.' And then he did it. She came. Quickly. A really big one.

As Sophie does now, using her own fingers. Groaning into the bed cover. Thinking about her next visit to the Guide loft. He said that next time... she might have to have a caning. Part of her disciplinary training. Groaning, Sophie thinks about the cane. Thinking also... about Mr Minley's big stiff thing...

* * *

The Guide outfit is a blue short-sleeved blouse with darker navy skirt. The skirt is quite short, its hem some way above Sophie's knees when she puts it on. Amanda's uniform skirt is short too, so Sophie was not surprised when she saw her own. There is a pretty yellow scarf and also a beret. Altogether it is a fetching outfit; it has taken less than a week to arrive.

The blouse is decorated with a number of badges but of course not as many as Amanda's because some of hers are for various specific skills and proficiencies. For instance Amanda now has her Woodcraft badge. But there are other ones too. Some seem a bit mysterious. One of Amanda's, in white lettering on green, says GREEN FOR GO.

What can that be for? Amanda just giggled when Sophie asked. 'You'll see,' she said. 'You'll get yours, or I suppose you will. Then you'll find out; I mean it's a bit secret.'

Now her uniform has arrived Sophie has to report to Mr Minley for a special meeting. This will again be just herself like last time, only now she will be wearing the new uniform. Sophie is feeling just a little scared – remembering that first time. Remembering also that on that occasion Mr Minley mentioned the cane. This is sufficient to send shivers through a girl, never mind all that other stuff. Will she be caned? And what's this GREEN FOR GO business?

Sophie can sense that there are mysteries in the Guide group which as yet she has not been told about. Scary mysteries? Yes, she thinks so. GREEN FOR GO; is that a scary one?

* * *

Up in the loft again. Mr Minley tells Sophie she looks super, really great. But looking really great is only part of it. A Guide has to learn other qualitites too. Discipline of course is a main thing.

Sophie can guess what discipline means. It probably means more spanking. Her bare bottom, over Mr Minley's lap. And also probably the other. The cane. She bites her lip. She can't help asking about the other thing.

'Wha... What about GREEN FOR GO, Mr Minley. How do I get that badge. I asked Amanda but... she wouldn't tell me.'

Alfred Minley smiles. 'You want a GREEN FOR GO badge? Good! I'm pleased to hear it. You can have one this afternoon, but you have to earn it of course. You have to pass the test. We can do the test, a little bit later.'

Sophie has a sudden thought. A sudden scary thought, about what GREEN FOR GO might be. She can feel herself flushing. She wants to say no, she doesn't really want the badge. Maybe she will be after a few weeks, months perhaps. But... not now. Not this afternoon. She can't help herself glancing at the bed, over in the corner. That is what it is for. For testing. For the GREEN FOR GO test...

But she can't say that now. She should have kept her mouth shut.

Mr Minley is going to start with something else. Discipline. Her knickers. They have to come off. She is going to have her bottom spanked. Over Mr Minley's lap. And then... after they have made some tea... she is going to get some more discipline. The cane. A first taste of Mr Minley's cane.

* * *

That cane. It is just about impossible. An impossible pain. Three strokes. Only three strokes you might say – but if you have never had three strokes like those Mr Minley gives her... well you can have no idea. No idea at all.

But then... there is the other. GREEN FOR GO. 'We do the test on the bed,' Mr Minley says. 'You've got your knickers off so your all set. So just... get on the bed.'

Sophie has forgotten about her red-hot bottom. In the face of this new situation. She shakes her head. 'Actually... I don't really think...'

Mr Minley gives a soft little laugh. 'Of course you do, Sophie. A girl needs her GREEN FOR GO badge. It's a sign that she's grown up. Come on, get down on the bed. Don't worry, you'll pass without any trouble at all.'

Sophie still has her uniform on. But no knickers. The knickers came off for the spanking Mr Minley gave her first of all. And they remained off for the caning. And now, well, she's going to need them off for the GREEN FOR GO test.

Sophie gets on the bed. Her body trembling. She has just had that caning, her bottom is still stinging from it, but she has no thought of it now. No thought of her stinging bottom. She can only think of this test. GREEN FOR GO. Mr Minley is on the bed with her. She hears a sound that cannot be loud but it jangles in her head. The sound of a zip. Being opened. And then... Mr Minley has taken her hand. To put it on something. Something hot. Smooth and hot and hard. Sophie knows what it is alright. Oh yes. There is the feeling that she is going to faint... but there is no doubt what it is. What she is now holding.

1986!

2010-05-24T20:16:00.000+01:00

From Roue 06.

Janet lounged wearily against the corridor wall outside the headmaster's study, chewing rather furtively on a piece of gum which she knew she'd better not get caught eating during lesson time. Her head was tilted to one side as she leaned with her back flat against the wall, her feet spread-eagled a couple of feet from the skirting white she counted and recounted the bricks in the opposite wall. Slouched with her bottom against the wall and her legs jutting out at an angle, her thighs were bare for at least two thirds of their length, not counting the slits at the sides of her skirt which were slashed so far up the side-seam that it seemed highly improbable that she could avoid showing her knickers. Indeed as she moved slightly, shifting the weight of her leaning more onto one buttock than the other, the tiniest edge of white revealed itself at the apex of one of the slits. This immodest display of her underwear bothered Janet not at all, and why should it. The combination of sixties miniskirt and seventies side-slits had become the very acme of schoolgirl fashion in the mid-eighties, and Janet would have rather been dead than out of fashion.

Her face had a rather bored expression on it, quite out of place for a girl who had been sent to the Headmaster with a note from her form-mistress clutched in one hand and with the prospect before her of an interview with the principal which might not go too well. But Janet was bored. She had been there an awfully long time, at least half an hour, and if she hadn't been missing a maths lesson by staying put she'd have given up the vigil long ago.

Footsteps sounded around the angle of the corridor. Janet shoved herself upright and swallowed the last of her chewing gum, which was a pity as it turned out to be one of the sixth-formers.

"Hi," said the newcomer, "What are you doing here?"

"What d'you think, stupid?" said Janet cockily, annoyed about her chewing gum.

"Waiting for him, are you?" said the other girl, nodding towards the study door.

"Yes, actually" said Janet, slouching again.

"Well you might have a long wait. They're having a staff-meeting."

"Staff-meeting? Christ – they might be ages."

"Probably will," said the sixth-former walking off down the corridor.

"Perhaps he won't come back at all," called Janet.

"Perhaps," answered the departing girl. "See you."

"Yes, see you."

The girl swung jauntily off, bouncing up some steps two at a time so that her little skirt flicked up and flashed glimpses of her school pants to anyone who might be interested.

Janet stared down at her feet, thought about maths, pulled a face and decided she'd rather stay where she was. Anyway, she'd probably be able to talk herself out of trouble as usual. And if that didn't work – well, there was always the alternative. A couple of dozen illicit smacks on your knickers and a promise not to tell was a small price to pay for being let off detention. Yes, that was what she would do. She didn't want to be kept in tonight – Wednesday was disco night, and if you didn't get the early bus all the best fellers were gone by the time you got there. Janet resumed her brick-counting with a self-satisfied grin.

* * *

Upstairs in the staff common-room the meeting looked as though it might indeed go on all afternoon. George Filbey tried to bring a little order back into the proceedings.

"Look, would it help if I read through the letter again?"

"No," said Freddie, English and Geography.

"Can't do any harm," said Miss Fowler, and she looked rather shyly around the room as if seeking support.

"I'll read it," said George. He cleared his throat unnecessarily.

"From 'Executive Committee, Education Authority,' and it's dated the nineteenth of October, 1986."

"That's yesterday" said someone. "The post must be getting better."

"Quite," said George, "but let us stick to the point, shall we?"

"Dear Mr. Filbey, regarding the much vexed question of the reintroduction of corporal punishment in schools, as per the recommendation of the Minister for Education, Commons speech –", well let's skip that bit. It also refers to "Working Party Report – Green Paper – White Paper –", we know all that don't we?"

"This Executive Committee finds itself in agreement with proposals put forward –" dah-de-dah-de-dah – "will sanction the immediate reintroduction of corporal punishment in all senior schools under it's control."

"About time too," said Hazel.

It's made her day, thought George, and he looked around the table wondering for the umpteenth time how many of them had been unable to resist the temptation to smack the odd bottom all along.

"Anyway," said George, "Let's deal with the bit that's causing all the problems. Umm – ah, here it is – "dum-de-dee – such disciplinary measures as headmasters in consultation with senior members of staff consider appropriate."

"Give 'em what they've been asking for," said Hazel. "That's what that means!"

"Well there's still this other bit – I suppose we'd better refresh our memories – "provided only that the still extant statutory requirement be observed; that should caning be resorted to, no more than six strokes shall be administered at any one time." The only other relevant part is this, "– no guidelines presently proposed regarding methods, mode of dress etcetera; these matters being left to the discretion of senior staff for the present." Which puts the ball pretty squarely in our court, doesn't it?"

"More or less," said Henry, "So we'd better get something thrashed out."

Even the young Miss Fowler had to smile at that one.

"Well then, as I recall the two points under discussion were these, were they not: precisely who, of the senior staff, will be entitled to punish, and um, – what restrictions are to be observed regarding – ah – modes of dress?"

George felt the sweat trickling down his neck. It was getting a bit too much for him, all this talk of 'punishment' and 'modes of dress'.

"Mr. Filbey," said Hazel, "may I make a proposal?"

"Er – certainly," said George.

"I propose that you, as the headmaster, and that I, as your deputy, should take it upon ourselves to discharge these new obligations on behalf of the rest of the staff." She even tacked a smile on the end of it.

George wondered how the hell she knew.

Henry looked a bit fed up about it. "I trust such an arrangement would not preclude the odd swipe from the rest of us, Miss Harvey?"

"No, I don't think so," George said, trying to minimise any possible opposition before it cropped up. "I dare say Miss Harvey meant that – er – punishments of a more – um – 'authoritarian' nature would be our pigeon, isn't that so Hazel?"

"Of course," said Hazel. She looked to be in some danger of bursting into a grin of a Cheshire Cat. She certainly wasn't going to make any waves if she could get what she wanted without it.

A show of hands was called for. It was agreed.

"And now, what about 'dress'? I presume by that they mean the possible lack of it. What do you think Hazel?"

"Er – yes, I imagine that's what they're talking about. Personally I don't see any reason why we shouldn't let the remedy fit the circumstances."

"How d'you mean?" asked George, getting even hotter under the collar.

"Well, no restrictions have been placed upon us. Therefore I think that should it be considered necessary, the punishment ought to be administered on the bare backside, don't you?"

"Well –" started George, only to be interrupted by the young Miss Fowler.

"But – surely we're talking about punishment on the hand, aren't we Mr. Filbey?"

"Er –." George found himself suddenly at a loss in the face of such innocence. Hazel galloped to the rescue. He could have kissed her. Well – almost.

"Nonsense!" she said. "The backside is the place for punishment. There is absolutely no doubt about that!"

"Then you're saying –?"

"I'm saying take their pants down, and let's have no quibbles on that point!"

And after that unequivocable statement, not a quibble was heard. Hands were raised again, and not even Miss Fowler dared dissent.

They all filed out of the room, only Hazel remaining. George found himself seeing his rather domineering deputy in a much rosier light. There was one point which was bothering him though.

"Er, Hazel," he said "there's just one thing. How do you see the apportioning of these duties. I mean –"

"I shall take charge of the lower school, Mr. Filbey. The rest will be your problem."

George considered it. It was a sensible arrangement, but not what he'd wanted to talk about. "Er – yes, O.K. But what I meant was – well, since we have both boys and girls here –"

"Indeed we have, Mr. Filbey. And if I may say so, I see no reason to differentiate between them. So far as I am concerned I shall punish them all alike, as no doubt you would also wish to do."

"Er – yes. Yes, quite. You mean should the occasion arise, – and I dare say it will – er, then you will have no objection to punishing boys, while I –"

"While you, of course, will occasionally find it necessary to punish some of the girls, Mr. Filbey. But I don't think two people of our experience should be over-modest. We are both perfectly mature and level-headed people, Mr. Filbey. I am sure that we shall cope, despite the novelty of the situation."

Hazel departed briskly.

"Bless you, Miss Harvey," said George under his breath.

* * *

Downstairs Janet was getting restless. Leaning with her back against the wall she bumped her bottom rythmically against it. The resilience of her firm young buttocks bouncing her back off the bricks and making the splits in her skirt gape and narrow by turns as she rocked back and forth. The edge of her white knickers appeared a fraction more with each bounce, her skirt nudging a little higher as it snagged on the rough bricks and her feet slipped gradually further forward on the shiny tiles. To relieve the monotony another girl turned up. She watched Janet with wide, anxious eyes, clutching her own note in a damp palm.

"Hi," said Janet at length." Got any chewing gum?"

"Er – no. I'm sorry."

"Oh." Janet bounced slowly. "Come to see him, have you?"

"Yes." The other girl seemed quite upset about it.

"You new here?" asked the oscillating Janet.

"Yes."

"Don't say much, do you?"

"Um –"

"You scared of Old Filbey?"

"Well, a bit –."

"Don't worry about him," said Janet, as if she knew a thing or two. "Just smile at him, let him have a peep at your knickers, and promise you won't be a bad girl again. Piece of cake." She bounced bumptiously against her bit of wall, pleased to have someone around to lord it over. After a while the nervous newcomer had to ask.

"Um – excuse me, but what did you mean about – showing him my knickers?"

Janet, woman-of-the-world, pouted her lips sexily and pressed her young breasts towards each other, moving her hips sensuously in a lazy bump-and-grind.

"Old Filbey is a dirty-old-man. Give him what he wants and you can get away with murder."

"Oh –." The new girl stared incredulously at Janet's lewd movements until she went back to bumping against the wall. She tried again.

"Er – what does he want, d'you think?"

"Sex." Whispered Janet. "He's a sex-maniac." She made big, saucer eyes. "Girls have gone in there and never been seen again."

"Oh –." Not sure she quite believed it, the new girl was half-convinced nevertheless. "Do – d'you – 'give him what he wants'?"

"Sometimes," said Janet archly. "If I'm in the mood." She looked dreamily up at the ceiling and cupped her hands provocatively under her breasts.

"Um – are you in the mood today?" asked the nervous new girl.

Janet dropped her hands to her sides and lowered her eyelids in a superior way. "No," she said loftily. "Today Filbey can do his worst, I shall not surrender my body to his lust. I am not in the mood this afternoon."

The new girl's face took on an expression of considerable concern. She hesitated for some time, but she had to say it.

"Do his worst, you said. Wh-what's his 'worst'? Will he be very angry with you? I mean – isn't it dangerous to let a man think you will – and th-then say you won't?"

"I don't care what he does" said Janet. "He can beat me, threaten me – I shall not give in. I am simply not in the mood."

"Oh." Completely taken in, the new girl bit nervously at her lip and struggled against the threat of tears while Janet resumed her bouncing, humming snatches of a current pop song with her eyes closed. She didn't hear the Headmaster come padding quietly along the corridor in his thick-soled, 'catch-'em-with-their-pants-down' shoes.

Mr. Filbey caught the eye of the new girl, who blinked rapidly in fright, then looked in some amusement at Janet, who was still humming quietly to herself. Janet's skirt had ridden up again, and from the side he could see the pale peep of her knickers below the rucked-up skirt at the back, the smoothly tanned satin of her thighs slipping up into the soft and plumping swell of her buttocks.

Normally he would have been fairly excited to have found Janet waiting outside his study, she being about the most daring little prick-teaser in the school. But now, today, he was excited in a different way, for today, with the unanimous decision of the senior staff behind him, he suddenly realised that his chance to pay the little tramp back for her embarrassing understanding of his weaknesses had finally come. It was an altogether more satisfying thrill which ran through him as he watched the tempting rythym of her body bumping against the wall.

"Janet!"

Janet's eyes snapped open in surprise. She straightened up, bravado severely diminished by the shock of seeing the Headmaster there.

"Yes sir?" she said in a fluster. Mr. Filbey looked her up and down.

"I take it you're waiting to see me."

"Oh – yes sir." Janet handed her note over. "From Miss Jones sir."

Mr. Filbey didn't read it. He raised an eyebrow at the other girl, seeing the fright in her eyes as she too handed over her note.

"Which of you was here first?"

"Me, sir" said Janet, thinking that maths was nearly over now and that break time was imminent, though it wouldn't have bothered her to have pushed the other girl into the queue before her if it had suited her.

Mr. Filbey opened the door and ushered Janet into his study. The other girl stared at him in something like horror as he closed the door. He wondered briefly what on earth was the matter with the girl, then went over to his desk and sat down.

Janet stood in front of him looking as if she had regained some of her composure, her hips tilting as she rested one leg against the other and the slightly seductive suggestion of a smile coming to her lips. Mr. Filbey looked at her with more confidence than he could usually manage and then he picked up the note which he'd tossed onto the desk.

"'Please punish this girl –'" he read, "she is a disruptive influence on the class, and on the boys in particular.' Well now Janet, what have you to say to that?"

Janet fluttered her eyelashes and looked with mock embarrassment down at her feet.

"I – I think it might be true sir. About the boys I mean sir – they just don't seem to be able to keep their eyes off me sir – or their hands," she added provocatively. She folded her hands demurely in front of her. "But I s'pose I can't blame them sir. I mean, I'm quite pretty really, aren't I sir." She sought his eyes, teasing him unashamedly.

Mr. Filbey found himself becoming drawn into her scheme. He shook himself mentally and tried to stop leering at her.

"Yes, you're quite pretty Janet – and pretty good at edging people on. I don't suppose you encourage the boys by any chance?"

Janet looked as innocent as it was possible for her to look, which wasn't altogether convincing.

"Oh no sir, I don't do anything sir. They just sort of – well, can't help it sir."

She took the hem of her little skirt and twiddled it between her fingers as if disconcerted by such a suggestion. That the lifting of the hem disclosed the plump mound in the 'vee' of her knickers to Mr. Filbey's eyes was certainly no accident. He was about to reprimand her for her shamelessness, but she was so coquettish in her pretended naivety that he hadn't the heart. He settled back in his chair and reminded himself that now, with the letter from the Department of Education on file, the games which he had played with tantalising little tarts like Janet; and which they, of course, had played with him; were no longer necessary. His was now the right; theirs was now the duty simply to obey. That neither Janet nor any of the girls yet knew this, was only an added spice to the fun he was going to have henceforth. He breathed a sigh which might have been contentment but which Janet thought she recognised as her cue. The hem of her skirt rose an inch or two higher as she plucked apparently abstractedly at a loose thread.

"Sir – I know I've got myself into trouble again –"

"The second time this week" said Mr. Filbey.

"Yes sir, I know – but, couldn't you let me off this time sir. I mean, I just can't get detention tonight sir – I've got a date actually sir, and it would be dreadful if I was kept in and missed the bus to town tonight sir." She looked up from her thread-picking to see how her ploy was going down. Mr. Filbey's eyes on the apex of her thighs convinced her that she was doing pretty well. She smoothed her skirt down over her hips and gazed straight into his eyes as he looked up. He cleared his throat and let her think he was playing the old game.

"I don't think I can let you off exactly," he said. "But if you really don't want a detention –" he left it unsaid.

Janet licked her lips prettily and coaxed her Headmaster none to subtley along the path she had trapped him into treading a dozen times before.

"Couldn't – couldn't you give me some other punishment sir?" She lowered her eyes coyly. "I mean, like before sir. Couldn't you just – just smack me sir? You know, sir –"

"D'you think I should?" encouraged the Headmaster. Janet edged her weight onto one leg so that her hips tilted and one thigh thrust saucily at the side-split of her skirt.

"Well, I know it's against the rules sir, but – well, so long as you don't smack me too hard sir, who's to know? I wouldn't tell anyone sir, honest." She risked a little smile. "I never have before sir, have I?"

Mr. Filbey had to smile at her nerve. "You're incorrigible, you know that don't you?"

Janet grinned impishly. "You've said that before sir," she said teasingly, and then without being asked she walked seductively round the desk and stood so that her bare thigh pressed against his hand on the arm of his chair. Her skin felt warm and vibrant as he stroked up the backs of her legs and cupped the weight of a buttock in his hand.

"D'you think I really need smacking sir?" she wheedled. "D'you think I ought to get across your knees now sir, so that you can smack me?"

"Yes, I do," said Mr. Filbey's husky voice, his hand patting the plumpness of the girl's snug knickers up under her skirt.

Janet eased herself down across his lap, her weight balancing across his legs and her legs straight-out with her toes on the floor. Even without lifting her skirt the tight stretchiness of her cotton pants across the round contours of her bum were charmingly displayed. He tucked the little skirt up fastidiously, while Janet squirmed her hips in a pretence of embarrassment. She played the game to the full, enjoying her exploitation of his obvious excitement.

"Sir – please don't smack me too hard sir" she pleaded. "I haven't been a really bad girl sir –"

His hand plopped lightly onto the cheekiness of her bottom and she wriggled lewdly, edging him on. He began to spank her lightly, first one cheek and then the other, as he'd done a number of times before. Janet's bottom trembled under the gentle smacking and she pressed her thighs together and rolled slightly from side to side, pretending it hurt just a bit. Little by little the bare parts of her cheeks pinkened in a soft and even glow, and here and there around the tops of her thighs little blushes appeared where spanks had ventured lower down. He spanked her perhaps thirty times, then he stopped, resting his hand on her tremulous bottom and patting it's softness as if in thought.

"You know Miss," said Mr. Filbey teasingly, "The day is going to come when I shan't be able to resist taking these little knickers down." He slipped a finger under the elastic of one leg and slid it round the curve of her cheek.

Janet didn't speak at first, then she said quietly, "Well, I s'pose there wouldn't be much I could do about that sir."

Across her Headmaster's knees, her eyes focussed on a patch of carpet, Janet had weighed the suggestion in her mind and had concluded that, if nothing else, it would be very useful to have that kind of a secret between her and Mr. Filbey. She wasn't too sure as yet just how it might be useful, but she'd think about that later, and anyway it was rather an exciting idea. She felt her knickers being slipped carefully down over her cheeks, the air chilly on the freshly-bared skin.

"Lift up Janet, there's a good girl."

She eased her weight up off his legs and his fingers slipped under her tummy and pulled at her knickers so that they slid down and clung around her thighs. She sank down onto his lap again, and then realised that he had opened the drawer of the desk.

"Now then my girl, just let me have your hand –" Her right hand was pulled up behind her back, "– and now just let me rearrange you –" A knee slipped out from under her belly and then she felt the roughness of his tweed trousers across the backs of her thighs. She began to feel rather helpless and she didn't think she liked it very much.

"Sir –?"

"Yes, I know my dear. I know," said Mr. Filbey's sympathetic voice. "It's all going to be rather a shock for you –" something cold and springy patted her cheeks, "– but never mind, you'll soon get used to it."

The thick wooden ruler splatted teasingly against her bared bum-cheeks.

"Sir –?"

The first solid spank took her completely unawares. Her bottom shivered under its impact and a hot smarting feeling spread fiercely across her bottom. She reared up and tried to kick her legs but found herself held firmly in place for the next stinging spank.

"Oow –"

"Now, now, try to keep still Janet –."

Whack!!

Splatt!!

"Ooh Christ! Oow, sir –"

Mr. Filbey spanked her soundly, alternating spanks between her lovely, reddening cheeks which made her bounce frantically on his lap while she struggled to kick free, though without success. She yelled, bawled, and finally blubbered, her bum twitching and jerking in an irregular way, crimson spank-marks spreading most satisfactorily across her cheeks while Mr. Filbey enjoyed this first-ever opportunity to give the seductive young Janet the spanking he'd always thought she deserved.

Outside the study, hand clasped to her mouth and eyes huge with fright, the new girl listened to the sounds of Janet's spanking and shivered with dread. For five minutes or more she listened while Janet squealed, and then there was a minute or so while Janet's crying was overlaid by the sound of the Headmaster's voice. At last, red-eyed and clutching at her bottom, Janet emerged from the Headmaster's study and scampered away down the corridor. The fluttering of her skirt flashed glimpses of knickers hastily dragged up and a bottom bright red with fresh spank-marks.

In his study Mr. Filbey read the second note.

"Please could I borrow your Second Series Geometry book" it said, and was signed by Mr. Miles.

The Headmaster went to the door, which was still ajar, and beckoned the waiting girl in while he sought through his bookcase. Turning round a minute or so later he was quite astounded to find the trembling girl standing in the middle of the room in just her blouse and knickers. She stared at him as if horrified, then managed to splutter,

"P-p-please sir – d-don't spank me sir – I'll do it sir. I'll do anything sir – I'm in the mood sir, really I am sir –!"

Shaken rigid by this incredible spectacle, Mr. Filbey was still standing with his mouth open as the girl began to drag her school knickers clumsily down her thighs. The knickers having dropped to her ankles, she had begun to unbutton her blouse, little bra cupped under maturing breasts, when the deputy Head Teacher, Hazel Harvey, knocked perfunctorily at the door and breezed in.

The Headmaster could only look at his deputy with blank confusion in his face, a look which Miss Harvey understandably mistook for the guilt of a man caught red-handed in some dubious deed. To her credit she took it absolutely in her stride. Raising an eyebrow she said "Sorry Headmaster – I didn't realise we'd started already," gave him an encouraging wink and left at once, closing the door considerately behind her.

Talking the girl back into her clothes wasn't so easy. Every few seconds she burst into a torrent of pleas that she didn't mind – she'd do whatever he wanted – she didn't want to get spanked but anything else would be perfectly alright sir –!

When at last he had managed to shush the girl out of his study the Headmaster was a nervous wreck. Janet. And now this new girl –

When Hazel came back an hour later he was still sitting at his desk, completely at a loss to understand what the girl had thought she was doing. Hazel's visit steadied him a little. After several minutes he said absently: "You know Miss Harvey – I've got a feeling that this corporal punishment business has cropped up only just in time. This school is full of sex-maniacs!"

Miss Harvey smiled politely at that, but wondered why the Headmaster should suddenly have started refering to himself in such a depreciating way. And what would he say when he found out what she had in mind for the boys!

New recruit

2010-05-12T23:49:00.001+01:00

From Uniform Girls 40.

The verdant woods are bursting with late Spring growth on this glorious hot May afternoon. The light green canopy of oak and birch filters the sun down onto wide expanses of dazzling bright bluebells. All is silent apart from the occasional chatter of a Spring-inspired forest bird. Otherwise tranquil silence. Certainly no sight or sound of human presence to mar this idyllic scene.
But somewhat further on, a bit deeper into the wood with all at first sight just as tranquil and untouched by the feet of blundering humans, there are voices. Human voices. A man's and a female voice. The man intoning and the female voice responding with a giggle. The voice of a girl, teenage probably.

Can we perhaps get a look at this invasion from the so-called civilised world? If we can cautiously advance a little closer... Yes, in this clearing. Is it a man? It is but he is clad in a short-trousered outfit. A scout – or more likely perhaps a scoutmaster. Khaki shirt and the shorts, with a black beret on his head. He is standing close to a tree, with a teenaged girl. She is in what looks like a Girl Guide's uniform: blue blouse and shortish dark blue skirt; white knee socks.

She is standing at the man's side but on the seat of a flimsy canvas camping chair so that her head (with tumbling blonde locks) and shoulders are above her companion. Her hands are on the bole of the tree which they appear to be inspecting.

'The English oak,' the man states. 'Quercus robur. Perhaps our finest forest tree.'

The girl makes a giggling acknowledgement at this information, and squirms somewhat precariously on the flimsy chair. The squirming and perhaps the giggle too are occasioned by the scoutmaster's hand. It is up the back of her short skirt. On her bottom.

If we have very good eyesight we could see something else. Some flimsy material (pale pink) half protruding from the man's left trouser pocket. This in fact is a certain female undergarment: to wit a pair of girl's knickers. They are the Girl Guide's (if that is what she is) knickers. This pretty, tousled-blonde-haired girl standing on the camping seat does not therefore at this moment have any knickers on. No knickers under that short skirt. Where the scoutmaster has his hand. So the hand is on her bare bottom. Which may well explain the squirming. And that half giggle? Could she perhaps be enjoying the manual attention.

'Can you recognise the English oak, Amanda? Do you know its salient features?'

Whether Amanda can or not is not clear. As she makes a 'Goo... Oooh!!' sound. This sound is nothing to do with English oaks. It is everything to do with the hand between Amanda's legs. Because the hand has now slid in between her thighs. In between at the very tops. To take hold her pretty puss. She performs a more violent gyration of her bottom and thighs, causing her to almost fall off the chair.

'Tree identification forms the first part of the Woodcraft Test,' the man tells her. 'Identification of six common English trees in summer and winter. Winter of course is more difficult but summer should be easy.'

As he is talking he is continuing to work at the girl's pussy. He has her slim but shapely body pressed hard up against the smooth bole of the tree now. Her hips and groin in particular. In order to keep her balance with what is happening Amanda has spread her arms and is clasping the tree with both hands. Her bottom is now sensuously shaking and jerking. With her thighs slackly spread to facilitate full access to the male hand and its manipulating fingers.

No, it is not at all clear what Amanda knows about trees.

She has not replied to the questions and indeed the subject seems to have been now forgotten by the scoutmaster. She is making groaning sounds now. Groans of pleasure. Orgasmic groans and shudderings. Quite simply her companion seems to be bringing her off. Bringing this pretty Amanda to orgasm. And the question has to be asked: isn't what we observe a little unusual? Is this what a Girl Guide can normally expect on a Woodcraft expedition? Is it indeed what a girl's mother assumes will happen when she places her daughter in what most people assume are the very reliable hands of the local Girl Guide Unit?

* * *

What needs to be said perhaps is that Amanda Parsons whom we have seen in the wood is not in a normal Girl Guide unit. Her instructor and companion is not exactly a normal Girl Guide instructor either. No. His name is Alfred Minley. And the name Alfred Minley is not one recognized by that august body, the girl Guides Commissioners, whose duty it is to ensure standards and quality throughout the Girl Guide organisation. For one thing it is common knowledge that virtually all approved Guide leaders are women. No doubt one reason for this is that the Commissioners may consider in their wisdom that it is not wise to allow a male to have close and intimate access to their nubile members. (Not of course that a woman instructor may not as easily have things in her mind regarding her charges over and above – well Woodcraft say. But probably the Girl Guide Commissioners do not think of this.) But anyway Mr Minley is clearly not a woman. No. And nor is he an accredited Guide instructor.

What Mr Minley used to be was a scoutmaster. Perhaps he became bored with that, at any rate he is not one any longer. What Mr Minley now has is his own little group of 'Guides' – but they are not official Girl Guides such as the Girl Guides Commissioners would recognise. Mr Minley's group is his own special unit, recruited in his home base of Little Wimbury and in other nearby villages. And the key factor here is that Alfred Minley runs Little Wimbury's only general store. And it is a fact (though not of course to be publicly acknowledged) that ladies who permit (or actually instruct) their daughters to join Mr Minley's little band may expect to obtain merchandise at Mr Minley's store at significantly reduced prices.

With Mr Minley being an ex-scoutmaster of unblemished reputation why should a mother not be happy to allow her daughter to join his group? After all Woodcraft and the life are most healthy and indeed potentially useful pursuits. Much better for Susan and Emily or whoever it is to be thus engaged rather than hanging about on street corners. And there is no official Girl Guide unit in the area.

In fact a certain local lady, Mrs Hallcroft, did think of starting up a group about a year ago. Only to have Alfred Minley make it clear to her that this would not be welcome. Mrs Hallcroft reconsidered, and the unwelcome threat of competition was removed. So Alfred Minley still has his girls.

Amanda Parsons for one. Amanda who on this Saturday afternoon in early May is out in the wood with Alfred. Working for her Woodcraft badge, or at least that is the idea. Amanda is one of Alfred's favourites. Not because of her knowledge of Woodcraft, or indeed any other particular skill that one might care to mention. But she is a very accommodating and cooperative girl. Some girls even after you have spent a good deal of time training them are not very accommodating.

It is much nicer if a girl is accommodating, and also pretty of course. But then Alfred Minley is not interested in recruiting a girl to his little band if she is not pretty, with also a nice shapely body. Amanda is very pretty with a very lovely shape. A lovely body.

Amanda and Mr Minley have now left that clearing where they were examining the oak tree – and as we saw were also examining something else: namely Amanda's ability to have a big and quite noisy, jerky-bottomed orgasm. Amanda's ability in that latter test was clearly not in doubt, she passed it with full marks. But regarding the former, well Alfred Minley is going to have something to say about that.

With Amanda carrying the canvas chair they have now walked further into the wood, some 200 yards, to another clearing where they have earlier deposited their rucksack. Now sleeping bags have been unrolled onto the grass and bluebells and a little primus stove has been set up. The sleeping bags do not indicate an overnight stay, but they are useful to sit on. Or of course lie on. The primus is to make some tea, which task Amanda, kneeling on a sleeping bag, is currently engaged in.

'We're going to need a little something,' Mr Minley says. 'For those trees. That was not very good.'

Amanda gives a little squeal of protest. He is seated next to her, on the canvas chair. She knows what 'a little something' can mean regarding her inability to name identifying characteristics of oak and birch. It can mean the cane. Or at least having her bare bottom spanked. Possibly as soon as she has made the tea and he has hopefully pronounced it good and then quaffed it down.

Is it possible that if her tea is especially good it might make up for the failure regarding the trees? No, Amanda doesn't really think so. Probably more likely if the tea is not good she will get an extra spanking, because the ability to make decent tea either at Mr Minley's home or out in the woods is another basic requirement for a girl in Mr Minley's little band. But usually Amanda's tea passed muster. Not like Susan's for instance. Susan has great difficulty making an acceptable cup of tea. Susan is always getting her bottom spanked or caned over her tea.

Leaning over the billy can Amanda gives another sharp squeal. This tune it is Alfred Minley's hand. Again you say! Yes, it has slid up under the rear of her short skirt. Amanda of course is still without her knickers. On an expedition such as this to the wood a cooperative, accommodating girl like Amanda will have her knickers off from the moment they get out of Mr Minley's car. For contingency purpose as he will say.

With a girl who has not reached quite the same degree of cooperativeness, well, maybe yes and maybe no. Alfred Minley will certainly endeavour to get them off as soon as possible, but a girl whose cooperativeness is still being developed may require some persuading. And naturally one does not want scenes – especially involving the removal of a girl's knickers – in a public place.

But yes, Amanda's pink knickers are off and Mr Minley's hand is up in the highly erogenous zone again. Which can well cause a girl to give a little squeal.

'Oooh! You'll make me spill the tea!' Amanda shrills. Not being reluctant to dramatise matters she adds, 'Or I'll have the primus over and the whole place ablaze!'

'I don't think so,' says Mr Minley, his fingers working. 'Now then what about that Sophie?'

Ah, this is something else! Sophie Stevens. The Stevenses have recently come to live in Wimburyford, the next village to Little Wimbury. The daughter Sophie is really choice: Amanda's age, a little bit taller, also blonde and just as attractive and shapely. Naturally Alfred wants her in his Guide Group. Indeed he can hardly wait to have her in the group. Alfred may have Amanda and Susan and the others already, all lovely girls and all more or less cooperative and accommodating to his whims. What more could a man want? Well what he can want is this new Sophie. Like a small boy with sweets, what he has in his hands is not enough if he thinks he can get another one.

Amanda has been detailed to make contact with Sophie and expound to her the many great pleasures of becoming one of Mr Minley's Guides. Naturally Amanda hasn't got to be too specific as to what these pleasures are, because until you know a girl you cannot be too sure what pleasure she takes from certain activities. Or how she will react to various familiarities. A man needs to lead a new girl on cautiously, rather like an unbroken young mare. So Amanda has to tread a careful path. But if she can... Mr Minley is going to be grateful. It is likely for instance that he will rescind any promised canings. Or at least convert them to not-so-awful spankings.

'Yes! I have! Spoken to her!'

Amanda words come out in a staccato, exclamation-mark-ridden way because of Mr Minley's hand. His fingers. They are doing what they are very good at doing. Which is getting Amanda all hot and jumpy. A man's hand right there will of course do that. Amanda as we know has just recently come, standing on that camp chair, but that does not stop a girl getting all hot and bothered again if a man start giving her the business. A girl can't help it. And Mr Minley is now giving Amanda the business as she kneels on the sleeping bag.

Alfred Minley is doing it but at the same time he is thinking of that Sophie. Amanda is a lovely girl and so responsive. She comes like a dream. But he can't help thinking of that new Sophie. Thinking of having her in his Guide group. Having her out here in the wood. Having her in his guide den, up in the loft in his house... Yes that Sophie.

Amanda has now let go of the billy can and has dropped her hands down on the sleeping bag. On hands and knees, her thighs spread, her ripe round bottom squirming. Alfred Minley's fingers in her pussy, at her hot clit, have got her going alright. Amanda is almost there, close to coming again. Yes she is a really lovely girl – but Alfred can't help thinking about that Sophie. What will she be like. On this sleeping bag say. Or of course up in his snug loft...

* * *

Alfred Minley's loft is his Guide snuggery. It is where he repairs with his Guides when they visit his house at the edge of the village. Up here is a snug little Guide world under the angling rafters. There are some chairs and a wooden desk where Alfred keeps his Guide records. There is a primus for brewing up tea camp-style. And to one side there is a bed: nothing fancy, a single bed with a simple cover. Yes his loft is very simply furnished but contains all the basics that a man may need for meetings with his Guides. The whole group perhaps or of course the girls singly.

The whole group now consists of five Guides. Because now there is Sophie Stevens. There has not been a meeting of all five yet because Sophie is such a new recruit. So new in fact that today is her first visit to Mr Minley. Her first visit to the loft. For the purpose of being measured for her uniform. So it is just Sophie, none of the other Guides. It is important to have a girl alone for the business of measuring.

Amanda has done a good job. Of enthusiastic but of course discreet and limited explanations. The other thing is that Alfred has had his chat with Mrs Stevens, mother of the choice girl. Mentioning his little Guide group. This public spirited venture on his part to provide a healthy outlet for some of the local teenage girls. Sophie was most welcome to join – and indeed he believed she had already expressed an interest to one of the members, Amanda Parsons. Then Alfred went smoothly on to refer to his cut-price arangements for favoured customers.

Well, what sensible mother could refuse her daughter taking up this attractive offer? Especially after Alfred has added his ex-scoutmaster credentials. What a nice person, such a concerned citizen, Mr Minley was! She would see that Sophie was available for the very next Guides meeting. Alfred, smiling perhaps a little greedily, said a pre-meeting would be best, to measure Sophie for her uniform. That would be the first thing. And if Mrs Stevens would care to give him a list he would arrange a first delivery of requested provisions the very next day.

Yes all has gone splendidly. Amanda has had two canings that were due reduced to spankings. And Sophie is now here! The entirely delectable Sophie. In this snug loft where Alfred has had so many wonderful experiences in the past.

What a truly lovely girl! In her blouse and skirt which give thrilling indication of the delectable figure underneath. She is smiling somewhat shyly. Unsure of herself perhaps. What does she know? What exactly has Amanda told her? And also... what does this girl know in general? Any particular... ah... experience..?

'Yes. The uniform, ' Alfred says in smoothly reassuring tones. 'That's the first thing. A girl has to have her uniform. And of course she has to be measured for it.' He is keeping his voice nice and steady. Keeping the excitement out of it. 'So we'd better have your things off, eh?'

Sophie's big blue eyes are questioning. Has she expected this? Has she had any experience of this before? Of being measured. By a gentleman, that is.

'Yes we'll need all your things off, Sophie. It's usual of course. We've got to get your measurements just right. '

* * *

The big blue eyes widen with this information. Plus there is a distinct flush to the pretty cheeks. Has the lovely girl experienced this before and is flushing at the memory? Or is she simply picturing it: her nude body... and Mr Minley's hands with the tape. Because he did say... all you things off...

'Have you... ah... been measured before Sophie? With all your clothes off I mean? '

'N... N... No...' she breathes. Her pink tongue comes out to moisten full pink lips. 'No Mr Minley.'

'Ah well then. ' Alfred feels a distinct stiffening in the front of his scoutmaster shorts. A discreet tenting out to accommodate his stiffening penis. 'Ah well, there's nothing to worry about. Just... get your things off. '

'A... All my things... '

'Yes of course.' Alfred's voice brisker now. One does not want to get involved in procrastination or, worse, argument. 'Well, you can keep your shoes and socks on. But there's nothing to worry about. I mean there's no one here to see. Is there?'

No there is no one. Except Alfred Minley of course. Eager-eyed and now with a tape measure in his hands. It is no doubt a scary prospect for an inexperienced girl. Although we don't really know how far Sophie is quite inexperienced. She says she hasn't been measured but that is only one thing. A girl can have plenty of other experience besides being measured. But she does look apprehensive. Scared in fact. Of this prospect of having to reveal all she's got. Trying to force a nervous little smile. As she begins.

Alfred greedy-eyed, and a little hot-faced. His organ is really quivering, as the garments one by one come fumblingly off. The blouse... and then the skirt. Sweet Sophie in virginal white brief knickers and bra. The sweet girl opens her soft mouth, bites the ripe lower lip. Is it not possible to take measurements perfectly well in knickers and bra? One might think so – but not for Alfred Minley and his Guides. Taking all the clothes off is anyway something else too: the acceptance that a girl must keep nothing from the Leader. She must have no secrets. Well she shouldn't have. But certainly no secrets... regarding those special parts. Boobs... and pussy

And sweet Sophie has now done it. Everything is off and she is revealing boobs and pussy. Shyly and reluctantly and Alfred has to push away her hands which automatically seek still to hide those delicious parts. But Alfred is not reluctant to have to do this. It enables him to make that essential contact, with bare flesh. Sophie shivers. Shudders. Whimpers. As his hands go to various places. Mr Minley is saying he wants her up on the chair. Standing on the chair. Sophie is feeling just a little faint.

END OF PART ONE

Curiosity hurts

2010-05-09T16:32:00.001+01:00

This is a story by James Stephenson originally posted on alt.stories.spanking. Many of these older stories, including more by James Stephenson, were collected by Laura Warner on here website The Spanking Corner. Laura's site was one of the first spanking sites I came across when I first started on the web in 96.

Michelle was middle of the road. Middle ability academically, mid ability in sports, and middle in terms of behaviour. She was no goody - goody at school by any means. She had been in detention several times during the past three years, had been sent out of classes to stand in the corridor, and was quite proficient at writing lines. She spent many a lunch time picking up litter and had twice been put on report (which meant getting each teacher to confirm her work performance every day for a fortnight on penalty of being sent to the head if she got two bad reports in that time). However, there were those who, while they were perhaps not in trouble so often, nevertheless were regarded as more serious troublemakers, and who had been dealt with more severely.

More severely usually meant being sent to the headmistress and that often meant getting a strapping across the hands. The usual pattern was that the first time you were sent to the head, unless it was something extremely serious, you got a real telling off, recorded as a formal reprimand, and the next time you got the strap. Formal reprimands and strappings were, as an additional deterrent, recorded on end of term reports, but in most cases it was the actual strapping that they feared more than the parents reaction. It was most effective. The most rebellious and hot-headed young girl would come back from a visit to the head's office very subdued and with her hands clutched under her arms and eyes looking distinctly red. There was also always a marked improvement in their behaviour for some while afterwards. It was also effective in other ways. It was almost entirely the reason why Michelle never got into really serious trouble, because, although she would have admitted it to nobody, she was scared stiff of being strapped.

Her fear had, at one stage early on in her time at the school, led Michelle to experiment with a strap for herself. One Saturday her parents had gone shopping and her brother was playing football for the school and she borrowed a leather belt belonging to her father. They had on one occasion all seen the tawse used by the headmistress - it was made of broad brown leather, fairly heavy looking, and split into two for about half of its length. Her father's belt was about the same width and looked about as thick, although of course it didn't have the split, so she judged it was the nearest thing she could use. She had, rather timidly at first, swung it down across the palm of her left hand. It made a fairly healthy smacking noise, but only tingled a bit and she knew full well that Mrs Sharp must wield her strap a lot harder than that. Gritting her teeth she had tried again. This was a fair bit harder and did cause quite a sharp burning sensation in the palm of her hand, but nothing that she couldn't cope with. She'd decided then that she'd give herself another two - four strokes was quite a common number except for first timers. However, the next stroke had gone a bit wayward and the edge of the strap came across the ends of her fingers and really hurt - she had dropped the belt and clutched her hand.

That was the end of the experimenting on that occasion, but it wasn't the only time she'd played around like it - on one occasion she heard that a girl had been given eight with the strap for telling the art teacher to "Fuck off" - this was a particularly severe punishment which had the whole school buzzing. At the next available opportunity, Michelle had decided to try and see what "eight" felt like, and again had been surprised by her ability to cope, but a little sceptical that maybe the real thing must hurt rather more.

Michelle's attitude to rebellion was typified by her version of the school uniform. She didn't ignore it altogether because that would invite confrontation. She wore a grey skirt as stipulated but the phrase "on or just above the knee" she had interpreted to her own standards with a good eight or nine inches of thigh on show. The rules also allowed girls to wear natural coloured tights whereas Michelle preferred opaque black as, to be fair, did almost half the girls in her class. Michelle's class were still supposed to wear school ties but Michelle hadn't been seen with a tie for a year at least, and nobody ever said anything. The rules also referred to plain white cotton knickers and a white bra - the bra she usually went along with, although last summer she had teased some of the local lads by not wearing a bra at all - but she was openly mocking of the rule on knickers and never wore white, and tended to wear rather briefer designs than were probably envisaged when the rules were produced. "What the hell" she would argue "Who's ever going to see them?" However, of course, her classmates did see them whenever they had to get changed for PE, and they secretly if not openly admired her grown-up undergarments.

As Spring turned to Summer, so Michelle's mind was more prone to wandering and she was more regularly in trouble with her teachers. As an incidental, the headmistress was quite ill and in hospital for much of the summer term and an acting headmaster was brought in, but nobody really saw very much of him.

"Michelle Summers, come and see me at the end of class to collect two hundred lines." Michelle had been too busy whispering to her neighbour to notice that she had attracted the attention of Mrs Johnston once again. She sighed and tried to look interested in Elizabethan history. Within ten minutes she had mentally switched off again. She began doodling and her mind was on the weekend, wondering if the weather would hold up, and if it did....

"Miss Summers come out here, and bring that paper with you!" With a fairly contemptuous pout, Michelle swung out of her seat and sassed her way to the front of the class to hand over the offending doodle. Fortunately for Michelle, although perhaps to the disappointment of Mrs Johnston, there was nothing offensive about the drawing which she rumpled and dropped in the bin.

"If you can't concentrate now, we'll see if your concentration is any better after school. You can stay behind tomorrow night for an hour and a half and write out pages from the textbook - now go and stand outside so you're not distracting anyone else." Michelle turned for the door, a look of weary indifference on her face, and muttered "Bastard." Under her breath. It was intended that the front row heard her, but not Mrs Johnston, but she misjudged it.

"Summers - stop there and turn around! What did you just say?"

"Nothing miss."

"Oh yes you did, and I heard you clearly enough." Michelle wisely refrained from asking why she should repeat it in that case, and stood watching as Mrs Johnston wrote vigorously on a piece of paper, folded it in half and held it out to her. "Take this to Mr Charlton's office now." There was an excited buzz around the room as Michelle took the paper and left - to the best of anyone's knowledge, Michelle was the first girl to be sent to see the acting headmaster on a disciplinary matter.

Michelle felt a bit annoyed with herself - it had been a stupid thing to say, and she should have known that she was getting herself into a deeper and deeper hole, but as she rationalised it, she decided that it wasn't so bad after all. At the end of the day, it was her first ever visit to the head's office, and the offence was not serious enough to warrant more than a telling off - in some ways it might be better than the detention which she assumed would now be cancelled. The worst of it was having it appear on her end of term report. Her parents thought she was an angel, and they wouldn't be pleased to have their perceptions so rudely challenged.

She went to the cloakroom first to make sure she looked neat and tidy and had her long blonde hair neatly tied back; after all there was no need to rush. She also took the opportunity to read the note, which wasn't sealed. It simply reported that Michelle had not being paying attention in class, that this had been common lately, and that when given a detention and told to leave the room, she had muttered an offensive word. On arrival she handed the note to the secretary who glanced at it and then took it through to the head's office. There was a short delay and then the secretary returned.

"You're to stand at the front of the hall until he's ready for you - he may be some while because he has the Chair of Governors with him."

Michelle didn't mind waiting - it might be boring but it was better than going back to classes. It was as she was waiting that she got to thinking. Suppose he did take a stricter line than the regular head, and decided to strap her? In some ways, the thought that this just might happen now, unlikely though it seemed, and she could do nothing to make it more or less likely, excited her - after all, she had spent long enough wondering what it would be like, although she was still scared by the idea, especially with it being a man rather than a woman.

In fact, in some ways, the worst thing now was the thought of her parents reaction to seeing on her end of term report that she'd been in trouble, regardless of the outcome now. What would they say? How would they react? She didn't relish the thought, and wondered how the parents of other girls had reacted at seeing their daughters had been in trouble. Several girls she knew had been sent to the head, and a fair number had been strapped. There had always been a lot of discussion afterwards about the strappings and reprimands, but Michelle couldn't remember anyone ever talking about the reaction of their parents. Would it be best to tell them first? She wondered whether she should ask one of the others for advice - perhaps she could ask Michelle Clarke, because she'd had the strap three times now and was in trouble more often than any girl in her class. The fact that they shared a common first name made Michelle Summers smile, and then the smile became more thoughtful as an idea occurred to her. The note from Mrs Johnston had given her had simply referred to her as Michelle and he wouldn't know her at all. Suppose she told him that her name was Michelle Clarke?

He would obviously need to get her file to enter a note about the reprimand, but, so far as she knew, there was no photograph on the school file, so there was no reason for him the realise the deception. He would see the long history of trouble for Michelle Clarke and would be almost certain to give her the strap, but it wouldn't be recorded to appear on her own end of term report. Okay, so Michelle Clarke might notice that there was an extra entry on her report that wasn't correct, but the chances of anyone working out how it had arisen were just about nil. She had, for years, wondered what it would be like to be strapped for real and this was her chance to find out without incurring the anger of her parents, or even letting her classmates know. It was almost the end of the afternoon already and she could easily avoid seeing anyone until she'd got herself straightened up. Her heart was racing as she wondered if she dared....

He was taller than she expected and she felt intimidated the moment she walked in. He was also quite severe in his way of talking and made her stand in front of his desk and to stand up straight with her arms straight down by her sides. After some initial lecturing about her lack of attentiveness in class he came to the issue of her bad language and gave her a very severe ticking off. He would have been seriously displeased if he had known how little was going in and how her mind was completely on a different dilemma.

"Have you ever been sent here before girl?" he demanded suddenly. She hesitated - perhaps he was a bit too angry to risk what she had thought of. However, he took the hesitation as admission that she had been in trouble before and didn't want him to know. "What's your second name girl? Michelle what?"

"Clarke, Sir" she heard herself say, at the same time wondering whether she had actually made the decision, or some mysterious force had made it for her. What the hell had she done? What consequences had she unleashed?

She was left to ponder on such things for a few moments as he briskly went and collected her file from the main office. Fortunately, or perhaps otherwise, for Michelle's deception, he was a very independent person and found the file himself without asking a secretary who might have queried why he wanted the file for Michelle Clarke - they probably wouldn't know Michelle Summers, but they would almost certainly know Michelle Clarke and would know that she wasn't the girl standing apprehensively waiting for the acting headmaster to return.

When he did, he sat and read through the file quickly, his brow furrowing more and more as he read on. Michelle felt she was going to wet herself, but she managed to keep her composure enough for him not to suspect anything.

"Well, I suppose you imagined that I wouldn't look at your discipline record and you could get away with a telling off, eh? Is that it girl?"

"No sir."

"Well, you're certainly no stranger to being sent here are you girl?"

The term 'girl' used in that way was very intimidating - she had ceased to be a person in her own right so far as he was concerned and was relegated to being a problem. Wondering how she would cope if he began to interrogate her about past misdemeanours, she kept silent. He seemed to view this as further truculence and the expression on his face indicated that this would be all the worse for her.

"Most of my experience had been in boys' schomls and I have to say that I have always imagined that the discipline problems in a school such as this would always be much easier. I suppose there has to be an exception to every rule and you seem determined to prove that girls can be every bit as troublesome and disruptive as the worst boys. I can honestly recall very few boys in my many years of experience who have been given strappings as often as you have and have still shown no moderation in their behaviour, perhaps because those who did show such leanings would by now have been introduced to a cane instead. Well, this is my last week at this school and I think I owe it to the school and to your regular headteacher to try to bring about some degree of reformation that has not previously been evident. Is there anything you want to say before I announce your punishment Clarke?"

She shook her head, too scared to speak, and now faced with the inevitability of a severe strapping. She was wondering if her hands would be so red and sore that she wouldn't be able to hide the evidence from her parents and friends after all.

"Right, well in that case I will be giving you a very traditional remedy for unruly and naughty schoolchildren and I think it's one you will remember for a long time - hopefully long enough to give you cause to modify your future actions accordingly. Six of the best." An electric silence as she wondered exactly what he meant. "You will bend over and receive six strokes of the cane across your backside." The plan had all gone horribly wrong. She wanted to scream that he was making a mistake, but something at the back of her mind kept reminding her that it was she who had made the mistake by pretending to be someone else, and there was no way she could correct the error and be certain that he wouldn't still punish her like this for lying on top of everything else. She had to try something.

"But sir, that's not fair!"

"It's eminently fair, Clarke, and what's more it's long overdue. I think the implication of your past disregarding of punishment is that you have not been shamed to be punished. Well let me assure you that you feel very shamed and very sore after this. And before you want to try and argue that I'm not allowed to cane a girl on her bottom, you're very wrong. The rules do permit such punishments in a serious case such as this - the only proviso is that, if you wish, a female member of staff may be present to observe that nothing improper is carried out." Michelle's world was crashing around her. She was starting to think about the shame he was talking about - if she had to bend over in her short skirt, she had a pretty good idea that she would be showing her knickers which was very humiliating but right now, it was also the fact that she would have minimal protection from a vicious cane wielded by someone who seemed to see himself as a one-man avenging angel. Her desperate fears were not, however, so absorbing that she failed to notice the new risk that she faced of having a female member of staff brought in who would probably know that she was not who she claimed.

"I'm just going to go and fetch a cane; I'll be about ten or fifteen minutes. While I'm gone, you will stand facing that wall with your hands on your head and don't move. If I catch you out of position, it's two extra strokes. Now move!" Michelle almost ran to where he had indicated and took up the required stance. "While I'm gone you can think back on your behaviour and what's going to happen as a result. You might also like to think about whether you want someone else to be present."

Little did he know, that one was one question Michelle had already made a very clear decision on! She heard his receding footsteps, and then it all went very quiet - eerily silent. After a couple of minutes she reasoned that this was the safest time to make a move - he must have gone and wasn't going to just pop back in for a quick check, and if she left it any later, he might be back earlier than she was expecting.

It was very brave, and more than a little out of character, for Michelle to disobey his very strongly stated insistence that she was not to move until he returned. Her curiosity had already got her into trouble this far, and it was her strolg urge to be nosy that drove her now. She had to get to see Michelle Clarke's file!

It was still lying open on his desk and she skimmed through it quickly - of course, it was common knowledge that Clarke had been in trouble quite often, and had been strapped on three occasions. However, what Michelle now discovered took her breath away - for a start, Michelle Clarke had been strapped five times, rather than the three that she had admitted to. Additionally, there was an incident recorded when she had been given the ruler across the backs of her legs, for being rude to a teacher. That was quite a revelation, because it was not generally known that such punishments were permitted - only the strap was ever referred to. What was equally earth shattering was the detail concerning the last time Michelle Clarke had been up before the headmistress. Michelle Summers could remember it well; Clarke had been caught selling cigarettes to younger girls, and had admitted to everyone in her class the next day that she'd been given the strap six times on her hands. Everyone knew about her being caught, and they wouldn't have believed her if she had claimed to get off with anything less, but the note on her file told a different story. According to the notes there, she had been made to bend over the back of a chair and the six strokes of the strap had been across her backside!

That amazing discovery also reminded Michelle that her own backside was about to pay a heavy price for her lying about her name. An awful and embarrassing thought had come back to her - she knew her skirt was a bit on the short side, but she wasn't completely sure about how much she'd be exposing if he made her bend over as he'd said. There was a long mirror on the wall opposite to his desk and she decided that she had to know.

She crossed the room, turned her back to the mirror, and gracefully leaned forward to touch her toes. Looking back thorough her legs to the mirror, her worst fears were confirmed - if he made her bend over as much as that, her knickers were visible through her supposedly opaque tights.

Her reverie was broken by a sound outside the office, and fearing that he might come back in and find her out of place she scampered back to face the wall. It was a false alarm, but she didn't risk moving again.

It seemed like a long time - standing facing a wall was a pretty boring occupation, but Michelle had plenty to think about. When she did hear his clear footsteps approaching the door, suddenly the time seemed to have flown and she was beside herself with anxiety.

"Right Miss Clarke, turn around and come over here." Michelle was still finding the use of another's name confusing but she did as she was told before freezing half way across the room as she saw the cane for the first time. She had imagined something rather like a garden cane - thin and yellow. She had even recalled images from somewhere of schoolteachers using canes with a curved handle at one end. This looked like neither image. It was clearly yellow and looked to be of cane-type material, but it was about two and a half feet long and while the one end was very thin and whippy, the other end was quite bulbous and made for a very comfortable hand grip. If he noticed her look of horror at this implement, he chose to ignore it.

"Let me just explain to you what's going to happen - pay careful attention. When I give you the word you will bend over and touch your toes. I expect you to remain in that position throughout and until I tell you that you may stand up again. I expect you to keep your legs perfectly straight - bend your knees and I'll give you a smack across the back of your legs as a reminder. I also expect you to take your punishment with a degree of dignity. Any excessive noise, or movement, such as taking your fingers away from your toes or wriggling about and two things will happen. Firstly I'll get another member of staff in here to assist me by holding you across the back of a chair, and secondly I'll start your punishment all over again. If you want to get this over with fairly quickly, then you'll take what's coming to you with as little fuss as possible. Any questions?"

"No sir." she looked down at the floor.

"Right, now I mentioned before that you are entitled to have a witness present - do you want that?"

"No sir." Very definitely she didn't want that!

"Good, well in that case stand here, face that way, and touch your toes!" Red faced and very badly scared, Michelle found herself obeying the instructions without really thinking. The place he indicated had a strange familiarity to her - it was closely situated to where she had tried bending over in front of the mirror earlier except that she was now side on to it. As for Mr Charlton, he had never had to cane a girl like this before and was faced with something of a dilemma.

He rather liked the view he now had of Michelle's long thighs clad in black pantyhose, but it was her bottom that was his target, and therein lay a problem. He could, from where he stood behind her, make out a glimpse of the pale material of her knickers showing through the tightly stretched pantyhose across her seat, but the hem of her short skirt was directly in his line of fire. He was more used to caning boys wearing trousers where such handicaps would not exist. He certainly didn't want to do anything that could lead to allegations of sexual impropriety, but he wasn't sure he could cane her safely and effectively like this. Aiming for the centre of her bottom would be very difficult with the skirt waving around like that, and the material of the skirt might absorb so much of the cane stroke that it would hardly be felt when it landed. Aiming higher or lower might cause her rather more pain than he intended, so there really was no option - the skirt had to go. Glad that she couldn't see his own discomfiture with this turn of events, he reached forward and, with as much confidence as he could muster, seized the hem of her skirt and pulled it up and over on to her back. There was a slight whimpering sound from Michelle, and she tensed her muscles as she realised what indignity was now being bestowed on her, but, to his considerable relief, she made no protest. Perhaps, he speculated, this had happened to her before when she'd been strapped on her bottom.

Of course, Michelle never had been strapped on her bottom - in fact she'd never been smacked, strapped, slippered or caned anywhere except by her own experimentation, but she believed this might be normal, and she wasn't about to risk any extra strokes or people being brought in to hold her down by complaining. Awful though the situation was, she was resolute that she had made her bed and had to lie in it. However, she couldn't resist the temptation to glance at her reflection in the mirror.

She could see herself clearly in profile, and embarrassing it was too. She could see her skirt turned back and could very clearly see the colour of her knickers showing through her tights. She was wearing lemon coloured cotton briefs today and to Mr Charlton's pleasure, they were very clearly visible now from where he was standing. They were, as was Michelle's wont, very high cut and actually covered rather less of her bottom than she might have preferred right now - the black material of her tights was, across her bottom at any rate, now stretched to an extent where he could see not only the lemon colour of her knickers, but some of the flesh colour of her actual bottom where the knickers failed to cover. Having such a clearly defined and tempting target as this was an unexpected bonus for Mr Charlton. He was going to enjoy this once in a lifetime opportunity to make an unruly and recalcitrant young girl really sorry for her behaviour!

She felt the cane being lined up across her bottom cheeks - there was no feeling of sympathy or mercy, and if anything just the opposite. He was determined that there was no way this girl would feel like bragging to her friends about this encounter - he would make very certain she remembered this day ruefully for a very long time. The cane came back and then swished down with a loud crack across her bottom, just below the line of her knickers. The pain exploded an instant later, and she felt as if her bottom had been cut in two. He waited a full twenty seconds - she could feel tears beginning to form in her eyes and her bottom was smarting appallingly.

The second stroke was a shade higher and landed across the full meat of her bottom. The knickers were too thin to really offer any protection and Michelle yelped involuntarily. She couldn't believe how much her bottom was hurting - she couldn't , simply couldn't, take any more! He waited again so that she had endured the full agonies of the stroke before renewing her pain. However, he also noticed this time that her knees were sagging - it would give her no advantage but it was a direct challenge to his instructions. He gave her twenty seconds or so to absorb the pain and ready herself for the next one, but she was oblivious to the fact that her legs weren't as straight as he demanded and that she was in further peril.

Had she been looking towards the mirror, she might have seen him transfer the cane to his left hand and move closer behind her, but she had her eyes screwed up shut. As a result, the first she knew about the fact that she had displeased him was when she heard a loud pistol crack and felt herself being propelled forwards as his hand smacked her heavily across the back of her left thigh. She just kept her balance and as she sensed the sudden vicious smarting in the back of her leg, she heard him saying something about a reminder to keep her legs straight.

Blinking back the tears and with her left thigh now burning from the cruel smacking, she made an effort to straighten her legs and bit her lip to try to reduce the discomfort elsewhere. He passed the cane back to his right hand one more and lined up the third stroke. Again, it was hard across the crest of her bottom, very close to the previous stroke and it seemed to hurt all the more as a result. She made the mental effort to make sure she wasn't bending her knees - she wasn't going to give him another excuse to smack her legs. He waited again until she was completely still and he knew that she had suffered most of what she would from the previous stroke before lining up the fourth. Slightly lower so it came across the very bottom edge of the meagre panties and with the most force yet. Michelle had given up any pretence to dignity and hot salty tears were running down her face. She glanced sideways at the mirror and watched with a kind of dreadful fascination as he raised the cane high over his shoulder and then brought it down swiftly on her vulnerable rump. The pain was dreadful, and this landed below her panties altogether so it might just have well have been on bare flesh for all the protection the tights gave her - she felt sure that her skin must be broken with that one.

One to go - she made extra sure that her legs were straight and fingers on her shoes - she mustn't give him an excuse to prolong the agony now. It was nearly over. She reminded herself that she wasn't to stand until he told her. Somehow she suspected he would love an excuse to give her extra. For his part, he realised that this was his last opportunity to make an impression on this wicked girl, and he wanted to do everything to ensure that he would succeed in reforming her where the headmistress had singularly failed. There was more to it than that - he rather liked the view of this teenage girl bent over submissively before him with her bottom offered up the cane, and the too-scanty panties giving her tender young bottom so little protection. This last one was something they would both remember for a very long time. The force almost broke the cane. Michelle screamed with pain and despite her best intentions she couldn't keep her hands on her shoes and almost committed the unforgivable sin of clasping her hands to her backside - fortunately she realised in time and with a real struggle, she resumed the designated position. He watched her contortions for a moment with a wicked grin on his face. That had been a beauty and he could actually make out the mark on her flesh through the gauzy material of her tights. How he'd like to see all of the marks properly, and for one crazy moment he wondered if he could confiscate the tights and knickers as they were plainly non-regulation. He pulled himself together - that really would be the end of his career! He managed to wipe the smile from his face and crossed over to the desk where he dropped the cane before sitting down.

"Right Miss Clarke, you may stand up and put your hands on your head." It wasn't where she wanted to put her hands, but it was at least a shade more dignified than bending over, and she gratefully felt the skirt fall back over her bottom. "Stand still girl - you can just wait while I make a note of this punishment in the official school punishment register and on your own personal file." She stood there, sniffing, crying and her face crimson with shame as he slowly and deliberately wrote up the incident. Finally he finished writing and put the pen away before leaning back and looking Michelle straight in the eye.

"Well I hope you've learned a lesson you'll not forget in a hurry Clarke. If you don't mend your ways, then clearly this sort of level of punishment is something you'll experience again, but I hope you'll start to think a bit about the sort of situation you're getting yourself into and maybe next time you feel like being cheeky to a teacher you'll cast your mind back to how you're feeling now. It may make you feel big in front of your classmates but I don't suppose you'd feel so big if they could see you now. It's fortunate for you that it's now a quarter part four so everyone will probably have left and you can compose yourself a bit before facing anyone. However next time you may not be so lucky. And I'll warn you of this right now - if I hear any thing on the grapevine about you bragging to your friends about this, I'll make very sure that they get to hear what a big cry-baby you were and how a sore bottom reduced you to a snivelling little schoolgirl. Now get out of my sight!"

She almost ran from the room, his angry words burning in her ears. He was right - the school was just about deserted, and she fled to the sanctuary of the toilets. Shutting herself in a cubicle she just stood and let the tears flow for ten minutes or more. Then slowly, carefully, she reached under her skirt and began peeling down the tights and knickers to inspect the damage. It was almost as bad as she had feared. He hadn't drawn blood but she had thick raised purplish red welts traversing her bottom cheeks and she would have the marks for a very long time.

Back in his office Mr Charlton permitted himself to smile again. A very satisfactory afternoon he mused as he flexed the cane, picturing once again the naughty girl bent over in front of him. Sadly, this was probably the only chance he'd ever get to cane a schoolgirl on her bottom, but it had been a very pleasant experience. He had been very careful with what he wrote up on the punishment records to simply record the date, offence and number of strokes. He hadn't specified the fact that he'd used the cane, and he certainly hadn't mentioned making her bend over to get it across her bottom. He was fairly confident she wouldn't be rushing to tell anyone!

Michelle Summers was very subdued that evening - her mother asked her a couple of times what was the matter. She took a bath and went to bed early but refused to tell anyone anything about the reason for her mood. And that was the way it stayed. At school she told her friends that he'd made her stand facing the wall for an hour and then sent her home. They quickly lost interest. Nobody seemed to notice that her behaviour was much better from that day onwards. The marks on her bottom faded but very slowly - a fortnight later she could still make out traces from two of the cane strokes on her pale skin. As for Michelle Clarke, her behaviour didn't, surprisingly enough, change one little bit. Towards
the end of term she was caught shoplifting at a time when she should have been in class, and the headmistress persuaded her parents to take her away from the school. If Mr Charlton ever got to hear of this, he may have felt disappointed, but perhaps he remained blissfully unaware.

Poor Julie! Janus 35

2010-04-28T22:48:00.000+01:00

As you may have guessed I've been a little too busy to post reguarly, but I'll be back soon.

Poor Julie! Janus - 34

2010-04-19T23:13:00.001+01:00

New Girl for the Cane Club

2010-04-17T00:34:00.000+01:00

by R.T. Mason, from Janus 27. Scaned by Dmitry.

DR LAWRENCE'S EYES, as he gazed out of his study window, were fixed on a particular girl walking across the school lawn: a pretty Sixth Former with shoulder-length corn-coloured hair, in the white blouse and short grey skirt and red-and-grey tie of Southbourne School for Girls. As she walked away the rear of the pleated grey skirt swayed rhythmically, giving evidence of a full, shapely bottom beneath. It was on this in particular that Dr Lawrence's eyes were so intently fixed.

Sixty-ish Dr Philip Lawrence, Headmaster of Southbourne School, while presenting a kindly, reassuring image to the world at large, in fact routinely practised an activity which, if made public, would certainly not be approved of. For Dr Lawrence derived his greatest pleasure from caning the bare bottoms of selected members of his Upper School: Fifth and Sixth Formers. And he liked to regularly and routinely indulge in this particular pleasure.

Watching the girl, Dr Lawrence reflectively rubbed his chin: a gesture he was wont to make when faced with a major decision. That girl with the corn-coloured hair was not on his select list of girls whose bottoms he was intimately acquainted with, in part at least because she had only been at Southbourne School for a few weeks. But during those few weeks Dr Lawrence had more and more felt the urge to add her to his little group. That group which certain of its members had been known to refer to as his 'Cane Club'.

The Headmaster moved from the window to sit at his desk. From a locked drawer he took out a leather-covered notebook and idly thumbed through its pages. The book contained quite a number of names: girls who, past and present, had allowed their bare bottoms to be bent over Dr Lawrence's polished oak desk or over the arm of that armchair in his sitting room. Because the mere fact that his pleasures, if generally known, would cause some awkwardness, to say the least, did not deter the Headmaster from indulging in them.

The best things in life might or might not be free but they certainly tended to be those not approved of by the man in the street. And so one had to proceed with caution, that was all. And one certainly could not be indiscriminate. The object of desire must be identified on an individual basis and pursued only after due thought and consideration.

Lengthy thought and consideration had been given to the girl with the corn-coloured hair and the swaying bottom.

Just occasionally, of course, good fortune could make this normal cautious approach unnecessary; as when a girl might be found out in some embarrassing situation. Shoplifting would come into this category, as would engaging in sexual activity – something normally strongly disapproved of by parents. Once alerted to anything of this kind Dr Lawrence could move in directly, swiftly and firmly. The price for avoidance of public disclosure of the unfortunate act would be made crystal clear.

If she was a sensible girl the price would be acceptable. She would agree to what the Head wanted and also agree that it would be kept quiet, just as her own shortcoming would be likewise be kept quiet. And then, probably with a sense of relief, she would, behind the locked door of Dr Lawrence's study or sitting room, allow her knickers to be removed and her quivering hindquarters bared.

With bottom bare she would duly bend herself over the top of the Head's finely polished desk or over the arm of his armchair. That sense of relief, as like as not, would now abruptly disappear as the cane jolted into bared buttocks.

But even so, was it not preferable to having everyone know she had been caught nicking a powder compact from that shop in the High Street? Or having her parents informed that she had been discovered in the act of sexual intercourse with a most undesirable youth in the local park?

However, by and large, girls whose bottoms Dr Lawrence desired to become more closely acquainted with could not be relied upon to go shoplifting; nor to engage in illicit sex. The girl with the corn-coloured hair, for instance, could she? If not and the Head wanted to proceed, then he would have to fall back on a strategy of attrition.

Yes, attrition. Wearing the subject down by making her life pretty well unbearable in just about every more-or-less legitimate way he could. Then, when the poor girl was close to despair, to send the Head Girl to have a word with her.

Needless to say, the Head Girl at Southbourne School was always a member of Dr Lawrence's Cane Club: a young lady with a choice seat which regularly felt the impact of the Headmaster's cane. Because he himself chose the Head Girl and it was naturally much more satisfactory to have in this key position a girl who was well acquainted with what went on behind locked doors at Southbourne School.

Anyway, as far as the girl with the corn-coloured hair was concerned Dr Lawrence had now considered and thought just about long enough. Yesterday had clinched it. When he had watched her in her gym class, in T-shirt and tight brief shorts, bending and stretching and vaulting on the horse. With the full firm cheeks of that bottom rolling and flexing and seemingly intent on bursting free of their scanty skin-tight covering.

Yes, that had clinched it. He had to have her in his little group.

* * *

'Christina Harvey,' queried Dr Lawrence. 'Not known to have any unfortunate little habits, is she? No guilty secrets?'

He was addressing his Head Girl, Justine Greenaway, the following evening in the privacy of his sitting room. Justine was a pretty, shapely girl, as Head Girls at Southbourne School always were. Auburn hair cut attractively short framed a face with large green-brown eyes and a full sensuous mouth which, for her visit to the Head, had been emphasised with bright pink lipstick. Lipstick was not generally allowed in school, of course, but for an intimate of the Head on a visit to his rooms it was quite all right and indeed encouraged.

Justine was standing in front of Dr Lawrence as he sat in his armchair and she was in the process of undressing. She had removed the red-and-grey Southbourne tie and was now unbuttoning her blouse. Under it she had no bra, and her breasts jutted out firm and full with pink nipples matching the pink of her mouth.

Justine's hands went to the waistband of her grey pleated uniform skirt. 'Christina Harvey? No, Sir. She seems straight as an arrow as far as I know.'

Justine had a good idea what the Head's query meant: he probably wanted her in the Cane Club. And if Christina hadn't done anything she could be blackmailed with, then Dr Lawrence's other technique would have to be put into force. Her life would be made a misery – until she was ready to break. Justine experienced a frisson of excitement at the prospect. She rather liked the look of the new girl herself.

She dropped her skirt to the floor and stepped out of it. Justine now had on, with her black medium-heel court shoes, dark nylons held taut by the slim straps of a pink suspender belt, plus a brief pink silk thong between her legs. As with the absence of a bra, this sexy wear was not the normal attire for a girl at Southbourne School. But it was the kind of thing the Head liked on one of his special girls in the privacy of his own quarters.

Justine turned to present the Head with her full bare bottom. Bare, that is, except for the narrow strap of the thong dividing the cheeks. Certain catty elements in the school had been heard to say that Justine had a fat bum and it was certainly larger than the average. But it was also firm and shapely, flaring out from a slim waist.

It was a bottom which, as far as Dr Lawrence was concerned, always seemed to cry out for the cane. He had been caning it for almost two years now, since Justine was 16.

Dr Lawrence's hand ran caressingly over the silky smooth flesh. Justine had a truly splendid bum: but he was also thinking of the as-yet unexplored rear divisions of 18-year-old Christina Harvey. The girl with the corn-coloured hair.

Justine, when Dr Lawrence had finished his preliminary fondling, went over to the armchair. She bent herself over the arm, face down in the seat. It was a familiar position. She gritted her teeth in readiness as the Head went to get his cane.

Moments later the cane hissed through the air, and landed with a CRACK! ...on Justine's upthrust nude buttocks. She gave a gasping grunt: then steeled herself for the next.

Although she had been getting it for almost two years now, that didn't mean it stung any the less. It stung like bloody blazes in fact, and today Dr Lawrence was laying it on even more than usual it seemed. Probably the old devil was thinking about that Christina who seemed to have caught his fancy.

Justine hung on, gasping and jerking her bottom as the cane kept rising and falling. It hurt all right but it could also get you going. She had developed a love-hate relationship with Dr Lawrence's cane by now: it hurt but it was decidedly arousing. She thought hotly of that boy she had met in the summer. But unfortunately there were no boys here at Southbourne School.

The caning stopped at last and the bucking of Justine's hips subsided. Her full bottom bore red tramlines and crisscrosses. She got up from the chair, her two hands behind her rubbing at her smarting backside. Her whole body felt on fire. There weren't any boys at school – but there was her room-mate Rosalind Chambers.

Justine replaced her skirt and blouse, then her blazer. Dr Lawrence put his cane away, then slid his hand up Justine's skirt to her glowing bottom.

'Perhaps Rosalind will put some cold cream on it for you!' he said, a knowing gleam in his eye.

Justine flushed. The Head knew about her and Rosalind. If they hadn't been in the Cane Club he would have been down on them like a ton of bricks. As it was he treated it with amused tolerance.

Five minutes later Justine was back in the room she shared with Rosalind. She closed the door, then locked it. Locking your door was also something only allowed if your name was in the Head's leather-covered notebook.

Justine put her hand gingerly to her bottom. 'Christ! it bloody well stung tonight!'

Rosalind, sitting at her desk, looked up and smiled. 'Oh poor Justy! So you're all hot and sexy then?'

Rosalind put her books away and stood up. Eighteen, like Justine, she was slightly shorter than the Head Girl, with a gamine prettiness and masses of brown curling hair. Her skin-tight pink pyjamas showed off a firmly-rounded figure with pert pointy medium-sized breasts and tight buttocks.

Justine, as she had done half an hour earlier in the Head's room, removed blazer, skirt and blouse. She pirouetted in front of her friend, firm bare breasts swaying and with the red marks of her recent caning still very evident on her buttocks.

Rosalind laughed. 'Yes, he has marked you up!'

She moved close to briefly embrace Justine, then stripped off her pyjamas. Justine removed the rest of her garments and they climbed into bed. The room had two single beds, but as usual, when it was not just sleep they had in mind, they both got into the same bed.

As they grabbed each other Justine said, 'He's after that new Christina.'

* * *

The blitz began the very next day. The Head instructed all Christina's class teachers that they were to send all the new girl's work to him for scrutiny. He said he had been having another look at the reports from her previous school and it seemed Miss Harvey tended to be rather lazy and get by with the least possible effort.

Those masters, newer ones, who did not know Dr Lawrence were somewhat amazed at this edict. They were generally well satisfied with Christina's work, and she seemed a well-motivated and likeable girl – in addition to being a very attractive one. But other masters, those who had been around awhile, had seen this sort of thing before. They shook their heads wryly... but nonetheless complied.

Dr Lawrence had Christina in his study the next afternoon at 4 o'clock. He could hardly contain his excitement. She was just so appetizing: quite a tall girl with a full womanly figure and with that softly pretty face and the thick shoulder-length blonde hair. A real beauty! The front of Dr Lawrence's trousers was really twitching and it was all he could do to refrain from taking action there and then.

Yes, it would be so easy to tell her her work was not good enough and he was going to cane her and would she please take all her clothes off, and bend over his desk.

But caution and good sense prevailed. He was dealing with an unknown quantity and could be treading on very treacherous ground. All he had built up over the years could so easily fall apart if he pounced before he had done the ground work.

He produced his sternest expression. 'I have looked at your work, Miss Harvey, and it is quite simply not up to scratch. Definitely not good enough for Southbourne School. A one hundred per cent improvement will be immediately needed before you approach the standard we require here.'

Christina looked dumbfounded. She had received no complaints from any of her teachers, and indeed had never had any at her other school.

The Head continued, 'So you'll have 500 lines to be handed in tomorrow. "I am eighteen years old and my work should reflect this: I intend to do much better in future."

Tears started in the big blue eyes. Writing lines was for junior girls. To be made to do them in the Upper Sixth was the height of humiliation. And it was all quite unfair.

'And you will have no passes out of school until further notice.'

'But...'

'Would you rather I wrote to your parents?' inquired the Head icily. 'To tell them how badly you are doing?'

Christina's parents were in the Diplomatic Service and had just been posted abroad. That was why she had had to transfer to a boarding school. Dr Lawrence naturally knew this. The last thing they would want right now would be to hear their daughter was having trouble at her new school.

Eyes downcast, Christina mumbled, 'N..no, Sir.'

Dr Lawrence had guessed as much. 'Good! Dismiss then.'

At the door Christina got a sharp slap on the bottom. The Head couldn't resist it: a foretaste of the great delights in store.

The pretty blonde went straight to her room and had a good cry. The interview had been simply devastating. She had thought she had been getting on so well at her new school: the masters were all right and the girls were nice too. And now this. Wiping her eyes she began to copy out those awful awful lines.

When her room-mate, Emma Pearson, came in Christina pretended she was writing a letter. It was just too humiliating to admit she had been given lines.

The next day she duly delivered them to Dr Lawrence – only to find he had something else to complain about. He said she didn't look very fit and that could be partly the cause of her poor work. He told Christina to do some running on the spot.

Flushing slightly she took off her blazer and complied. The corn-coloured hair started bouncing up and down – and so did the two firm full breasts under the thin bra and blouse. Christina wasn't particularly keen on sport, apart from tennis, but she was probably as fit as the average 18-year-old girl.

Dr Lawrence, naturally, wasn't satisfied with her efforts. 'Knees higher! And faster! Faster!'

'Hopeless!' he pronounced after a few minutes. Take your skirt off and let me see some real effort!'

Christina looked at him; bit her lip; then slipped off the pleated grey skirt. Underneath were tight brief white knickers with a white suspender belt fastening her nylons at mid thigh. Red-faced, she started the stationary running again: firmly rounded thighs pumping rhythmically up and down. The Head's eyes gleamed.

'Come on: faster! And get those knees up!'

By the time he finally said she could stop, Christina felt she was going to collapse. She was really gasping and she felt damp with perspiration.

As she replaced her skirt and blazer Dr Lawrence said, 'We'll definitely have to do something about this, my girl. You're really in dreadful shape. I shall have a word with Mr Martin; and also Rosalind Chambers.'

Mr Martin was master in charge of Games and PT. Trim Rosalind Chambers was Captain of Athletics; and also of course a girl with her name in Dr Lawrence's little leather book.

* * *

'Christina Harvey,' intoned the Headmaster. 'As Justine may have told you, I am not too happy with that girl and feel she needs bucking up a bit.'

He was addressing Rosalind Chambers in his sitting room. Rosalind had just been for a training run, then showered and put on a fresh track-suit for her meeting with the Head. Her abundant brown curls were still damp from the shower. Under the red-and-grey track-suit Rosalind had nothing on except a dusting of lilac-scented body talc.

She smiled sweetly at the Head. 'Justine said she thought you wanted Christina in the Cane Club.' Rosalind could be very direct at times.

Dr Lawrence flushed slightly. 'I'm sure I did not say that to Justine. And also I wish you girls would not use that term. It's s so easy for it to slip out when others are around.'

'Oh Sir, I'm the very soul of discretion.' Rosalind looked across at the drinks cupboard. 'I wouldn't mind a sherry, Sir, after my run.'

'Certainly: pour yourself one by all means.'

As usual Dr Lawrence was notably lenient with girls on his list. As long as a girl was prepared to bare her bottom and bend over when requested, she could certainly have a sherry. And the Captain of Athletics, as they both knew, was going to be bending over very shortly.

Rosalind had been in the Club almost as long as Justine. It had been one of those occasions when the Head was able to exert a little blackmail. Sixteen-year-old Rosalind being caught in bed with an Upper Sixth girl together with a variable speed vibrator. Both girls had quickly agreed to go on the Head's list if he would keep things quiet.

The Sixth Former had only three months left at school – three months of canings – but Rosalind had another two years. Fortunately, as girls often did when it became a regular thing, Rosalind developed that same love-hate relationship with the cane which her friend and room-mate, Justine Greenaway, had.

'Do you want my track-suit off, Sir?' inquired Rosalind, glass in hand.

'Naturally, my dear. But I hadn't finished about Christina Harvey. I want her on a hard rigorous training schedule, to smarten her up a bit. I've spoken to Mr Martin and I'd like you also to do some work with her. Some long cross-country runs. I want her to be suffering.'

'Yes, Sir.'

Rosalind had put down her sherry glass and was unzipping her track top. Her pert breasts popped out and she stuck them out at the Headmaster as she slipped her arms out of the jacket. The track trousers then came down and off and Rosalind was nude except for ankle socks and sneakers. She stood still as Dr Lawrence's hand slid appreciatively over firm lilac-scented flesh.

'Very nice,' observed the Head. For the moment the girl with the corn-coloured hair and the sumptuous bottom quite disappeared from his mind.

After a few minutes Rosalind went to bend herself over the arm of the chair, raising up a firmly rounded bottom which was healthily glowing from her run and the shower. She wriggled the pinkly glowing bum a couple of times and gritted her teeth.

CRACK!.. 'Aaaooww!' It hurt, of course, it always did. It was only afterwards that you thought that maybe it wasn't so bad. While it was happening it stung like blue murder.

The cane rose and fell, each stroke punctuated by a sharp yelp from Rosalind and leaving behind it a nice red stripe. The round bare bottom, in spite of its experience of this sort of thing, was jiggling and dancing. And Dr Lawrence, eyes hot, had that wonderful sensation when it seems that all of a sudden the front of a man's trousers has been cut much too tight for him.

The Head seemed in fact to want to go on and on. Rosalind, through her gasps and yelps, wondered if he had perhaps forgotten that a girl was prepared to take only so much. She finally brought the session to an end by sliding off the arm of the chair and onto the floor.

She rolled onto her back. 'Sir: that's enough! You must have bloody well given me twenty!'

Dr Lawrence pulled her to her feet. He had got a bit carried away, rather mesmerised by the squirming pink bottom. And of course he had a lot on his mind at the present. The breaking-in period with a new girl was always a bit worrying.

He ran his hand over the red-striped bottom – and asked Rosalind if she'd like another sherry.

* * *

Seven o'clock the next morning and Christina Harvey was feeling absolutely shattered: ten times worse than after that running-on-the-spot session in the Head's study. She had just been taken on a killing half-hour cross-country run by Mr Martin. It had been absolutely dreadful. They had gone at an impossible pace and at every sign of flagging Mr Martin had kept her going with sharp slaps at her bottom and thighs.

Christina hadn't taken much notice of Mr Martin before. He was just the Games Master and she wasn't much interested in sports. She had noticed that he liked watching girls undress for games and PT, and was not above running his hand over you in the gym, but that was what Games Masters tended to be like. At Christina's other school the Games Master had been the same.

But now suddenly it was all different. Yesterday Mr Martin had come up to her in the corridor and, thrusting his rather fierce pink face close up to her, barked:

'We're going to have to get you into shape, young Miss. Get that body firmed up!'

And his hand had reached out and squeezed one of Christina's breasts. A breast which filled a 36-C cup but at the same time was notably firm and jutting out without the support of a bra – as Mr Martin knew because he had more than once seen her breasts nude in the changing room.

He had then squeezed the other one, pronouncing, 'Yes! Definitely need firming up, Miss.'

Christina had just gasped. Life at Southbourne School had abruptly turned into a nightmare. And the nightmare had continued when this morning she had to get up at 6.15 and, still half asleep, put on knickers and bra, and T-top and running shorts and sneakers. And then her track-suit. All under the greedy eye of Mr Martin. And then had to go out with him on that cross-country run.

After 10 minutes he had made her take off the track-suit. So that he had bare thighs and her bottom in just the brief tight running shorts to slap at.

Back in the changing room Christina was virtually sobbing with exhaustion. Mr Martin pushed her up against the wall and started stripping off her sweat-wet garments. When he had got her nude his hands briefly ran over her, and then she was told to get up on the massage table. Christina stumbled to the table and, with the aid of the Games Master's very helpful hands, climbed up on it.

Hard male hands ran all over her body as she lay first on her front and then her back. The hard hands squeezing and kneading her soft exhausted flesh. Squeezing and kneading so hard that Christina was immediately gasping with pain. Squeezing and kneading every single part of her...

At last he had finished and was telling her to get down. Then leading her to a shower which he had turned on full blast. He pushed her in... and Christina gave a howl of anguish. The water was ice-cold.

When she finally got out of the gym block it was 8.30, time for breakfast. She had Mr Martin's awful words ringing in her ears:

'You'll be having exactly the same programme every day this week, my girl. And it will continue until you've reached a reasonable state of fitness.'

Mr Martin, it must be said, knew well enough what Dr Lawrence wanted with Christina. Jack Martin was one of those masters who was well aware of the Head's little pleasures and when Dr Lawrence had spoken to him he realised at once that Christina was to be broken in to be recruited to the Head's caning group. Mr Martin was happy to cooperate. For one thing it was very pleasant to train a pretty girl and push her to her physical limit. Among other things there was the excuse for those nude massages that he loved to give.

But also, once a girl was submitting to clandestine caning by the Head Jack Martin could get in on the act as well. His own pleasure was not so much the use of the cane as spanking. Bare bottom spanking. As with caning, spanking was something you did not practise on just any girl, for if she wrote home about it there would certainly be parental complaints. But with girls who were not going to write home, it was a different story.

So Mr Martin was certainly going to work enthusiastically in the softening-up process with Christina Harvey: the girl with the corn-coloured hair and the full but enticing bottom. And the firm jutting tits with nipples sticking out like fat red thumbs when she came dripping out of an unpleasantly cold shower.

Rosalind Chambers, of course, had also been recruited to work on Christina. The trim Captain of Athletics sought her out at lunch time that same day and said the two of them were to go on a cross-country run at 4 o'clock, after classes. Headmaster's orders.

'But I've been on one dreadful run already today. With Mr Martin,' wailed Christina. 'I just can't do another!'

'I'm afraid you have to,' replied Rosalind. 'Like I say, it's the Head's orders.'

And so in running shorts and tops they went out at 4 o'clock, slim ultra-fit Rosalind setting a pace which Christina could barely keep up with. For the pretty blonde it got worse and worse. After about a mile and a half she simply collapsed to the ground and started sobbing.

Rosalind, who was not feeling any strain at all, stopped and sat down with Christina. She put her arm round her. Although she didn't know the new girl well as yet, she liked her. And she knew what she must be going through now that old devil Lawrence had decided to put the screws on her.

'Cheer up!' she advised. 'Have a rest and then we'll go on.'

'I just can't!' sobbed Christina. 'I ca.. can't go on. N.. not with any of this. You.. a.. and Mr Martin.. And the H.. Head. I just wa.. want to die.'

Rosalind bit her lip, feeling rather rotten about the whole thing: not that it was her fault. 'Cheer up,' she repeated. 'It's not that bad.'

Christina wiped her eyes. 'Wh.. what's happing anyway? I mean... everything was all right, and then suddenly...'

Rosalind kicked at a stick lying on the ground. 'I can't tell you. But it's the Head of course.'

Christina turned towards her, eyes wide. 'Can't tell me what?'

And then Rosalind who was not particularly good at keeping her mouth shut did tell her.

'What d'you mean, he wants me?' gasped Christina. 'He wants to screw me?'

'Oh no, not that. He... he wants to cane you. But of course caning is a very hush-hush business.'

'Well, he can cane me. I'd rather have the cane than all this other misery.'

'But it's because it's not allowed, you see. I'm not supposed to be telling you this; but this is how he operates. You've got to be really broken down. Having a really rough time for several weeks. And then he can be good and sure you'll do what he wants and won't tell.'

'Several weeks!' gasped Christina. 'I'll be dead before that's up!'

'Well, that's how it is,' said Rosalind. 'Unless he's got something on you. You know: blackmail of some sort.'

'Look: if he wants to blackmail me, I.. I'll rob the Bank of England. Or go to bed with all the masters. Anything's better than this.'

'I don't think there's any need for that,' said Rosalind. She thought for a bit. 'Look, I'll have a word with Justine Greenaway. Maybe we can think of something.'

She got up and pulled Christina to her feet. 'Come on. And we can walk for a bit if you're really whacked out.'

* * *

'You should never have told her!' scolded Justine. 'The Head would hit the roof if he knew. What if she writes to her parents and spills the beans?'

'Don't worry,' said Rosalind. 'She's not going to do that. But I've thought of a really super idea. Something that will get her off the hook and be really swoony for us two. Have you ever thought about a threesome?'

Justine's eyes opened wide.

'Yes. Us two – with Christina. In bed. I quite fancy her; although naturally not as much as I fancy you, Justy. But then she can write out a confession to the old boy about her misdeeds, so that he'll have that on her. And... well, she won't need to be persecuted any more.'

Justine was looking open-mouthed, barely able to take all this in.

'And Justy: we can also get hold of a cane. And warm up that nice soft bottom of hers. Hot her up – and also give her a taste of what she'll be getting from the boss. Well?'

Both girls burst into excited giggles. They grabbed each other, embracing. Between the giggles, Justine said she could sneak a cane out of the Head's study when he wasn't there...

Christina was invited round to their room that same evening. Justine locked the door behind her. Rosalind handed out coffee and they sat down, Christina with a somewhat anxious look. She had just been writing out another 500 lines for the Head. What was coming now?

Rosalind said, 'Christina: you mentioned on our run going to bed with all the masters if it would stop this business that the Head has started. Well, we don't think that's necessary but, er, well, you could come to bed with the two of us.'

Justine, flushing slightly, said, 'As you know it's strictly verboten but at the same time, with no boys around, it does go on. Rosalind and me – well you need some outlet, don't you, otherwise you go mad in a place like this.'

Christina was looking dumbfounded: it took a while for what they were saying to sink in.

Justine said, 'I'm sure you must have indulged before, Christina. At your other school.'

'So what do you think?' asked Rosalind.

Christina was now red in the face. 'Bu.. but what about you two? I m.. m.. mean you'll be in trouble as well if I tell him.'

Rosalind airily explained that the Head knew all about them already. And allowed it because they were on his list.

'Once you're in the Club life here is pretty free and easy,' added Rosalind. 'Apart from the actual caning of course, and you get used to that.'

Rosalind moved to sit next to Christina on Justine's bed. She put her arm round her. 'Of course we could just say we did it. But it'll be much more fun if we actually do it, don't you agree?'

With the alternative being weeks of misery until Dr Lawrence felt 'quite sure' about her, Christina was not going to argue. Anyway with the awful strain she was now under, the prospect of a little sex play was not at all unattractive. For one thing it would not be Christina's first time.

And then Justine produced the cane. One of Dr Lawrence's two-foot whippy rattans, a length he didn't normally bother with. Christina's eyes opened wide once more.

'Don't worry!' smiled Justine. 'It won't really hurt. It's quite a turn-on in the right dose. And it'll be an introduction to our dreaded Headmaster's little pleasures.'

Rosalind gave Christina a kiss on the mouth and then pulled her down on the bed. After a little embracing Rosalind sat up and turned Christina over on her back. She was lying with her hips over the edge of the bed. Holding her skirt down Rosalind pulled Christina's skirt up to her waist, exposing that full shapely bottom in tight white knickers.

Justine sprang forward and grabbed the knickers, yanking them down to the tops of Christina's nylons. The splendid bottom which Dr Lawrence had set his heart on was bare – and Justine had the cane in her hand and an excited gleam in her eye.

CRACK!... It bit sharply into the soft flesh. Not as hard as Dr Lawrence would do it but a nice sharp stinger. Christina gave a gasp and the bottom jerked. Her face was in the bedclothes with Rosalind firmly holding her shoulders.

CRACK!... The cane came smartly down again. Christina gave another muffled 'Oooff!' This had all happened so suddenly that she had barely had time to think.

Another muffled gasp as the cane stung her soft bottom again. Then Rosalind's face was down close to hers. Breathing hotly into Christina's ear:

'Is it nice?!'

Christina's head was going round and round and she didn't know if it was or not. The cane kept coming down on her bottom, each delivery a sharp sting like a persistent hornet or wasp. But at the same time it wasn't as bad as one of those killing crosscountry runs. She felt Rosalind's tongue in her ear...

The caning finally stopped and a hot-faced Justine was pulling Christina's knickers on down her legs and off. Then all three girls were in a giggling struggle on the bed: a kind of all-in wrestling match. In the middle of this Rosalind and Christina fell off the narrow bed onto the floor.

They paused for breath. And then Justine was pushing Rosalind's bed up against her own; then checking that the door was locked. And then all three girls were undressed and in the two joined beds.

Giggling and gasping. Groaning and yelping and grasping at each other. Three soft female bodies intertwined together and getting more and more aroused by the minute.

* * *

The next day, right after Morning Assembly, Dr Lawrence had an unscheduled visit from his Head Girl. Unscheduled or not, a visit from vivacious Justine Greenaway was always welcome. The Head got up to quickly go and lock his door: and then was immediately grabbing for Justine's bottom.

She squirmed away saying she had a lesson and couldn't stay. Otherwise in no time flat she'd be over his desk with her knickers down.

'No Sir. It's just I've got something important to tell you, Sir. It's Christina Harvey. She's got a confession to make, Sir. And when you hear it – well, you'll be able to put her in the Cane Club right away.'

Justine's words at least caused the Head to stop his grabbing and groping. She slid away from him.

'Shall I send her in, Sir?'

Justine had quickly moved to the door and unlocked it. Well, you had to keep on your toes with Dr Lawrence if you didn't feel like a caning. Otherwise he would probably decide to give you a warming-up first, and then see Christina. And a girl didn't want to be caned all the time.

'Uh yes,' he said, as the full meaning of Justine's words slowly dawned. 'Yes. Yes, send her in by all means.'

Justine went out and almost immediately there was a hesitant knock and Christina appeared. The girl with the corn-coloured hair, looking somewhat flushed and apprehensive and with a note in her hand.

She quietly closed the door behind her; looked up at the Head, then quickly down again. She held out the note.

Dr Lawrence tore it open.

'Dear Dr Lawrence. I am writing to confess to improper behaviour with Justine Greenaway and Rosalind Chambers. I spent two hours in their room yesterday evening during which time improper and unladylike behaviour took place. I am willing to accept any punishment you see fit to impose, but should be very grateful if you could see fit to keep this matter confidential, if you don't mind.

Your obedient pupil, Christina Harvey.'

Dr Lawrence looked up, face flushed.

Contritely Christina said, 'I'd rather the punishment was not cross-country running, Sir. Or awful lines. But.. I don't mind a caning, Sir.'

The bit about the cross-country was said with special feeling, for before breakfast Christina had been taken out on another dreadful run by Mr Martin. Followed by a massage and cold shower.

Dr Lawrence made a 'hrrmm' noise. He was experiencing a rapidly increasing tension in the front of his trousers. As well there was a sense of exultation and relief. That period of attrition, which was frustrating to say the least, could be terminated forthwith, and this lovely girl's name go immediately in his leather notebook.

But cautiously he said, 'Caning, young lady, is not, er, strictly speaking a legitimate form of punishment.'

Christina raised her long lashes and lowered them. Her softly pretty voice came again: 'That's all right, Sir. I won't tell. I mean if you won't tell on me, Sir.'

The feeling of exultation was overwhelming. And at the same time the tension in Dr Lawrence's trousers felt near to breaking point.

'Can.. can you please lock the door,' he said.

Christina went to the door as he looked again at her note.

'I think.. if you could be rather more specific. If you could just add "I engaged in unacceptable sexual practices," I presume that is what we are talking about, and it would make it stronger from my point of view.'

Christina took the Head's pen and complied. As she did so she felt his hand sliding over her bottom.

'Good!' he said, having a final squeeze and then putting the note in his drawer.

'Very good! Well, I think in that case we can now forget about lines and cross-country runs and suchlike. Would you like a sherry, my dear?'

Christina said, 'No thank-you, Sir.'

'Very good. So if you could now remove your blazer. And skirt.'

The blazer came off; then Christina dropped her skirt. Underneath, her nylons were fastened with that pink satin suspender belt which Justine had worn earlier. Also Christina was wearing no knickers: just that same pink silk thong which Justine had worn. At either side of the thin pink strip, at her pubic mound, crisp curls somewhat darker than corn-coloured sprouted out.

When Dr Lawrence had had a good look, Christina turned to present her splendid bare bottom.

Trembling slightly, the Head reached out two hands. It was almost unbelievable. The girl with the corn-coloured hair was now his. The bottom of his dreams, soft but firmly resilient, was in his hands.

Moments later Christina was bent over the Head's desk, her arms outstretched to grip the farther edge and those magnificant nude hindquarters now thrust up and out for Dr Lawrence's pleasure.

Christina gave a gasping yelp at the first CRACK!.. of the cane. It bloody-well stung all right – a lot harden than when Justine had done it. She gritted her teeth in readiness for the next.

A second CRACK!.., a second agonized yelp. A renewed writhing dance of the full, sumptuous buttocks. Yes, it bloody-well hurt all right but it was not something that the girl with the corn-coloured hair couldn't take. Not something that she was completely unused to.

Because she had also been caned at her other school. Had in fact been in a very similar Club to the one she was now being initiated into. At her other school it hadn't been called the Cane Club, but The Headmaster's Little Circle. A Little Circle of older girls who for special privileges allowed the Head to use the cane on their bare bottoms.

Yes, in a way what was happening now was rather like coming home. Not that... 'Aaoooww!' ...it didn't hurt.

Poor Julie! - Janus 34

2010-04-06T23:09:00.000+01:00

Poor Julie! - Janus 33

2010-04-06T23:07:00.000+01:00

Poor Julie! - Janus 32

2010-04-01T22:59:00.000+01:00

Poor Julie! - Janus 31

2010-03-30T22:58:00.002+01:00

A cartoon series from Janus.

Nicola and Priscilla

2010-03-23T23:59:00.000Z

From Janus 46.

NICOLA AND PRISCILLA started to giggle. It was something that they did a great deal. The least little thing could start them off and it didn't necessarily have to be humorous. Life itself was humorous when you were nineteen and everything had a funny side. The giggling was another way of simply expressing the joy of life and the pleasure that both girls obtained from sharing it. Occasionally though, the giggling was an audible barrier against the girlish embarrassment that peeped out from behind sweet and captivating prettiness. And when the giggling wasn't enough, the blushing started. Never too noticeable, but just sufficient to add another shade to the already rosy young cheeks.

What had started them off this time was something Priscilla had said. It was about Mr Harvey, the object of a joint schoolgirl crush which they shared about two years ago at Grammar school. Of course it was Nicola that started giggling first and Priscilla simply took it up. Very soon Priscilla's bedroom rang with tinkling peals of sheer delight as the giggles threatened to turn into shrieking, uncontrolled laughter.

It was the first day of the summer vacation, after their first term at university. Priscilla Waters and Nicola Redway had been inseparable for nearly five years, right from their first term together in the school. Holidays were always spent together. Sometimes they stayed with Nicola's parents in the centre of urban confusion, experiencing the dubious delights of fast-food and demonic discos. More often though, it was at the vast estate owned by Priscilla's father. Accommodation was never a problem as there were invariably a number of rooms available for unexpected guests and last minute house parties. Paradoxically however, Priscilla always insisted that Fiona, her younger sister, should move out of their bedroom so that Nicola could share with her during the period of her stay.

`His face was an absolute picture!' laughed Nicola.

`Oh really!' sniffed Priscilla with feigned indignation. `What about my poor bum?'

`Oh come Prissy,' Nicola said with a knowing smirk, `you know you enjoyed it! And besides, you told me he was getting randy when you were over his knee!'

Priscilla drew her feet up onto the bed. Her pretty nose lifted a further inch and her eyebrows raised a fraction. Nicola was used to this apparent air of superiority. It was Prissy's favourite ploy for dealing with teachers who told her off. It was designed to make them feel inferior. More often than not it worked and Prissy was let off with a warning.

`He only got randy because he smacked me a lot harder than he did you!' she said almost triumphantly.

Nicola refused to be shaken and her friend's studied act cut no ice. She wasn't about to be relegated to second place on the subject of the dishy and now unattainable Mr Harvey.

`Yes, but it was my knickers he pulled down first . . . ' At the word 'knickers' the blonde's facade crumbled and once more the giggles took control.

... and he gave me more than you!' Nicola continued between Priscilla's tittering spasms. 'Besides ... at least I admit I enjoyed it!'

'In that case why haven't you done it since then? I'll bet you wouldn't enjoy it so much if it wasn't Mr Harvey!'

Priscilla sat forward, the giggles evaporating like steam in a warm atmosphere. In fact the atmosphere was hotting-up and Nicola was visibly squirming - ever so slightly. Priscilla was not slow to notice her friend's agitation. She too recognised certain signs in Nicola and this was a familiar one.

`Well I'm not exactly a schoolgirl anymore, am I?' said Nicola, carefully inspecting the multicoloured bed cover.

`Huh . . . ' Priscilla snorted, `if that's all that's stopping you, Fiona's uniform is in the wardrobe . . . '

The very thought was too much for Nicola and she began to titter again.

`Hey, that would be great, wouldn't it? You could put yours on too! That really would be a giggle, wouldn't it'

Priscilla leapt off the bed. 'Alright,' she laughed. 'Why not, there's nobody in and anyway it should be fun.'

For a few minutes Priscilla buzzed around the bedroom watched by her eager best friend. She opened this door and that drawer, removing various items of clothing and even found Fiona's school satchel. Finally she had collected everything and piled it all onto the bed.

`OK,' she said, 'we'll do it together. You can wear Fiona's tunic, though it will probably be a bit tight - and my spare knickers!'

For the next few minutes the bedroom was a pandemonium of giggles and shrieks. Practical student clothing was piled onto Priscilla's bed whilst nubile, sun- kissed bodies, hugged by black underwear (which Nicola had called 'wicked' when they bought it together) struggled into tight brown knickers and even tighter white blouses. And another inch of temptation on pert breasts would have made the wearing of tunics impossible.

Yes, Priscilla thought when they had finally finished wriggling into the uniforms, they are a bit tight and a bit short . . . and didn't Nicola have really fantastic legs!

She opened Fiona's satchel and extracted her sister's well-used 12 inch ruler. Nicola's eyes widened for an instant and then she convulsed helplessly as Priscilla tried to look stern by brandishing it in what she thought was a threatening manner.

`Oh come on Prissy ... ' spluttered Nicola, somewhere between convulsive giggles. 'That's just not you . . . '

`Well I have to get in the mood, don't l?'-said Priscilla as seriously as she could manage, her lips tight in a hopeless effort to stop the giggles escaping. Instead a little series of staccato hiccups spurted forth which was too much for Nicola who immediately collapsed in a delightfully quivering heap onto the bed. Priscilla, infected by the same malaise as her friend, followed suit.

It was Priscilla who recovered first and being in no mood to let the idea escape in the frivolity of the moment, tugged her friend onto her feet.

`Come on Nicola,' she urged. 'Do you want to do this, or not?'

`Do what?' Nicola's eyes widened again.

`Well, I thought the whole idea of putting on these uniforms was for you to see if you still liked being spanked!' Priscilla said lightly.

`Oh alright then,' Nicola answered a little breathlessly. `But go easy with that ruler. I know what you can be like when you get going, Prissy!'

Priscilla lifted the hem of Nicola's tunic and tapped the golden flesh of her sleek thigh.
'On the bed, girl!' she said with mock severity and Nicola complied with a little squeal, jumping onto the bed and posing on all fours with her precocious bottom thrust temptingly upwards. She reached behind and hitched the tunic around her waist.

Priscilla _stared for a moment at the brown, tautlyknickered globes. She had to admit that Nicola had a scrumptuous bottom. It certainly filled out those too- small school knickers of hers. This was really quite exciting actually ...

`Crikey!' she laughed. 'Old Harvey would have a coronary if he could see you now, Nicky!'
Nicola wriggled a little and spread her knees in an effort to get more comfortable.

`Oh do get on with it, Prissy,' she said with more than a hint of urgency. 'I can't wait all day!'
Slowly Priscilla lifted the ruler.

Nicola closed her eyes and unconsciously held her breath, but Priscilla was deliberately making her wait. The giggling had stopped now and the silence became an imposing presence. Nicola heard it and felt it closing in on her. Little prickles ran along her spine and she shuddered. She wet the dryness of her lips with the tip of her tongue and impatiently opened her mouth to speak.

The ruler landed across the stretched cotton of her brown knickers with a dull Chunk! Nicola gasped momentarily, but it hadn't really hurt that much. It was nowhere near as hard as Mr Harvey's hand - or as nice! It had simply caught her unawares.

Priscilla giggled and did it again. This time harder. Nicola yelped, but the sting was brief and soon gave way to a comfortable glow. She was disappointed.

`You're jolly well not trying, Prissy!' she complained. 'It was much better over Mr Harvey's knee and a lot harder!'

`Huh!' sniffed Priscilla. 'And a lot sexier, I'll bet! Pity I'm not Mr Harvey, isn't it? But you can still go across my knee you know!'

Nicola laughed. 'Well, he took my knickers down!' `You cheeky little minx!' Priscilla laughed in response. You deserve a flipping good whacking!'

She plopped down onto the bed and patted her lap, her big blue eyes meeting her friend's brown eyes with a devilishness that seemed to Nicola to be more than just. naughty.

Nicola lay herself along the bed and across Priscilla's lap. The smirking blonde hooked her fingers into the waistband of the knickers and with some difficulty tugged them down to knee-level. Nicola made herself comfortable and archly lifted her bottom just a little bit higher. She found herself breathing noticeably heavier. She was excited. She was!

`I'm ready . . . ' she gasped.

Priscilla giggled and switched the ruler into her left hand. Again she lifted it - higher this time.

Nicola's bottom was a tempting sight and Priscilla could understand what Mr Harvey had meant when he said that the two girls had 'the most spankable bottoms in the entire school!' Certainly Nicola did. Priscilla to her surprise urgently wanted to spank it! It looked so soft and springy, so round and so smooth ...

The ruler cracked down with unexpected force. Unexpected, even to Priscilla. She hadn't meant to do it quite so hard. She watched fascinated as Nicola's flawless bottom quivered sharply and the ruler recoiled into her hand. Nicola yelped in shock and clutched the back of her head in a desperate attempt to quell the rising tide of stinging pain that washed over her poor bum.

Priscilla held her breath, waiting for her friend's complaining outburst. To her surprise Nicola remained silent, except for her breathing which was definitely even heavier now. A sharp red line started to appear.

The ruler came down again. Again the same sharp crack as the flat lathe of wood bounced briskly off Nicola's full young bottom.

`0wwww er . OW! Nicola complained and started giggling again. 'That was bloody hard!'

Priscilla shifted Nicola's hips to a more comfortable position, fascinated by the two marks which adorned her friend's shapely buttocks.

`Oh yes?' she said. 'I'll bet you liked it really, didn't you? Truth now . . . truth!'

Nicola half turned, as if to try and inspect the decorations on her bottom.

`It was quite nice, I suppose,' she conceded. 'It doesn't really hurt though, although it was a bit hard when you did it.'

She looked straight into Priscilla's eyes.

`I'll bet you're enjoying this, aren't you?' She began giggling again and Priscilla joined in, infected by the joint complaint that they both suffered from. One of the teachers had called it `giggle-itis'.

`I suppose I am really,' Priscilla laughed. 'You know, you've got a very nice bum!'
Nicola just broke up into convulsive giggles.

`Crikey; she spluttered. 'You're as bad as old Harvey! You'll be telling me next that it's the most spank able bottom in the university!'

`Yes,' Priscilla answered, 'apart from mine, it most probably is!'

It took about two minutes for the giggling to subside and it was Priscilla who recovered first. Her face grew suddenly serious and her hand came up.

SPANK!

She whacked the ruler fiercely down into Nicola's beautiful bare bottom. Priscilla heard a most satisfying `Oooff!' and gave a flickering grin, revelling in her power to
make her girl friend really smart.

SMAPP!

`Yeeowch! Prissy, that hurt!'

`It was meant to hurt, you very naughty girl!' Priscilla said curtly, loving the sound of the ruler striking Nicola's bottom and the way it jerked about directly after it was hit. She laid her younger sister's school ruler aside and with a Serious yet sensual look on her very pretty face raised her hand instead and brought her palm smacking down onto that lovely rump. She was going to have her way for once and she decided to ignore any protests Nicola might make, because she knew that really this was what she wanted.

SMACK!

`Owwwch! Prissy, no!'

SMACKKK! Harder, in answer. Crisp and sharp. Nicola groaned, yelped, protested, gripped the side of the bed tightly and shook her body about, rearing up in pain as the bare-bottom spanking speeded up. Priscilla didn't spare her friend but gave her a ringing series of hard slaps, each one of which not only hurt and reddened Nicola's bum but left a lingering after-sting as well.

`Please, please, please, Prissy - stop! My bottom's stinging really awfully!'

That sweet plea earned Nicola Priscilla's mercy, but by now the blonde was feeling decidedly pleased with herself. She had moved into a different gear and a new role: she just loved being the bitchy prefect and her face bore a diffusion of erotic mood. Insulated in her own power and allowing herself to get carried away by it, Priscilla pushed her friend up off her lap and strode towards the bedroom door.

`You just stay where you are, girl - stand still!' Priscilla snapped spitefully. 'You're in real trouble now!'

Nicola gasped as this verbal shockwave broke over her. She was standing beside the bed clutching her sharply smarting bottom and rubbing it with both hands whilst looking over her shoulder trying to see how much it was marked. She felt as if she had been tricked. Priscilla sounded so nasty and bossy and cruel; not the sweet giggly Prissy she knew at all. 'Oh! oh! oh!' was all Nicola could exclaim as Priscilla marched purposefully out of the room, looking sullen and dominant and exuding a definite power. At the same time Nicola felt tremendously excited, as if she really were a forlorn little schoolgirl undergoing punishment from the Captain of her House. She felt so young and helpless being back in school uniform all of a sudden. Her fear of what Priscilla was going to do to her next turned her tummy into a butterfly net but was totally exciting.

Nicola opened her mouth to protest when Priscilla marched back into the bedroom smirking to herself and holding a long thin cyclindrical stick, but she was silenced by the disturbing words: 'I don't want to hear anything out of you, girl! You're here to be punished, that's all. I'm going to cane your bare bottom for you. You've been a very insolent girl!'

What was most astonishing at this point was that neither laughed. Their customary temptation to crack up into pealing giggles was held in sway by Priscilla's emphatic

seriousness and her determination to carry out this schoolgirl punishment. Nicola already realised that she had been manipulated into what was now happening but she felt powerless to resist playing her part. There was a beautiful freedom in regressing into her schoolgirl identity; and for Priscilla there was the electric thrill of suddenly at last expressing that mysterious urge to punish her friend which had been occupying all her recent dreams and fantasies. They were locked into that reality as surely as night follows day. Only a bare-cheeked liar would try to pretend that this little ritual was devoid of sexual implications.

`Nicola Redway!' Priscilla shouted, knowing that the house was empty. 'You're going to get six of the best. Bend over the bed!'

Nicola meekly bent forward and placed her hands on the eiderdown. There was no protesting now and if Nicola could have found her voice, which she couldn't, she would probably have said, 'Do it hard, Prissy. Make it hurt.' Although of course that was precisely what she was afraid of.

Neither spoke now, and that was even more peculiar considering how they were always whispering, even when there was no one around to hear them. Nicola, with her knickers round her knees, waited with bated breath while the prefect beside her raised her cane and gloated over her immaculate and charming buttocks. Suddenly:

WHACKKK!

Priscilla whipped the ultra-slim elongated rod down hard across her friend's bared bottom. Anyone watching would have said that that stroke was vindictive, that it was vicious, but then they would not have understood the nature of their friendship, or their obsession with their eternal schoolgirl selves. Nicola yelped loudly, but surprisingly then stayed mum - until Prissy's second scorcher!

`Yeeeowww!' But again, not a word.

It was the first time that Priscilla had ever actually caned anyone - that stick was longer, thinner and every bit as stingy as a real school cane - and what she was experiencing now was something way beyond her normal feelings. Secure in her cocoon of power, a hard and thrilling excitement surging over her, Priscilla loved to feel this bitchy, bossy dominance taking control of her emotions. It hit her with the force of a revelation - this incredible, stunning excitement of whacking Nicola's bare bottom hard with the whippy stick. It was just indescribable how erotic it was to bring it swishing down with a crack! of real pain across that sweetest of all girlish bottoms. Nicola's reactions were also fantastic. It seemed to Priscilla that the cane really did hurt her, for each time she lashed the stick down Nicola's head shook wildly, her bottom jumped and she let out sounds.

`Owwch! Arrghh! Oh Prissy, no! Aaahhhh! O00000h!' THWAA-ACKKK! The fifth stroke fell.

`Owww! Crikey! Oww! That's ENOUGH!' Nicola's shrill cry left Priscilla in no doubt that she had well and truly called her friend's bluff. 'You're jolly well not trying, Prissy,' the now actually sobbing Nicola had goaded her into showing her true spite. Priscilla was even a little shocked at herself, wondering if she'd gone too far, certainly aware of feeling kind of supersonic. Amazed that she had wanted to hit Nicola really as hard as she could, and at how sexy she felt treating her very best friend in all the world like a truly naughty schoolgirl who has got to be punished. Acting so cold and bossy, even though she didn't know cute she came across, did something to her - gave her a fantastic feeling like shaking mountain peaks each time she raised her ringed right hand with the whippy rod inside it and thwacked it across Nicola's curved-over bottom. An electric shock zipping through her body as the stick came down. Even making her dearest friend shout out because it hurt so much.

`Oh please, please, please Prissy - no more! Let me off the last one, please!' Nicola sounded more like a distraught little girl than her 19 years. But still completely in that schoolgirl world, even though her pleading was genuine. Nicola's bottom really was stinging, as she told her friend almost incoherently through her tiny whimpering sobs.

`You naughty girl' Priscilla said, truly the head prefect. `I'll let you off the last one. You're not such a brave girl after all, are you?'

Once more Priscilla surprised herself, finding herself saying such things and really meaning what she said. It was easy to let go of the idea that she was not Nicola's catty superior. She was!

Nicola was now standing; her cheeks were wet with tears. She looked sideways away from her tormentor and would not meet her eye. She seemed huffed.

`How does it feel?' Priscilla asked, the first hint of her normal self returning.

`. . Hurts!' Nicola snapped at last. But still as sweet as honey, quite unbelievably sweet in fact.

`Oh! Poor Nicky! Oh, darling. You'll be alright.' `It's tingling!' Nicola gasped.

`Good. That's nice,' Priscilla said. 'It's . . . nice to tingle. Oohh.' Priscilla said sweet nothings, her arms now around her friend, Nicola's down-tilted face nuzzling up to her. All the tension coming out of the drama. Priscilla said the sweetest possible things. They felt close together again.

It was very clear now that Nicola had recovered from the shock of being suddenly caned for the first time and was feeling grateful to her friend. Their little play-act had been so real for both of them. Nicola's bottom was now tingling in a lovely warm way. 'It's boiling!' she giggled for the first time and Priscilla laughed for joy.

The chattering went on and on, both of them said it was marvellous, it was so funny. What they meant was, well, sexy. It had happened like magic, out of the blue, better than Priscilla had planned. 'Actually it's really quite super!' she hooted and Nicola chimed in: 'You bet!' Little quiet phrases, wonderful sweet words, and no end to all the laughter. Whatever they said sounded so funny to each other. Both knew that they had discovered something quite amazing. Both were breathless with excitement and wondered what it would be like doing such things with I boyfriends. 'Naughty!' Nicola said.

`That's what they like!' Priscilla's voice was muted by her obvious excitement. And then the giggles came through.

Nicola and Priscilla decided to stay in school uniform all day as they would be alone in Priscilla's mummy's home.

-And see what happens!' Priscilla spluttered. Nicola cracked up.

Poor Julie!

2010-03-22T23:21:00.000Z

From Janus 33.

Teacher's Pets

2010-03-20T01:35:00.004Z

From Janus 23, story scanned by Dmitry

Priscilla and Nicola are absolutely inseparable - and irrepressible. One simply cannot teach them for ten minutes without the pair of them sabotaging the studious atmosphere by bursting into peals of very girlish giggles. It seems they have only to look at each other to crack up laughing. They find everything funny, and most things hilarious. Mr Harvey, their dishy biology master, is especially giggle-worthy. Perhaps it's his subject that does it: he must 'know all about it' as dark-haired Nicola slyly remarks to her friend... causing both of them to explode with more and more of their famed laughter.

More likely, though, it's Mr Harvey's incessant references, throughout his lessons, to the subject of spanking that sends the crackpot pair into hysterics. For what could be more 'naughty' than Mr Harvey's evident obsession with the taboo notion of smacking their bottoms? As for example in: 'If I had my way, miss, I'd take you across my lap this instant and tan that pretty backside of yours till you squirmed!' Pretty heady stuff for schoolgirls as young and innocent (you want to bet?) as this charming but annoying pair. Especially when you consider that - to Mr Harvey's infinite chagrin - he is not allowed to spank anyone's bottom. Only the headmaster and the deputy head are permitted to apply CP, and then it's only supposed to be under exceptional circumstances.

Mr Harvey probably says the words 'smack' or 'spank' around 15 times a day whilst teaching his all-girl classes. It's become a habit with him, and half the time he doesn't know he's doing it. Perhaps it's a lifeline for him: a relatively safe way of creaming off the pressure, without which he would go mad. The girls don't mind, it's a bit of a giggle really. They know he can't help it, and he only means it in the nicest way. He's too well liked for anyone to take offence, and besides, a great many of his pupils fancy him like hotcakes and are always vying with one another to attract his attention. By now you doubtless understand that of all the things that reduce Nicola and Prisciila to peals of helpless giggles or render them speechless with suppressed hysterics - which at any moment might erupt - Mr Harvey and his fondness for talking about spanking girls' bottoms affect them like nothing else. They only wish he could take all their lessons, instead of just two periods a week...

Every Friday after school this term it's Mr Harvey's turn to take detention... a chore that makes all teachers yawn with utter boredom. More than ever this Friday, when all our hero wants to do is get away and spend the evening - and hopefully the weekend - with his marvellous new girlfriend. His only hope of an early exit is if no-one's been put in detention. But his luck's out, for there on the roster he reads two names: Priscilla Waters and Nicola Redway. And surprise, surprise: their noted offence is causing a disturbance in class.

Wearily Mr Harvey heads for the Detention Room where he finds the two culprits seated side by side giggling, and already writing their lines: 'I must not be a naughty girl.' Trust old Smethwick, Mr Harvey thinks. Couldn't he come up with something more original once in a while? He invariably handed out the same line, regardless of what a girl had done or failed to do. Mr Harvey knows what he'd like to literally hand out to them, and they know too. There are times when he has to exercise a steel self-control.

Mr Harvey already suspects - and quite rightly, too - that Priscilla and Nicola have engineered themselves into his detention period. Why, they turn up just about every Friday night... and a little quiet checking has shown him that they're not in detention most other evenings. Usually, however, there are others in detention too. How bitterly the teacher has come to rue the day he told the duo they were 'quite the most spankable girls in the entire school'!

He looks up crossly from his exercise books at the first sounds of giggling... and finds them mucking around. Great Scott, Nicola is reaching across to write Priscilla's lines... with three biros sellotaped together!! It's a challenge he can't possibly ignore, even though he knows they're setting him up for sure. He marches over and Priscilla hurriedly tries to hide the offending writing implement under her forearm - 'I can see it!' he snarls, trying to sound as heavy as possible.

Priscilla looks up at him, eyes wide, lips threatening to part in a smile, sheer tempting prettiness. She meets his eyes for longer than he can cope with. He says nothing, just confiscates the illicit biros, and when he retreats to his desk the girls start to giggle. When he looks at them they openly laugh. Now he just has to act.

'Come here, girl,' he says sternly, crooking a finger at Priscilla.

With a toss of blonde curls Priscilla gets to her feet. Mr Harvey is unable to see the sly look that passes between them, but Nicola has rocked forward on her chair and is smirking knowingly.

Confronting the naughty little strumpet is more difficult than Mr Harvey had anticipated. He is in a position of weakness seated behind the desk and his harangue over their lack of responsibility is treated with amused boredom by the cheeky Priscilla. She is trying to wind him up, but she doesn't need to try: her looks alone faze him. Behind her Nicola's tittering is threatening to erupt into gales of uncontrolled laughter. The situation is beginning to get out of control. He must do something quickly.

'Quiet!' he thunders, levering himself up to his full 6 feet and a half inch. He looks menacingly down at the saucy blonde, but the amusement has not diminished.

'I will not have this... this cheekiness!' he barks, but the bite is missing and desperately he tries to recover lost ground. He grabs Priscilla by the left arm and leaning forward smacks her hard on the right thigh. The desired effect is missing. All that happens is that his hand stings like hell and the giggles multiply. But he has smacked her leg!

'If you don't stop giggling this instant, I will put you over my knee!'

It was out before he had realised it, but he couldn't have bitten off the words even if he had wanted to.

The two irrepressible girls crack up. Their unsuppressed giggles are a direct challenge to his authority. He cannot ignore them.

'Right!' he says decisively, perching himself on the edge of the desk. That does it! Over my knee, Priscilla!'

For a second he holds his breath, knowing that what he has said is totally forbidden. He is not authorised to carry out even the mildest form of CP, as both girls are well aware. He is way, way out of order, but then, so is she.

It is almost more than he can cope with when Priscilla moistens her soft lips with the pinkest of tongues and moves very close to him. 'Oh come on Sir,' she taunts, 'you're always talking about it, but you wouldn't dare do it!'

Now there is no alternative and Mr Harvey realises that the dawn of truth is now at last actually breaking. The two girls are controlling a situation in which his authority should be dominant. He is left with no choice but to carry out his threat.

'Oh wouldn't I, young lady?' he says firmly. Inwardly he is less certain and somewhat nervous - nervous with excitement. 'Come on... get over my knee!'

Almost before he realises what has happened, Priscilla has draped herself across his knee and is lying face down amongst the scattered exercise books. The alacrity with which she moved has virtually nonplussed him.

Slowly and very uncertainly, in view of the unique circumstances, Mr Harvey lifts the hem of the short tunic. His breathing, like the world that has been created around him, has almost stopped. Time has frozen. He is aware of only two things: the cute swell of Priscilla's brown-knickered bottom and the heat of her girlish body pressed hard onto his thigh.

SMACK!

His hand rebounds from the springy mounds of her soft bottom. Once again his palm stings but the luscious warmth and that immaculate sensation he felt for that brief moment of impact causes him to redouble his efforts. Again he smacks the taut, regulation knickers... and again. Priscilla's girlish giggling continues unabated, punctuated by tiny gasps after each smack.

'Oh Sir!' she squeals. 'Ow! Ow!'

After the sixth smack he is aware of Nicola's provocative laughter. And also of his own growing and outlandish excitement. Nicola seems to enjoy her friend's plight and is taking an undisguised interest in the proceedings. Her lines are totally ignored and she is sitting eagerly forward.

Mr Harvey pauses from his self-appointed cask of chastising one of the two 'most spankable bottoms in the entire school'. His finger points like a pistol towards the spluttering schoolgirl.

'You're next, young lady!' he snaps. He has taken it this far and now there is nothing more to lose.

The tone of his voice halts Nicola in mid-giggle and she quickly picks up her biro. He thinks that she looks like a lost waif and momentarily regrets his sharpness.

Priscilla has leapt to her feet, aware that her bottom is hot and tingling and not quite sure if this is what she had wanted to provoke. But Mr Harvey has not finished with her yet...

Moments later he is seated in front of the desk, on his chair, with the nubile Priscilla draped decorously across his lap. Six more stinging slaps rain down on the taut brown knickers, causing the naughty little bottom to jump and wobble delightfully.
'Up!' he commands. At last he is beginning to regain control over the scheming pair. Even though this is what they seem to want...

'Next!' he says with complete assurance.

With a confident swagger Nicola steps forward, apparently eager to replace her friend. Priscilla has stopped giggling and started to rub her delectable bottom. Gingerly she sits down.

Mr Harvey makes a great show of inspecting Nicola's lines. Unfortunately - for him - he can find little fault with the studied neatness. Undeterred he lectures her on the responsibilities of growing up, punctuated by two resounding slaps on a bare, suntanned thigh.

'Owww!' she squeals, trying to move out of range. 'Are you going to smack my bottom, like you did Prissy, Sir?' she gasps. The sly smile which is just detectable at the corners of her mouth is unmistakable. His answer is simply to pull her down across his lap and lift her tunic.

For a moment Mr Harvey allows himself the luxury of drinking in the ripe swell of her utterly girlish bottom. He is in no hurry to administer the medicine she richly deserves. He wants to savour the moment of power and beauty and enjoy it to the full.

'Come on Sir, aren't you going to spank me too?' the little minx taunts. He is stung into action and brings his hand down with some force.

The firm young bottom makes his hand rebound, stinging his palm again and again. The more he smacks her the more it stings him. The giggles and wriggles are continuous and he realises that far from being hurt she's beginning to lose sexual control. The very realisation causes a physical response that his masculinity is unable to stop. At all costs he must not allow her to realise his predicament.

'Up!' he snaps, pushing her roughly to her feet. Her face is flushed and one of the bunches of her brown hair has unfastened.

'I hope that that is a lesson to you Nicola,' he says with some effort

The girt smiles slyly. 'But it didn't hurt... Sir!' Her challenge to his authority and dominance is obvious. He responds immediately because he has no choice, and is instantly on his feet.

Priscilla is watching in silence, her eyes are blue and wide. He is sure she has seen his involuntary response and he turns his back on her as his only defence.

' Right!' he addresses the tormenting Nicola. 'In that case - over the desk! We will have those knickers down... now!'

The explosion behind him is Priscilla who has convulsed helplessly. Mr Harvey ignores the spluttering and looks down at the delicious Nicola, who is already bent over the now chaotic desk... waiting.

His confusion is abating, but he needs time to regain his total self-control, so he starts an elaborate ritual of precisely adjusting and positioning Nicola. Lifting the tunic he lays it perfectly around her tiny waist. Slowly, with bated breath, he starts to roll down the girl's tight regulation knickers. Gradually the youthful sun-kissed bottom is exposed to his awed gaze. He thinks irrelevantly that at some time, and not too long age either, she must have sunbathed in the nude. The picture that this conjures is almost too much for him to cope with and he blinks like a punch-drunk boxer. Truthfully, he can't believe his luck!

Priscilla has almost stopped giggling and is beginning to writhe very slightly on her chair.

'Go on Sir' she breathes and he can barely hear her. 'She's been really, really naughty!'

Mr Harvey pretends he hasn't heard but Nicola doesn't.

'Shut up Prissy,' she giggles, 'it's nothing to do with you!'

WHACK!

For the very first time Mr Harvey smacks a bare bottom. Warmth and excitement lance up his flailing arm and pervade every millimetre of his 6 feet and half inch. Again and again he smacks her, the tension leaving him in great surges of relief. Nicola's soft moaning is becoming quieter and quieter. Her bottom undulates slowly backwards and forwards and her silky thighs are pressed tightly together.

Reluctantly, he stops and hauls her to her feet. Her velvet brown eyes are deep and misty and he is aware that pain or hurt would evoke a different effect. The responsibility of his position causes him to dismiss her curtly to a corner of the room, just out of his line of vision. The girl makes no effort to adjust her tunic, or replace her knickers.

'Alright Priscilla,' he snaps, 'Your turn!'

Without his bidding Priscilla lowers her flushed face onto the desk. Her silence is out of character and Mr Harvey wastes no time in lifting the tunic and baring her bottom.

'Now young lady,' he says emphatically, 'this is for being a very naughty, giggling little girl. I hope it will teach you a lesson!'

WHACK!

The other "most spankable bottom in the entire school' (and now the entire universe) bounces deliciously beneath his hand.

'Ow!' Priscilla gasps. 'I'm sure it will Sir!'

Half an hour later Priscilla and Nicola are on their way back from detention, with eight very flushed cheeks. They are incorrigible of course and the giggling is undiminished. Friday detention is becoming a way of life!

Pictures from Soho magazine

2010-03-17T00:14:00.001Z

A photo set from Soho magazine from the 1970's.

British spanking magazines blog

2010-03-15T22:49:00.001Z

I’m pleased to announce that Dmitry’s back with a new blog http://britishspankingmagazines.blogspot.com/. If you like quality spanking stories it's the place to go.

Time Sharing

2010-03-14T23:28:00.000Z

A story scanned by Dmitry from Blushes Supplement 14.

'Where's Polly, Auntie?' The pretty young girl who had just come bounding in through the kitchen door, had cheeks glowing with health. 'Is she ready?'

A head of greying hair was raised, the new arrival's dress of broderie anglaise surveyed with some disapproval. 'No, she is not ready, Connie,' came the stern reply.

'Oh, I hope she won't be long. Or we'll be late for the party...'

'Polly's not going to any party.'

'Not going?' Puzzlement, bewilderment. 'But why? Where is she?'

'She is upstairs,' said the girl's Aunt, 'and, at this moment, your uncle is using his belt on her.'

'What! You... you can't mean it!' In a sudden silence, a series of muffled shrieks came through the ceiling. 'Oh poor... Polly... oh why... why Aunt Lizzie?'

A sour look of disapproval. 'There's things that shouldn't concern girls of your age. Same as Polly, aren't you? Sixteen?'

'Yes... yes, Aunt... but...' More muffled shrieks. 'Oh it's not fair. What ever has she done? Done to deserve this?'

'There's things better not talked about' said Aunt Lizzie. 'Now you be on your way, young Connie. And let's hope you don't get into the same trouble as our Polly. Off with you.'

Frightened now, all exuberance gone, Connie almost slunk from that kitchen. Whatever Polly might have done, she told herself, a girl of her age certainly shouldn't be beaten. Especially not with a belt. It was barbaric; like something out of another age. With no spirit left for the party, Connie returned home. And told her mother.

'Uncle Bert is a Baptist,' her mother explained, not appearing altogether surprised at the news. 'He was brought up very strict and believes in the same sort of thing for his own children.'

'It... it's awful...'

'Maybe. But that's his way. Aunt Lizzie agrees with him.'

'I could see that,' said Connie indignantly. 'But that doesn't make it right.'

'I am afraid, Connie, that your cousin Polly has been wicked. Very. Do you, perhaps, understand me?'

Connie understood all too well, but wasn't going to let on. She was aware that Polly and her boyfriend, Brett, had gone beyond the frontiers of heavy petting in the last six months and were now into the real thing. It seemed they had been found out. 'I... I'm not sure,' said Connie, looking as innocent as possible.

'Well, let's leave it at that,' said her mother. 'But, believe me, my dear, your cousin deserves a good hiding.'

It was, needless to say, a terrible shock to Connie when her mother's heart gave out during a heavy asthmatic attack. It happened, sadly, the day after the girl's seventeenth birthday. A week later, after the burial, a family conference decided it would be best if Connie went and lived with Uncle Bert and Aunt Lizzie. They were nearby and the girls, being of an age, would be excellent company for each other.

Connie accepted the decision with the deepest foreboding. Not until she was 18 would she be truly free to live her own life. A whole year away.

And she had just fallen madly in love with Lee.

Polly and Connie shared the same bedroom and it was natural that confidence should flow. 'Your Dad belts you, doesn't he, Polly?' said Connie on the first evening in her new, unwelcome home.

'Yes...' Polly had gone pale. She seemed to want to say nothing more, but then spoke. 'And other things.'

'That's... that's a-awful!' Connie was genuinely concerned. She no longer had the comforting protection of her mother. Uncle Bert and Aunt Lizzie were now in control. It was quite frightening, in a way. What if she... well... were found out? They wouldn't treat her like Polly, would they?

Her first 'chat' with Uncle Bert was not encouraging. 'Now that you're under our roof, girl,' he said, 'you'll have to conform to our rules. I've always been strict with our Polly. It's got to be the same with you. It's a responsibility, you know, having a young girl on your hands.'

'I... I... don't understand, Uncle Bert,' said Connie. 'How do I conform?'

'You accept the standards of this house,' replied Uncle Bert. 'Or the consequences.'

'I'll do my best,' promised Connie, feeling a cold film of fear covering her.

The trouble was, she was still madly in love with Lee. And look what had happened to Polly over her Brett!

He came into her bedroom just after she had taken a bath and was wearing nothing but a light towelling wrap-around. He didn't knock. Just sat down heavily in a heart-backed chair. Connie darted away like a startled fawn. Polly was at her weekly night-class. She was defenceless.

'Thinking of going out then, lass?' His voice had a lugubrious, sneering quality about it.

'W-well... yes... actually, Uncle...' In fact, Connie had been thinking about nothing else all the afternoon as she had sat at Tesco's check-out. She couldn't wait to get into the back of Lee's battered old Invicta.

'Forget it,' he said heavily. Menacingly. There was a nasty, brutish sort of power about Uncle Bert. He was a natural bully, as long as there was no danger as far as he himself was concerned.

'Wh-what do you mean, Uncle... it's all arranged... I'm going out with Joan. To the pictures.'

'Oh yes?' Sneering lips curling. Nasty eyes somehow envious. Hateful. 'Not having it away with Lee tonight then?'

Connie felt as if she had been hit by a cold blast of wind, then suddenly she was glowing hot all over. Particularly her cheeks.

'What do you... you mean Uncle?'

Again those horrible lips curled in a sneer. 'You know very well what I mean, lass. Had the same trouble with our Polly. But she learnt...'

Connie began to panic. He surely didn't mean to... mean to do what she had heard him doing to Polly. She wasn't his daughter. She had just, temporarily, been put in his charge. Oh mother, mother, why did you have to die?

'I don't know what you're on about.'

'Oh yes you do, Connie. I've got a lot of friends in this neighbourhood. They've seen you at it. In the back of his car.'

Connie felt her cheeks go crimson. Felt herself suddenly dirty. Shamed. Yet it was so unfair. She had done nothing truly wrong. How could nature be wrong? How could love be wrong? 'You're... well... you're horrible...' she heard herself saying. 'I've always hated you. And your ways. Now I hate you more.'

He nodded understandingly. It was almost as if he appreciated being hated. 'That's as maybe.' He licked his lips. 'But under this roof – and still under age – you do as I say. Or suffer for it.'

'But... I do as you say... I'm just like any girl...'

He ignored this. 'I'm not having any little scrubbers under this roof. You're going to learn that.'

With disbelieving horror, Connie watched the two-inch wide leather belt unbuckled and slid from around the waist. It was not only wide, it was thick. Complacently, it seemed, he doubled it.

'No... ooo!' It was a shriek of despairing horror. 'Y-you... can't... oohhh... you mustn't!'

'Just you wait and see.' He came towards her slowly but purposefully, baring teeth which were yellowing. His eyes were hot now, his veined cheeks more florid. Utter revulsion went through the girl and she made a flying dash for the door.

'Noooo... oooooo!'

Deftly, he tripped her. Then she found herself being hauled up by her pony tail of hair. 'Naughty... naughty,' came the leer. 'You can either have this or your Lee.'

Connie, shrieking hopelessly, found herself over a pair of solid thighs and her wrap-around being yanked up. She shrieked louder at the realisation of her nakedness before this brute.

But she shrieked even louder still as the leather began to whack down across her tender bottom flesh.

Like a flame! Searing flame. Burning deep... deep... deep! Unbearable!

Connie bellowed the agony of it. Struggling madly, yet always utterly helpless. Frenziedly, she strove to twist her bottom away from the scalding swathes that swept repeatedly across her. But no matter how she twisted, no matter how hard she tried, there was no escaping the repeated agony of the descending leather.

A thick belt doubled.

Agony indeed!

Above her own breathless screams and pleas, she could hear him grunting. Like an animal. Yet no animal would behave in so cruel a fashion to one of its own kind. Especially not to one of its own family. An enemy, yes, but not to one of its own. It was unendurable!

It had to stop. It had to. But it didn't.

'I'll not have it... I'll not... I'll not...' he was grunting out. 'I'll not... not... not... not...' Again and again the murderous strap flailed her agonised bottom.

Connie wanted to die. Lee wasn't worth this. Nothing was worth this.

'Stooo... oopppo... stooooopp... I'll never do... yaaaaghhhh... do it again!'

Then suddenly, it was over. A small coal fire seemed to have been lit upon her bottom flesh. It throbbed and flamed with an incredible intensity. Connie sobbed and sobbed until she thought her heart must break. She knew she had been utterly and finally defeated. By this brute. One whom she was ashamed to admit was a member of her family.

'Going to be a good girl from now on, are we?'

'Urrrfff... urrfff... mmmfff... urrrfff... yes... oh yes...'

Complete defeat. Oh what pain! How could it be defied? There was no way.

'I'm glad to hear it.' She could imagine those gloating eyes. Oh how she hated him! And everything he stood for. So this was your Baptist ethic, was it? How disgusting! Why should not young people be allowed to live perfectly natural lives? Especially as, nowadays, science had come to their aid? She felt the hand begin to fondle lasciviously. Squeezing, kneading. The pain intensified.

'A-aaggh.... ooohhh... oh... you sh-shouldn't... no... no.... ooooo!'

'Connie,' said a hard voice from above, 'if you want your Lee... if you truly want him... we could come to some kind of... er... arrangement...'

She couldn't think properly. There was still so much pain. 'Wh-what do you m-mean... about Lee?'

'You might call it... Time Sharing... shall we say... do you follow me?'

'N-no... I don't think I d-do...'

'It means, Connie, occupying the same place. But at different times. Now do you follow me?'

Sick horror swooped down on her. She suddenly understood all too well.

'O-o-ohhhhh... no...' she moaned. She felt her burning bottom patted. Hate and disgust seemed strong enough to burst her heart.

'Ah well,' came a sigh from above. 'Have it your own way. But, if you're seen with that Lee again, you know what's going to happen.'

Connie, hair trailing on the floor, still burning with pain, broke into a flood of tears. There was no way she could resist seeing her Lee!

A terrible decision lay ahead of her.

The Belt. Or Time Sharing.

Which could possibly be the less acceptable?

Pipa Marshall - with original story

2010-03-07T23:57:00.020Z

'He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man’
DR. JOHNSON

Mr Jardine, deputy headmaster, carpets Pippa Marshall of Form VIc for an unusual offence. She was apprehended by a prefect in the dorm last night, having a talcum powder fight with two other girls. The perfect confiscated the baby powder and attempted to report the irregularity to Pippa's housemistress, Miss Clarke, this morning; however a notice on Miss Clarke's study door declared her absence for one day and referred all matters temporarily to Mr Jardine.

One might assume a disciplinary procedure to be an anonymous piece of business that could be dealt with equally by one master or another mistress – but this is quite simply untrue. Pippa Marshall enjoys a certain understanding with Miss Clarke, who after all is only seven or eight years older than herself. They like each other, and such a piece of silliness on Pippa's part would earn her just a pair of faintly raised eyebrows and some good-natured chiding from Miss Clarke, followed in all probability by an invitation to stay for afternoon tea and biscuits. The telling-off wouldn't even make Pippa's cheeks smart; nor would if affect Miss Clarke's intention to make Pippa Marshall up to a full prefect at half term, and House Captain next Michaelmas. Pippa is far and away the most pleasant, sensible and responsible girl of her year in Bolivar House, over which Miss Clarke presides with uncommon humanitarianism.

It is extremely unfortunate for Pippa that her trifling transgression should have been reported on the one day Miss Clarke has absented herself, and that thus she should fall into the clutches of the strictest and most old-fashioned master in the school – the dreaded Mr Jardine, whose position as No.2 in the entire hierarchy imbues him with an ambitious and even vicious determination to outdo No.1 in everything, whilst of course behaving in the most obsequious manner possible to the Headmistress. You probably know the type…

Now it so happens that Mr Jardine has noticed, indeed more than noticed, Pippa Marshall on numerous occasions, for amongst other onerous duties he doubles up as form master of VIc… and his contacts with that class have left him in no doubt whatever that Pippa Marshall is its prettiest and most caneable member. His big problem has been – and let's face it, he's thought about it – that barring a miracle there is no way he could hope to punish her himself, for matters of class discipline would have to be reported to her housemistress, the far too lenient Miss Clarke who he personally would choose to fire. But suddenly a miracle has indeed occurred…

We will spare you Mr Jardine's diatribe against the 'paramount evils' of senior girls setting bad examples to juniors, 'betraying positions of trust' and 'acting in a manner more suited to IIIc than VIc' etc., all of which would no doubt make you feel sick. It certainly has this effect on Pippa. He is being unreasonable, she knows that, and she's scared by the light of disciplinary ardour that's making his eyes glow like smouldering coals. She feels physical shock as his low, bantering tone suddenly explodes with a wild decibel surge: 'And last Tuesday, Pippa Marshall, I saw you drop a piece of litter in the quadrangle. That, alone, merits three strokes!'

If the situation from Pippa's point of view had not been so serious she would have laughed at his ridiculous 'pause for effect'.

He's inventing this of course. For some reason which she fails to understand he is victimising her. Butterflies in her stomach give way to chill fingers up her spine and it is a full five seconds before she can answer.

'Litter Sir?' she questions defensively, 'but I can't ever remember dropping litter!'

'I saw you with my own eyes girl,' he thunders. 'Are you calling me a liar?'

Her response is quiet, almost timorous, as if she is trying not to upset him even further.

'But it's something I would never do Sir.'

Knowing Pippa Marshall would convince you that this is true. The girl simply does not lie. She is everything that Miss Clarke is looking for in a future House Captain. Academically brilliant with a natural honesty and dignity, Pippa could rightfully be described as 'the golden girl of the Lower Sixth'.

By now the smouldering coals of Mr Jardine's eyes are practically blazing. He is almost raging with righteous indignation.

'I do not propose to argue with you Marshall. It is your word against mine and I am always right!'

Pippa remains silent. She is never called 'Marshall', in fact it is school policy for all pupils to be addressed by their forenames. She merely hangs her head to avoid his tyrannical anger.

'My decision is three strokes and three strokes it shall be!' he spits at her triumphantly.

The words hit her like bullets. Nobody, but nobody, had been caned for five years or even more. It was a form of punishment which had fallen into disuse with the advent of 'progressive discipline'. It had been replaced with 'school welfare duties' or 'counselling' and this at very worst would have meant that Pippa spent most of Saturday marking out the school hockey pitch. The cane is unthinkable.

'But you can't cane me Sir!' She is petrified: her innate sense of righteousness causing the involuntary retort. Heart beating, she holds her breath waiting for a further explosion.

He chooses to ignore her, because he is very much in control of the situation which Pippa is unfamiliar with. Suddenly, he is brandishing the large jar of talcum powder in front of her.

'And this… this talcum powder fight in the dormitory,' he says, returning to the very reason that brought Pippa before him, 'is unforgivable. I have already interviewed Fields and Chamberlain and I am left in little doubt that you were the instigator of this pathetic incident.'

It is so unfair. Mandy Chamberlain started the whole silly thing and all Pippa had done was defend herself. He must know that, if he has interviewed Mandy and Pru Fields. Both girls are her best friends and she knows they wouldn't lie.

Her defence is pointless. Mr Jardine is determined to ignore anything she has to say. He makes great dramatic play of choosing one of the two canes which hang ominously on his sparse notice board. Pippa bites her lip. She is confused and frightened.

'But you can't cane me Sir – it's not allowed!'

'Oh but I can cane you Marshall,' he sneers. 'School Regulations state quite clearly in sub-section thirteen, that the Head or Deputy Head shall solely determine the necessity for corporal punishment!'

He is obviously right and Pippa's heart sinks. He would have meticulously checked every word to ensure he was on safe ground. The fact that that particular regulation is no more relevant than a taxi-driver keeping a bale of straw in his cab makes little difference. The regulation exists and Mr Jardine would take full advantage.

As if in slow motion he places a stool in front of the desk and removes his jacket. Pippa bites her lip apprehensively, her eyes riveted to the awesome cane. Waiting.

'Over the stool!' he barks, 'legs straight.'

Slowly and reluctantly Pippa obeys. Even as she bends over it she can't believe it's happening, but there is no way out. The stool is hard and unyielding and as she lowers herself Mr Jardine jerks her legs impatiently into position. The air is almost driven from her tummy as all her weight is suddenly pressed down onto the hard wooden seat. She grabs hold of the legs of the stool for support, gasping for air.

For a moment there is nothing but silence ominous and forbidding, and then Pippa is sharply aware of Mr Jardine's breathing. It is now heavy and more rapid and even seems to accelerate as he lifts the hem of her tunic. It is the only sound in the silent room. Suddenly and before she has time to react, her knickers are pulled quickly down to her knees.

'NO!' she cries. The embarrassment of him seeing her naked bottom is too humiliating for her natural sense of modesty and she twists up from the hard stool.

'You can't Sir… you can't!' she protests.

'Get back on that stool this instant!' he bellows, brandishing the awful cane in front of her eyes.
'Unless you comply immediately, the Headmistress will be informed of your insolence and insubordination as well as your disruptive influence on your fellow pupils!'

The burning injustice turns her cold with fright. His exaggeration and domineering incisiveness makes the whole thing sound ten times worse than it is. She has no choice at all but to obey.

Once again he straightens her legs and lifts the tunic to expose her bared bottom. Pippa's heart is pounding and she flinches as he taps the cane lightly across her nakedness. A tiny tear trickles down her flushed cheek. She is rigid with embarrassment and shame.

The first stroke hits her with cutting force, biting viciously into the under-swell of her soft buttocks. The shock waves shoot through her system like bolts of electricity. She gasps silently and agonised. Her body jerks with involuntary response and she grasps at the stool crossbar for support. For a moment the pain is horrendously intense but there is blessed throbbing respite as Mr Jardine steps back to survey her abused bottom.

The waiting is terrible: not knowing when the next stroke will fall; hearing the movement behind her and the laboured rasping breath. Pippa squeezes her eyes tighter as if to still the burning pain. She is breathless and ashamed.

The second stroke is even worse. It strikes home with the full force of Mr Jardine's powerful arm. Pippa cries out as the cane feels as if it's cutting into her like a knife. Tears well up in her eyes, but bravely she fights them back, biting her lip in a desperate attempt to transfer the hurt.

This time there is no respite. Almost immediately the third stroke whips into her exposed bottom with even greater force. Her body jumps like a hooked fish and unable to contain the spreading pain, Pippa leaps to her feet, protesting urgently.

'Stop… stop Sir!' she pleads. 'It's just not fair!'

Mr Jardine is unmoved. For the first time his voice is even and calm, almost as if the use of the cane has soothed his tormented nerves.

'If you are to make anything of your life Marshall,' he says flatly, 'you must learn to take your punishment with dignity. Pride and bearing are the riches of human existence to be treasured and coveted. Take your punishment like an adult and accept the inevitable, girl! Now place that stool in front of the desk and we will complete the final three strokes.'

Numbly, and still in a void of confusion and incomprehension, Pippa obeys. She lowers herself over the stool aware only of the sharp needles of pain burning into her tender bottom. Again she waits.

The fourth stroke is at least as hard but by now it doesn't seem so bad and Pippa takes it well. Her face creases in agony, the pain is only for an instant and, doing her best as always, she even manages to think of the dignity and pride he talked about so pompously. She wants to show him that she is grown-up and responsible. Suddenly it becomes important to her, more important than even the injustice of the caning.

The fifth and sixth strokes fall in quick succession – the only warning is the sharp whistle of the cane slicing the still air. Pippa jumps again and again, the twin lances of pain stinging her sharply and suddenly. Her bottom writhes to escape something which has already gone. Yet the pain still blazes in livid after traces.

Fruitlessly she fends off the nonexistent attack and with great relief she realises that the punishment has finished. For a while she is unable to get to her feet; she needs to collect her thoughts and regain her breath. She lies panting across the stool and the top of the desk, mentally exhausted and physically smarting to hell and gone.

The touch on her bottom is as gentle as it is unexpected, and almost soothing. For a brief instant Pippa is reminded of her father who is the most sensitive person she knows. Perhaps Mr Jardine is human after all… she remains still beneath his hand, not sure whether to stay where she is or struggle to her feet. Finally he lifts her by the arm and she finds herself face to face with his benign calmness. Gently he lifts her chin and looks into her tear-stained face. Her bottom is ablaze with non-stop pain. Her mellifluous snivelling serves to turn him on.

'Now then Pippa, that wasn't so bad was it?' His voice is soft and much warmer now, as if the caning is the force that blew out the thunderstorm of his frustration. Addressing her by her first name for the first time is quite an act of tenderness. For the rest of the day he can be guaranteed to be pleasant and convivial.

Pippa, however, will continue to burn… burn with resentment.

From Janus 23. A big thank you to Dmitry for the text.

Letters to the Editor

2010-03-07T20:06:00.006Z

I was reminded by Fiona in a recent comment that there is one subject I haven't covered yet on this blog, letters to spanking magazines. These were always a big part of the experience of reading classic British spanking magazines such as Janus and Roue and it's something I'd like to bring back as a regular feature of this blog.

I'm going to re-publish some of the best letters from my spanking magazine collection but I'd also like to add your stories and comments as well.

To start things off here are two letters from Roue and, because she gave me the idea, Fiona's own story from one of her comments. Please feel free to post your own thoughts and experiences in the comments section or email me at the address in my profile.

PD from Roue 51

WARTIME PUNISHMENTS

Dear Sir,

I thought I would write to you about my evacuation to Wales, but I mention no town for I would not wish to hurt those who took me in and fed me. The Welsh are very strict indeed and very fond of going to chapel.

Where do I start? The family I was sent to had three girls— Marion, Rhodda and Jill. Jill was a year younger than me, the other Iwo about a year older. They hated boys, but 'aunty and 'uncle had always wanted a boy. So, thanks to Hitler, they got me.

I think it was being there that made me interested in uniforms, knickers and CP, but I don't think of myself as peculiar in any way; I like reading on this subject and I have the guts to say so.

Many of your readers won't understand but homes in those days were strict, and girls were dressed like kids up to the day before starting work, and all we boys wore short trousers.

Mother made the mistake of packing about six pairs of shorts, forgetting that I would grow Aunty' wasn't going to spend valuable clothing coupons on me when she had a man, herself and six girls to dress.

Worse still, my shorts were lined— so I wore no underpants. We all stripped and washed in the kitchen in just vest and pants (no bathroom in those days, no inside toilets). When I dropped my shorts the girls all tittered for I was naked below the waist. 'Aunty' grabbed a pair of girls' knickers and told me to put them on.

I wore girls knickers— navy-blue on weekdays, white on Sundays — throughout my stay there. They were very brief and tight, but there was nothing I could do about it.

The boys at my school soon found out about it and ragged me. After school they would often yank my shorts and knickers off down by the stream, tie me up, displaying me to the girls until someone told on them and they all got a hiding. I did as well for the brook was out of bounds.

With four of us in the house someone got a hiding every day. These were given in the kitchen. Sometimes there was no undressing — we were just grabbed and bent over a knee or a chair. My shorts were taken down or the girls' skirts turned back. Then they started on the seat of our pants. No stick, no strap, no riding- crop, nothing spectacular—just a length of broken furniture no longer than a foot and a couple of inches wide, under an inch thick.

But it hurt. They used to give us about Iwo dozen. I could manage eight without squirming, but after that I would be pleading. Then there would be the threat of pants down. Finally thoroughly thrashed, I'd run, twisting and rubbing, around the room as the girls all did when they were punished.

They had another punishment— standing in the corner. We had to stand there for hours. I'd want to pee but was not allowed to. Eventually— boy or girl --there would be a little puddle on the slate floor. Giggles would come from the others. The culprit would then have to wipe it up, take down his or her pants, and then get a beating for being dirty

Both 'aunty' and 'uncle' hit us, but mainly 'aunty' for she was there all the time. The girls had to work like blazes in the house and in the garden, feeding the hens, pigs and goats. Any slacking and they were punished. We had chapel three times on Sundays, and we would always giggle during the services.

Then, when we got back home, we'd all get a whacking — the eldest first, then the next, then me and finally the youngest, Ji II.

Jill and I shared a room and became quite close. One day she caught me wanking and reported me. I got a bare-bottomed beating that time. Jill cried for me. Later she wanked me in our room.

At school we all got spanked across the knee on our bare bottoms. Also they would hit us on our arms, thighs and coves—the ruler fir the girls, the cane for the boys, but on hands and bottom for serious misbehaviour.

If any of us got punished at school 'aunty' and 'uncle' would always find out, and we'd get another dose at home.

So there it is, Roué. A hard life but wonderful. I wouldn't have missed a minute of it. Well, perhaps a minute or two.

PD. (Burton-on-Trent)

Emma from Roue 21

A SCHOOLGIRL WRITES

Our dad keeps a newsagents shop and sells Roue from the back room. We do a round every morning and mind the shop for mum. We read all the forbidden books and get a thick ear if caught. Sue, my sister, asked me to write to you and I will enjoy seeing my letter printed. My father would kill me if he knew I had written to you.

Last summer I played truant, I admit I had been stupid and we had been warned, then a friend of mine did it a second time and we went shopping together. Boys at our school get the cane, it is a well known, and until recently they sometimes got it in assembly.

We went to the pictures after exams in school time. Sue knew but didn't tell on me, she's a prefect now and was a sub-prefect then.

We read Roue and that's why we thought of writing. Anyway the first time I was caught playing truant Miss Filling called me in with Sue there and gave me an awful row and shook me by the shoulders hurting me and making me cry. I was in full school uniform then, we wore blue and grey with white blouses, we have to wear white knee-socks and sensible shoes because of the floors and stairs.

After we went to the cinema they sent for me the next afternoon. I thought we had got off, how did I know that the caretaker and his wife would be at the pictures. They questioned me and I lied and lied. You see, we used to attend registration then nip off to the shop in the afternoons, it had become a habit.

Then they sent me outside the door. It was a hot day but I was cold in just a red check school dress, and somehow I knew I was trouble. When I was called back in, there were the senior mistress, my gym mistress and my year head. They told me I would be caned, four strokes on my bottom. A knock at the door, Sue came in and stood arms folded. I pleaded to her to ask them to let me off, she was awfully embarrassed by my stupidity. I was told to take off my school dress and the cane long and thin was produced from nowhere, it looked awful. I pulled my dress over my head, I had green pants on, a school vest and no bra. They wanted to know why I was not wearing school pants (little did they know I only ever wear them the day of gym or games). I lied that I had no clean ones at home. They looked at Sue but she couldn't agree with me letting mum take the blame. One extra stroke for not wearing navy blue uniform pants and one extra stroke for telling lies, now six strokes which was what the boys got.

Worse was to come. 'Take down those disgusting knickers,' I was told and in front of them I had to, and I was given an old faded pair of navy ones to put on with tight elastic in the legs, hard to pull up tight. Then I was forced across a table and held by my hands across the table. It hurt my thighs. Once across the table the whack landed and I knew I was never going to stand six hits. Twice I struggled up as the cane hit me and it was Sue in the end who pleaded with me to grow up and take my punishment before they told mum and dad. So I bent and stuck my bum out for the last three strokes, my gym mistress calling out the number of each one. Tears in my eyes, I ended up sitting on the floor crying. I was to be further humiliated but Sue stopped them. They stood me up and yanked down my knickers to inspect my marks, expecting me to stand in the corner with my hands on my head, but Sue pleaded with them to leave me alone and put her arm around my shoulders, pulling my pants back up. I learned later that it was the gym mistress who had caned me and Sue thought that she was worried in case it was too hard. We were left alone all afternoon, I had no frock to wear and when the bell went the head girl brought in my frock telling me to report to the head of PE next day after assembly.

We went home - my six stripes reached from side to side, ugly blue marks. Sue told mum and dad, dad was furious and sent me to bed, and I think he hit Sue for not reporting me to them before, because she came to bed howling and wouldn't tell me what happened.

School uniform every day after that included regulation knickers, and for three days I was inspected until the marks faded a bit. I haven't had the cane since then but some girls have, the boys still get it and the slipper, usually just in their gym shorts, and like me they cry. If we girls laugh at them they give us dead arms.

Sue is head girl this year. Dad has told me that if I let her down, not only will I be punished at school but that he will cane me at home, and I think he would too. This week I had to take off my skirt with a slit up the back, they said it was indecent. I had blue knickers on, and the home economics teacher sewed it up for me.

Emma

Fiona from comments

GROWING UP IN THE 80'S

I was a girl growing up in the 80s and my father was the disciplinarian of the family. He was also an avid reader of spanking/caning magazines. All three Mum, myself and my sister were subject to regular spankings and canings from my father. But my brother was excused for some reason. He used mainly the back of mothers polished wooden paddle or the slipper for spankings and a 3 foot rattan senior cane for canings.

He was so strict he spanked or caned for almost anything. He was strictest though with mother who got the most spankings and caning on her large bottom. He continued to spank and cane me until I left home at 24. Although I did get a bit of respite when I was a university. But spankings and canings continued during the holidays.

Fiona

Janus 8 Schoolgirl Shoplifter

2010-03-06T22:30:00.012Z