Monday 15 October 2012

Mmmmmph!

 
Some pics I found on the web.  Not sure who owns them but thank you who ever you are!
 
 
 





If you gonna get tied up, then a slip is just what you need, Yes?

Tuesday 2 October 2012

Seat of Learning - a true story

 Who is there that with disdain
 Dismiss the power of the cane?
 That swish against the naked skin
 Dispelling vestiges of grin
 Upon the face of Alison
 The naughty little girl from Oxon
 Who, bum throbbing, now regrets
 The smart-arse comments that she lets
 Slip from her lips to the dismay
 Of people that get in her way

 Across the back of Madam’s chair
 She learns the cost of going there
 Of being cheeky; poking fun.
 Long-suffering neighbours every one
 Now smile with glee, as cries they hear
 From Ali’s pain reaching their ear
 Through open window come her pleas
 Of “Lesson learned” and: “No more please!”
 But Madam smiles and carries on
 To the despair of Alison.

Saturday 15 September 2012

Reggie

Reggie Griffiths was over the moon.  After four years of hard work, exams, with only the odd wild student party thrown in to relieve the stress, he had finally passed out as a newly qualified teacher of English Language.  At last he was at liberty to unleash his free-spirit and unquestionable talent upon the world of secondary education.

As a graduate with honours, he had been able to choose his post very carefully.   Not for him the mad scramble for jobs at the run-down inner city comprehensives.  Oh no- for Reggie the world was virtually at his feet.  Many high-class educational establishments had been tripping over themselves to attract his services.  He had not hurried to choose, but when the post of NQT at the prestigious and very exclusive Eastville High School for Girls had been offered, he had seized the opportunity with both hands.

Now, at eight-thirty, on his first morning, he paced up and down between the neat rows of desks in his newly decorated classroom.  He adjusted the chairs, picked up the odd speck of paper from the polished wooden floor; making sure that everything was just so, in readiness for nine o’clock, when he would be meeting his students for the very first time.  A good first impression was essential.

Reggie was a fairly tall sort of chap, almost six feet in fact.  He was unquestionably handsome, (the girls at college had thought certainly thought so), with short light- brown hair that was parted on the left.

For his first morning, he had chosen to wear a brown checked sports jacket, grey flannel trousers, a white shirt and a mustard coloured tie.  It was not the height of modern fashion, but he was seeking to project the image of being a little older, and a lot more experienced, than he actually was.   He was, after all, only a few years older than the girls he would be teaching, and he still looked young and fresh.

Arriving at the blackboard, he carefully placed the big felt rubbing block neatly to one side of the ledge provided, checking at the same time that there would be sufficient chalk available for his purposes.  The first lesson of the day would be fourth-year grammar – correct usage of verbs.  That should give him a good start-off.

After that he would be teaching the first-year pupils; then in the afternoon the second and third years respectively.   The fifth and sixth forms were outside his province for the moment, but no doubt there would be opportunities to teach them as well later on, either on staff training days or when colleagues were off sick etc.

From the blackboard, he went over to the tall mahogany cupboards, opening each in turn to verify that all of the materials which he would be needing were in place.  Being at the upper-class end of the market, the school wanted for nothing in the way of resources.  Many of the textbooks were brand new.  “Order whatever you need” had been the Headmistress’s instruction.

He had taken her at her word and worked his way meticulously through the school’s bespoke order catalogue, until eventually he had arrived at the final page.  It was then that his eyes opened wide with astonishment.

At first he had been unable to stop his hand from trembling as he studied the short list of items therein.  Canes and leather tawses of all shapes and sizes, each with a photograph, the price of course, plus a brief description of the qualities each had to offer.

As he had studied the page in wonderment, scarcely able to suppress his excitement, the appendage within his trousers had suddenly begun to enlarge.  The  “Sprite Deluxe” model in particular had attracted his attention, being a particularly devilish looking piece of equipment with a curved handle.   Yet when it came to actually placing one on his order form, he lost his nerve, figuring that in a girls-only school, nobody would be expecting him ever to need or use one.

It was Mrs Simpkins, the kindly but brusque school secretary, who had publicly and somewhat embarrassingly brought the omission to light on the staff induction day.

“Canes Mr Griffiths, you have forgotten to order canes!” she had announced in her shrill voice, causing all of his colleagues present in the staff room, mainly women, to turn their heads in his direction.

“B-b-but surely I won’t need one of those will I?” he had blustered self-consciously, drawing smiles of confirmation all round from his coleagues. 

“Of course you will need one Mr Griffiths!” replied Mrs Simpkins incredulously, seemingly at a loss to understand his naivety.  “In fact you will probably need more than one.  How on earth are you going to maintain discipline in the classroom if you do not have a cane to back your authority?”

“W-w-w-well I thought that being w-well bred girls from good homes it wouldn’t be necessary,” had stammered Reggie lamely, clearly intimidated by the secretary’s forthright manner.  “I d-don’t know which one to choose…. I mean, I……”

“Never mind Mr Griffiths,” retorted the secretary, shaking her head in disbelief.  “I will order some for you.  You clearly have a lot to learn about teaching methods and discipline, but you will soon learn once you have been here for a couple of weeks.  The young girls will give you an easy time for the first few days, but only while they are sizing you up.  Then you had better be ready to crack down hard, mark my words, or your life won’t be worth living.”

Reggie had looked for confirmation in the expressions on the faces of his colleagues, only to receive knowing nods in return.

“Agnes is right Reggie,” confirmed Rosemary Hawkins, the deputy headmistress.  “Our young ladies may indeed come from well-to-do families, but they tend to be spoilt brats on the whole, who tend to get their own way at home.  The parents send their girls here expecting them to get some firm discipline now and then, and we try not to disappoint them. A few sharp taps with a swishy cane never harmed anybody!”   

Reggie had bowed to the superior wisdom of his colleagues, forming a mental picture of little pink posteriors in navy blue knickers, hissing and crackling from a close encounter with “Mr Bamboo”.  His train of thought had been interrupted by Mary O’Hare, the Head of History.

“If I could just mention,” she had whispered confidentially, “I would recommend that you also avail yourself of a plimsoll, or slipper as we call it.  The cane is excellent for dealing with the more troublesome little minxes, but it does have the disadvantage of leaving some pretty spectacular marks on the little dears’ posteriors, and can really only be used on them once a fortnight at most.   That is more than enough to bring most of the little witches into line, but some of the serial offenders need a dose nearly every day.  We don’t want the parents complaining about their little darlings being beaten excessively do we?”

Jim listened open-mouthed as Mary continued.

“The slipper is just as effective pain-wise,” she explained, “But it doesn’t make quite so much of an impression, if you catch my drift?  You can use it as often as you like without causing a great deal of aesthetic damage, and the girls soon get the message.  After all, punishment carries a high percentage of shaming as well as pain; they won’t enjoy having to exhibit their knickers at the front of the class too often.  I would keep the cane in reserve as your “punishment of last resort” if I were you.”

Reggie had taken her advice.  Thus it was, with “zero hour” approaching, his tour of inspection of the classroom led him to the imposing desk situated to the right-hand side of the blackboard.  He opened the lid.  Inside, amongst all of the textbooks and classroom notes was an old worn white plimsoll, size nine, tatty and flexible.  He picked it up and smacked it against his palm.

It stung viciously.  Mary was right: it truly would be effective.  And because the sole was so wide – the mark that it would impart on the errant bottom would take much less time to disappear than did a cane weal.  He wondered absently how long it would be, before he would need to use it.

His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of the school bell.  It was five-to-nine.  Outside in the playground, the high-pitched shrieking of adolescent female voices ceased and a distant whistle signalled the order to proceed to classrooms.  Reggie nervously opened his classroom door, went to his desk, and sat down to await the students’ arrival.

Presently, in twos and threes, a file of fourteen year-old girls, smartly dressed in their uniforms of white shirt, blue cardigan and dark blue pleated skirts entered the room.  They all took their places behind their chairs, standing respectfully to attention.

Aware that all eyes were focused expectantly upon him, Reggie went and closed the door, cleared his throat and began to speak.

“Good morning girls.” He said in his most authoritarian tone. “My name is Mr Griffiths.  You will address me as “sir” if you please!”

“Good morning sir!”  chorused the young ladies, in almost precise unison.

So far so good, thought Reggie.  At least they are polite and showing respect.

“Please take your seats.”

When they were all seated, just a few desks remained vacant.  No doubt one or two pupils were absent through illness; hopefully none would be late.  Reggie thought about the slipper in his desk.  Being late was definitely a punishable offence.  He took out the register, putting a tick against the list of names as he called them out.  Only two empty spaces remained when he had finished. 

Having asked the girls to take out their grammar books, he began to outline the principles of verb conjugation. They were barely a couple of minutes into the lesson, when suddenly there was a knock on the door behind him.  Looking round, he saw a good-looking young schoolgirl with medium length, straight dark hair, standing in the doorway.

Yes?” he asked her, a little annoyed at the interruption.

“I-I am sorry sir!” the girl stammered.  She had a pronounced Italian accent.  “It is my first day and I get lost.  Is all very new to me here.”

Reggie eyed her up and down.  She really was very pretty; slim and well proportioned with dark appealing eyes.  His initial instinct was to say that it was alright and not to worry, but then the authoritarian side of his nature took over.

“What is your name girl?” he enquired brusquely.  “You are late.  I take a very dim view of tardiness!”

“It is Ellie sir – Ellie Maldini.”

Reggie checked the register and noted that she was one of the absentees.  He put an “L” against her name, hesitated, then lifted the lid of his desk, taking out the slipper and barely noticing the audible gasp from the seated pupils.

“Right Ellie,” he said.  “Come and stand here in front of the class, face the blackboard and touch your toes.  I will not tolerate lateness for whatever reason.  It is considered very disrespectful, both to me and your colleagues.”

Ellie’s jaw dropped open slightly as if to say something, but apparently thought better of it.  She walked hesitantly towards the backboard, turned smartly to face it, and bent over as ordered.

“Is like this sir, you want me?” she asked nervously, gazing intently at the floor.  Her fingertips were not quite reaching her shoes.

“Part your feet slightly,” replied Reggie.  “You will find it easier that way.”

He watched as Ellie complied.  With her feet planted eighteen inches apart, she could now reach the toes of her shoes in reasonable comfort.  Reggie hesitated for a second, admiring the way that her straightened legs disappeared tantalisingly beneath the hem of her blue pleated skirt.  Should he lift the skirt to expose her knickers? It was a question that was occupying the onlookers’ minds also.   In the classroom you could have heard a pin drop.

There was a temptation to fold it back for sure, but he declined and left the skirt in place.  It barely concealed her pants anyway.  The slipper felt good in his hand as stepped to one side, drew back his arm, and gave her three hard swipes on the bottom in quick succession, the sharp thud reverberating off the classroom walls.  Ellie gasped for breath with the impact, but otherwise said nothing.

“Right, you may get up Ellie; go and sit down.  Perhaps you will not wish to be late again?”

Ellie rubbed her hands vigorously over her skirt and tearfully shook her head.  “No sir.  Thank you sir” Blushing furiously, she went quickly to a vacant desk, seated herself and opened her satchel.

Reggie glared at the rest of the class.  One or two girls had the vestiges of a smirk on their countenances.  He made a mental note of who they were, thinking darkly that he would soon wipe the grins off of their impudent faces if they gave him the slightest excuse.

“Right girls, let that be a reminder to all of you; we do not accept lateness.  Now let us carry on with the lesson. Ellie take out your grammar book please and open it to page thirty-five ……”

The lesson passed without incident and come break-time, Reggie found himself once more sitting next to Mary O’Hare in the staffroom, as they drank their coffee.

“How are you getting on?” she asked.  “Have you used your slipper yet?

“Yes I have actually,” he replied.  “A girl called Ellie was late and I gave her a couple of good whacks.  I hadn’t expected to be using it so soon though.”

Mary looked at him and raised an eyebrow.  “Not Ellie Maldini?” she asked in astonishment.  “The new girl – she speaks with an Italian accent?”

“Yes that’s the one.  Why do you ask like that; have I done something wrong?”

“No.  I am sure it will be fine.  It’s just that today is her first day in an English school and she is the daughter of the Italian Cultural Attaché.  I am sure that she will have some very interesting things to tell her parents tonight when she gets back home.  

Saturday 8 September 2012

Holy Shit!



I just checked in on Tess's GlamourVision site and this is what I found.  OMG is this enough to make a romantic guy like me dribble in his trousers.  I mean - it's a great picture in itself, but the sheer beauty of the young model and the sensual combination of bra and half-slip, with the section of bare midriff between them, defy my humble efforts of description.  Go now, my disciples and visit her site.  There is more!

Sunday 15 July 2012

Poem - Fiona

Beneath the covers on her bed
Fiona rubs her bottom red
Alas to misbehave at school
Is not a good thing as a rule

Having been called to front of class
She had to bend and show her ass
While skirt was lifted and Miss Speed
Dealt retribution for misdeed

With four cane stripes across her bum
Fiona dare not tell her mum
For fear that strap behind the door
Will but augment her troubles more

“I have a headache Mum,” she’d said
“I need to go lie down instead
Of having tea; perhaps some rest
In circumstances would be best”

Her secret safe for now at least
She wishes for the hurt to ease
And yet perversely with the pain
Strange thoughts revolve inside her brain

For though the shame cause her to fret
Her pussy has turned strangely wet
Which rubbing finds to her delight
All kinds of passion do excite

Her fingers probing, kneading, squeezing
Bring results extremely pleasing
After time she starts to spasm
Giving way to full orgasm

“Oh my God!” she squeals with glee
“Whatever has come over me?
My dear Miss Speed I love your cane
Oh please give it to me again!”

Monday 21 May 2012

Short Story - Best Friends

Chrissie and Melanie were best chums at school, delighting in each other’s company, sharing the ups and downs of boarding school life, and getting into the odd scrape on the way.

People said that they were like twins, especially in their black gymslips, both being fairly tall and of medium build. They each had shoulder length hair tied back in a regulation ponytail, and the only thing that separated them at first glance was that Mel was a brunette, while Chrissie was a golden blonde.

The school maintained a strict regime, but somehow they always managed to stay below the radar; except that is, for the time that Mel got caught sneaking back through the fence, on the way back from an illicit raid on the village tuck shop.

That had earned her a visit to the headmistress, and caning, which also meant a black mark on her record. Chrissie had been with her on that outing, but had managed to sneak back into school without being caught. Mel, in true British tradition of loyalty to her friends, had not “squealed” and had taken the rap alone; even though it had been Chrissie’s suggestion that they go in the first place.

The incident had taken place a couple of years previously, and each had maintained an otherwise unblemished record but, when they reached the sixth form and the prefectures were handed out, only Chrissie was accorded the privilege. In the role, she was responsible for discipline amongst the girls under her charge and, if necessary, authorised to dispense up to six strokes of the cane.

She was not a strict disciplinarian as such, but neither did she believe in sparing the rod. In her defence however, she was scrupulously fair and only caned when rules had been broken. Rule-breakers could not expect mercy; neither did they receive it.

It was therefore unfortunate when Mel was caught using the Matron’s telephone by Chrissie herself, acting in response to a tip-off from a junior girl, and hauled up to the prefects’ common room to face the music.

Once in the common room, there was only one thing that could happen, and Chrissie reluctantly went to the cupboard and took out one of the canes. Three or four of the other prefects were lounging around, feigning disinterest, but each of them knew of the special friendship between the two, and they were secretly wetting themselves with the prospect of what was about to take place.

Mel wasn’t wetting herself though; she was almost shitting herself instead, because she knew that unauthorized use of the telephone was an automatic six of the best on the bottom. As she stood there waiting, the gnawing feeling in her stomach was transmitting signals to her ass, and she had to pinch her cheeks together to stop herself from farting. She dare not look around the room, but she knew that all the attention was on her.

Chrissie picked up a chair and placed it in the middle of the room. She said nothing but Mel knew it was for her to bend over. It stood before her like an executioner’s block.

Mel felt like crying because it seemed so unjust that her best friend, the one whose neck she had saved eighteen months before, was now going to beat her. And there could be no question of anything less than six vicious cuts of the cane through her knickers. The punishment was prescribed, and Chrissie would have to carry it out properly, or there would be questions asked.

Licking her lips with fear, and with chest pounding, Mel stepped forward, lifted the skirt above her waist and bent over the back of the chair, grasping hold of the seat tightly with both hands. She fidgeted slightly, then pushed up on her tip-toes in the approved manner.

The cane swished through the air and cracked against her bottom, echoing round the room like a pistol shot. Almost immediately, the searing pain ripped through her body in a sea of fire, and it was all she could do to clench her teeth together and gasp inwardly. No sooner had the surging shockwaves settled into a bar of raging torment across the centre of her buttocks, than a second stroke worked its way in; just as hard; just as painful. It was followed by four more, leaving her gasping for breath in their wake.

The tears welled up into Mel’s eyes with shame and humiliation. She stood up when the command came, and hurried from the room, running straight into the lavatories down the corridor. Having locked herself inside a cubicle, she pulled down her knickers, trying to look behind her to examine the damage, but it was physically impossible. She ran her hands over the bulging welts and felt their angry response.

Suddenly there was a knock on the cubicle door, and she heard a girl’s voice through the mist of pain. It was Chrissie………

“Mel! It’s me. Please open the door. I am so sorry. I didn’t have any choice. I had to cane you!”

The door flew open, and Melanie burst out, eyes red with tears and rage.

“You fucking two-faced witch!” she screamed and punched her former friend square on the nose. Then both grabbed hold of the other’s hair and soon they were rolling on the ground screaming at each other, with Mel’s knickers still down around her ankles.

They made such a commotion that half the school heard the noise, and came to investigate what was going on. Soon the lavatory block was filled with excited pupils all straining and pushing to try and get a better view.

In the end Miss Parsons and a posse of prefects arrived to separate the two belligerents, and restore some kind of order.

Then Mel and Chrissie were marched down to the headmistress’s office to explain themselves.

On the way to there, it quickly dawned upon both girls that they were in deep shit. Fighting was strictly prohibited. At the very least, it attracted a severe caning. Since Mel had already received one of those not half an hour before, she was going to be in for a bad time. She could of course ask for it to be deferred, but she would need a good reason, and then it would come to light that she had just been beaten for using the telephone without permission.

Much as she hated to admit it, Chrissie had been doing her a favour by caning her, because that way it had at least kept the offence off the record. Now, with fighting added to her misconduct tally, she faced expulsion.

On the other hand, Chrissie was for it too, unless she got the blame laid firmly at Mel’s door. And in fairness, she had every right to do so, because it was the truth.

Mel had been guilty of breaking the rules and Chrissie had rightly punished her for it. The only reason she had gone to the toilets was to try to offer comfort. Chrissie was innocent in all this, and now she faced the choice of either being stripped of her prefect status, or shopping her erstwhile best friend.

Upon arrival outside the Head’s office, the two girls were instructed to sit down in the waiting room, while Miss Parsons went inside to brief Mrs Wilson, the Head, on the situation as she saw it. Mel and Chrissie sat at either end of the row of hard wooden chairs. Mel was fidgeting and Chrissie was wiping a couple of blood spots away from her nose. They were avoiding each other’s gaze.

Chrissie was called in first.  There was the muffled sound of two female voices; one lower pitched one being that of the headmistress.  It was impossible for Melanie to make out what was being said.  But it didn't need a genius to work out that she was being stitched up.

Presently the door opened and Mel’s heart sank. Oh dear God this was it. She was ready to beg and plead for reprieve. Okay, maybe if she just kept her mouth shut and she was really lucky, she might just get away with a caning. Could she take another caning? Her ass was already on fire…..

The tall, angular figure of Miss Parsons appeared in the doorway. Beyond her, Mel caught a glimpse of Chrissie’s back, as she stood facing the Head’s desk.

“Right Melanie,” said Miss Parsons. “You may go. Chrissie has told us what happened and we will deal with it.”

Mel’s jaw dropped open. Go? She did not understand. Why…..?

“Go on girl!” snapped Miss Parsons. “Don’t hang around here.”

With her knees still trembling from shock, and fear of the caning which apparently she was not going to get, she made her way shakily and uncomprehendingly towards the outer door, still unable to believe what was going on.

 As she reached the door, she heard the voices again coming from the inner office, followed suddenly by the unmistakable crack of a cane hitting someone’s bottom. It could only have been Chrissie’s. A second, and then a third followed. Mrs Wilson was laying them on hard; ……four……..five………..

“Oh God no!” Mel realised that somehow Chrissie had taken the blame for the fight and that she, Melanie, was going to get off scot-free. She wanted to burst back into the office and stop it. But she realised it was too late. Her friend had already sacrificed herself to save her, just as she had done when the situations had been reversed, eighteen months earlier. They were even now, but at what cost: their friendship?

Mel suddenly collapsed crying on the floor, great tears plopping onto the polished linoleum. If only she had been able to control her temper….

Eventually the noise of the caning ceased and the Head’s door opened; Chrissie appeared, holding her bottom and crying. When she stepped out into the corridor, she was met by Melanie who was shaking her head and crying too.

“I’m so sorry Chrissie,” she stammered. “I’m…..I'm.....”

She broke off in mid sentence. Chrissie was no longer wearing her prefect’s badge and red girdle of office. She had not only been caned, but had been reduced to the ranks as well.

Mel gasped in horror. “No!” she screamed. “Oh dear Jesus this is all my fault. I have to go and put it right.” She made as if to go back into the office but Chrissie restrained her.

“Don’t be stupid Mel," she hissed and dragged her down the corridor. “If you go back in there and tell them the truth, you are dead meat. They will expel you for sure. Now get your sorry ass upstairs, because we both need to get cleaned up. That toilet floor was disgusting. As regards the beating: forget it. I owed you one ever since you saved my neck that time, and now we are even, got it?”

It was true. But to Mel, it seemed that the price which Chrissie had just paid, was a high one.

“How many did you get?” She asked still sobbing.

“Eight. Now just leave it will you. I hated being a damned prefect anyway, because it came between us and I didn’t deserve to be one in the first place. Be positive: in three months we will both be out of here and finished with damn school. All we have to do is keep our noses clean and pass our exams. Are we friends again?”

“Of course we are Chrissie; friends forever!” cried Mel, as they went into the washroom and stripped off their clothes for a shower.

With the hot water cascading over their bodies, they took turns in soaping each other and examining their well-caned bottoms. It was so erotic, and both simultaneously realised the truth: they were in love……….

Wednesday 8 February 2012

Lisa



Lisa Brown sat behind her desk at the office, sipping her morning coffee, whilst mulling the problem that had vexed her for so long, virtually since childhood in fact.  Now, as she was approaching her fortieth year, she realised that if she wanted to realise her dream, she was going to have to be more proactive.  Her dream?  She desperately wanted a spanking, and not just a spanking, but a very,very hard one; a thorough beating that would bring tears to her pretty green eyes, leaving sore red marks on her bottom for days afterwards.

It wasn’t really a dream even anymore, it was more of an obsession; a demon that needed to be exorcised, if only to stop it from tormenting her.

She was a handsome woman in the eyes of most of the men who met her.  They paid her compliments, opened doors for her; admired her legs as she walked past.  Her long straight auburn hair with the curled up tips was the envy of many of her female colleagues.  While she was by no means skinny, at five feet four inches in her stockings and weighing in at just less than 140 pounds she was well proportioned.

As she sipped her coffee, she crossed her legs making the hose swish as she thought a little more of the spanking she yearned for.  For fun it would always be an OTK spanking but what she really wanted, perhaps for just once in her life, was to be scolded and punished for real, like the heroines were in her favourite books such as Jayne Eyre.  She wanted to have the red searing marks on her bottom, and feel fear and shame, as the strap (that was her preference) or cane, tore into her exposed backside leaving her gasping for breath.

“A penny for them!” said her colleague Joan, who sat at the next desk and had noticed the glazed look in her eyes.

“Uh?” replied Lisa, her train of thought suddenly interrupted.

“Your thoughts: a penny for them.  You looked miles away!”

Lisa suddenly blushed as she stammered, “Oh nothing of consequence!”

She received a knowing look from Joan in return.

“Yeah right.  Who were you fantasising about girlie?  That guy from the sales office I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Can’t a girl have any secrets around here?” asked Lisa, grateful to admit to a minor falsehood than be confronted with the truth.  “Anyway, it wasn’t him.”  Her “admission” left the field open for just about every eligible guy in the city and successfully stopped the interrogation in its tracks.

Not that Lisa was in the market for anyone.  She had a loving husband, a nice house, and a pet cat.  It was all that she needed at that time.  Affairs with other men she would avoid at all costs.  It just lead to heartache, and the world had enough of that without her making a contribution.  Okay, Joe had his faults, but she could live with them.  No one was ever perfect, and the grass always appeared to be greener on the other side of the fence.

One of Joe’s “faults” was that he was not interested in spanking her, even when she almost pleaded with him.  Beating a woman was simply not his idea of how a real man should behave, and he said so in no uncertain terms.  In BDSM terms he was a “vanilla” but on balance, it was far better to have a gentle and kind husband like him, than a brute who dealt out regular beatings just for the pleasure of hurting someone.

But the problem was that Lisa needed to be disciplined and if Joe was not prepared to do it, who would be?   A trusted friend might have been one option, but friends could turn out to be a liability if they knew too much.  If you quarrelled, there was no telling what information might be disclosed to third parties, simply out of spite.  No, close friends were tempting, but not the answer.

Neither were random strangers who advertised in the small ads columns of magazines.  They were a complete "no", unless you were a total fool.  Lisa shuddered to think about it, remembering some of the creeps who had showed up when, out of curiosity in the days before Joe had come along, she and a couple of friends had answered adds for a lark, just to see what happened.

After agonising long and hard, and amid much soul-searching, Lisa eventually came to the conclusion that the safest and surest way of achieving her goal, was through a professional who knew what they were doing.  That way, the beating would be administered dispassionately, there would be no repercussions and she would get exactly what she wanted with no questions asked.  She would simply have to pay the price, take the punishment, and leave.

*****

Once that she had finally made the arrangements, Lisa began to feel a sense of excitement that was bordering upon euphoria. and when the appointed day arrived, she could scarcely contain herself.

She was unsure what to wear at first.  Trousers and a top had initially come to mind but, the more she thought it over, they were not in fact the best option at all.  Okay, maybe if she had to run away or something, but that was just being negative.  Provided that everything went according to plan, the trousers would have to come off at some stage, and for sheer convenience, not to mention comfort, a skirt would be by far the better option.

Also she wanted to look and feel smart, because that was what her fantasy demanded.  So, sorting through her wardrobe, she selected a white shirt and black pinafore dress, over white bra, panties and half-slip.  She wore comfortable pair of black shoes and tan hose to complete the outfit, admiring the results in the full length mirror in her bedroom, before she left to keep the appointment.


“Joanne” lived in a semi-detached house in a respectable neighbourhood.  It was not her real name of course, but it was the one she used with her clients.  Lisa found her through the personal adverts of a specialist magazine, and having telephoned to make the initial enquiry, she had been impressed with how ordinary and kindly the woman had sounded.  In the end, it had been just like making an appointment to see a doctor or solicitor.


For her own peace of mind she had asked a friend to drop her at the address, and arranged to be collected an hour later.  That way she would not go un-missed if things did not turn out well, but in truth, she was not expecting problems because Joanne made no visible attempt to be secretive about her profession.  Even so, it was not without some trepidation that Lisa approached the wooden front door, with its 1930s stained glass, and rang the doorbell.  Through the frosted glass she perceived movement and presently the door was opened by a shortish lady in a green dress.   She was about forty years old, with dark wavy hair and a friendly smiling face.  Had one known any different, she would pass for a favourite aunt.


“Hello my dear,” she said cheerfully.  “Come on in and don’t be afraid.  I don’t bite.”


Her mind at ease, Lisa stepped inside.  The hallway was light and airy; there were some tasteful furnishings and a big vase of fresh flowers on a polished table that stood just inside the door.  Further up the hall stood a long-case clock, ticking rhythmically.  There was no other appreciable sound in the house.  It was all so peaceful.


“Don’t take this the wrong way my dear,” said Joanne, “but can we get the financial considerations over with first?  It makes things simpler, and once it’s done we concentrate on your requirements, without having to worry about it.”


“No, of course,” replied Lisa.  “It was one hundred wasn’t it?”  She reached inside her handbag taking out an envelope which she handed over.


Joanne took it and put it in the table drawer.


“Aren’t you going to count it?” asked Lisa, rather surprised that the other woman had taken it on trust.


Joanne shook her head and smiled.  “No; of course I’m not.”  she said.  “That would be vulgar.  I trust everyone until they give me cause to think otherwise.   Now if you follow me we have some business to attend to.”


Sensing a little hesitancy she smiled again, saying reassuringly: “It’s all right dear, there isn’t anyone else here.  I live alone and my next client isn’t coming until seven o’clock.   It won’t take long to sort you out, and we will have time for a cup of tea before your friend comes to pick you up.”


“You know I have someone collecting me?” asked Lisa.


“I would be surprised if you didn’t,” replied Joanne. “You look like a sensible woman to me and it is your first time here.  It is always best to be cautious.  Now don’t be nervous; you are here for pleasure, although some might not see it like that, given that it entails a certain amount of discomfort.  I don’t think you will be disappointed in that respect.”


She led the way down the hall and through a door into a room that was kitted out as a schoolroom, with desks and a blackboard.  “This is where I conduct my role-play sessions.”  Joanne explained.  “Most of my clients have a school fetish of some kind.   In fact, I think it’s probably something nearly everyone shares to some degree.
 
"Now, let me see, I think the strap I need is in here.” she said, opening a cupboard door.  “Ah yes, here it is.  I think you will appreciate this one.  It’s not too heavy but it carries a nice vibrant sting that will make you jump a bit.  It’s what you might describe as the 'entry level' model”


The strap she produced looked anything but "entry level" to Lisa's admittedly unpractised eye.  It was about two feet long, perhaps a couple of inches wide, supple, and made of thick black leather. 


Joanne turned to face Lisa, who suddenly realised, that the time for prevarication had passed.  Her waiting was over and the moment that she had dreamt of for so long had finally arrived.  A dreadful gnawing gripped her in the pit of the stomach.  She pinched the cheeks of her buttocks together as a feeling of panic threatened to overwhelm her.  Her knees went weak and began to knock involuntarily; she began to breathe heavily and her throat was dry.


“I - I…..” she stammered uncomfortably.


Joanne smiled.  “It’s okay.” She said reassuringly.  “Just do as you are told and it will be alright.  Lift up your skirt and bend over this desk.”  She was pointing to the desk in the centre of a row of three.  “Don’t be frightened.  It’s going to hurt quite a bit and there will be marks, but I won’t cause any lasting damage.  I haven’t lost a client yet.”


Self-consciously and with her heart pounding, Lisa obeyed the instruction, gripping the hem of her skirt and slip, pulling them up to waist height and arranging herself over the desk.  The wood felt hard against her tummy.  She felt so exposed and vulnerable with her undies showing.


Suddenly her knickers and tights were pulled briskly down to her knees, and she felt the cold smooth leather of the strap dancing lightly against the bared skin of her naked buttocks.  Any minute now and her torment would begin.  She suddenly realised that she didn't know quite what to expect; how bad the pain would be, or what sort of pain even.  She didn't even know how many strokes there would be.  She had left it up to Joanne, with the instructions to give them "good and hard".  Had that been wise, she wondered?






"Now listen my dear because this is quite important."  It was Joanne talking to her.  "You have come here with a particular set of requirements and I don't want any nonsense.  I want you to control yourself and behave impeccably, which means doing exactly what I tell you from now until the time I tell you different.  I am not an ogre, but this is business, and I have been commissioned to provide a service to you, the client.  There will be no jumping about, stamping of feet, tantrums or leaving your position.  If you do you will be out on your ear and I don't give refunds.  Are we clear?"

Yes ma'am."

"Good.  Now I am going to tell you so that you are in no doubt that these swats are not going to be love pats.  This is the real McCoy and you are going to hate it so much you will be grateful when it's over.  It is only fair that you know that so there is no misunderstanding.  Your ass is going to sting as though you have sat on a hornets nest, and there are going to be marks as a consequence.  Now, you have the option to abort this or we continue with your punishment.  Do you wish to continue?

Something akin to panic gripped Lisa but she had come so far now that to give up would merely leave her feeling like a failure and it would be more embarrassing to back out than to take the punishment.  She would never go this far again if she gave up, and she would spend the rest of her life wondering, and wishing for what might have been. 

"Carry on." she whispered, gripping the legs of the desk so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

Joanne's sudden change of manner had thrown her momentarily, but then she understood that it was not sinister in the slightest.  This was a punishment experience and it was right that it should be administered in an atmosphere of solemnity.  Indeed, that had been her request; to be as realistic as possible.  Joanne was only obeying her instructions.  A real bona fide bawling out, such as her fantasy required, would have been slightly ridiculous and contrived.

"Right missy" said Joanne menacingly.  "Now you hold on to the desk and don't let go."

With that, suddenly and without warning, Lisa's whole world imploded.

CRACK!  CRACK!  CRACK!

Three swats from the strap landed on her ass in quick succession and the most unimaginable pain cascaded in all directions from both cheeks, stinging so viciously that she thought her brain was going to explode.

"Aaaaah Jesus!" she screamed.  "Ow!  Ow!  Ow!  Oh my God that hurts!"

"Don't you dare to blaspheme in this house young lady!" came Joanne's cold voice from behind her.

CRACK!  CRACK!  CRACK!

Lisa clamped her jaws together and managed to remain silent this time.  How pathetic she felt to be begging so soon.  This was not at all how it was in her fantasy, but the pain was so much worse that she had ever imagined.    Somehow it had been a kinder more bearable pain in her dreams; this was sheer agony!

CRACK!  CRACK!  CRACK!

"Aaaaaaargh!   Aaaaaargh!  Aaaaaaaaaaargh!"

Lisa was screaming at the top of her voice.   Somehow she held on to the desk but this was so shameful to be making such a fuss.  She was humiliating herself but she couldn't help it.

CRACK!  CRACK!  CRACK!

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!  No!  Please!  That's enough!"  Lisa pleaded pathetically once again whilst tensing for the next three, but desperately hoping they would not come.

"So you think you have learned your lesson do you?"  asked Joanne sternly.

"Yes! Yes!"  sobbed Lisa.

"Last three then!  Hold still or there will be extras!"

There was a pause while Lisa was given time to control herself.

CRACK!  CRACK!  CRACK!

"Oooooooh!  Dear Jesus that stings!"  The tears formed in her eyes as she remained in position, desperate to avoid any penalty strokes.  At last Joanne spoke.  Suddenly her voice had changed back to the kindly matronly aunt of before, as though none of the strapping had occurred.

"Right dear." she said gently.  "Get up and sort your clothes out; then go and stand in the corner of the room with your hands clasped behind your head.  You will have ten minutes to reflect on matters and  remember that you are still under punishment.  If I catch you rubbing your bottom there will be trouble.  Do you understand?"

Sniffling back the tears, Lisa nodded and whispered "Yes Miss."  Then she pulled up her panties and hose, pulled down her slip and skirt, and went to the corner, standing with her nose pushed against the wall.  Her bottom felt as though she had sat on a nest if vipers but, and this was very strange indeed, she somehow felt liberated.  She could not really understand it, but the pain was making her sexually aroused, and her vagina was feeling distinctly moist. 

Corner time was actually something that had played very little role in Lisa's fantasies.  But as she stood there, hands clasped firmly behind her head, denied the relief of rubbing away the pain, the institution took on an importance hitherto unappreciated.  In some way, it seemed absolutely right that the penitent should take time to come to terms with the physical effects of her punishment, in a period of quiet reflection.  She fidgeted uncomfortably, half crossing first one leg and then the other, just trying to gain a little ease from the nagging pain; it did not work.  In the end she was glad she had worn a skirt because at least she did not have tight trousers pinching the welts which she knew must be rapidly developing under her panties.

From another part of the house which was presumably the kitchen, she could hear activity and the clink of cups and saucers.  Joanne was making tea; how civilised.  She had just given Lisa the belting of a lifetime and presently they were going to sit down and take tea like two old friends.

As if to underline the surreal nature of this false normality, Lisa felt a furry sensation rubbing against her legs and looking down, there was a big ginger cat that had come to investigate, or perhaps gloat.  After all, she was not the first punished pupil to stand in the corner, merely the latest in a whole line of raw stinging bottoms.  

It seemed as though she had stood there for hours but it could only have been about ten minutes when Joanne popped her head round the door and said in her kindly voice "Okay dear, your punishment is officially completed.  Come on in the lounge and have a cup of tea."

Lisa put her hands down, immediately grasping her bottom through the material of her skirt.  Oh, it was good to rub it, but unfortunately the relief was only temporary, for the throbbing persisted to the extent that it over-rode any attempt at reduction.  She was going to have to accept that a hard strapping would last considerably longer than a few minutes, not that she was too disappointed by that.

She followed Joanne into the lounge and gingerly sat down in an armchair.  She had obviously read all of the stories about people being unable to sit down after punishment but in her case, although it wasn't comfortable, she was at least able to bear it.  She took her tea and sipped it gratefully.

"Well then dear." said Joanne kindly.  "What did you think of your first real punishment?  Have you any complaints?  You did take it well I must say.  Some of my clients would have made a terrible fuss!" 

How did she feel?  It was difficult to say really.  Sore obviously, but also kind of warm and comforted, as though she had achieved something.  Joanne's compliments made her feel good.  In the end she replied "It hurts a bit, but funnily enough it feels quite pleasant now.  I'm glad you didn't go easy on me."

"No, I certainly did not!" smiled Joanne.  "I have a certain reputation to maintain.  Clients who come to me get the full treatment or none at all.  Some get it harder than others of course.  What you got was the mid-range standard school strapping but double the strokes.  I find that it's a good level to begin with, and then you can always work up to the harder stuff later on."

"You mean that it gets harder?" exclaimed Lisa, astonished.  "Wow!  What I got was plenty thank you!"

Joanne smiled at her and shook her head, as though she found the remarks naive, which of course they were.

"Good heavens, you have no idea.  What you had is usually enough to satisfy the ladies, but the men, dear me; some of them liked to be whipped so hard it bleeds.  I'm not too keen on blood myself and I try to avoid it to be honest.  I only do that for special clients that I know well."

"Well I have no complaints!" smiled Lisa genuinely.  "You whacked me good and proper.  Anyway, I had better go now.  I must have been here an hour."

"Yes you have, but don't worry.  It's nice to have a little chat with the client afterwards.  Would you like a couple more whacks on the house?"  Joanne was smiling but the offer looked genuine.

"Oh no thanks very much!" retorted Lisa, putting her cup down on the table and heading towards the door.  "What I have had is fine.  I don't want to be greedy.  I can always come back for more another time can't I?"

"Of course you can dear.  It has been a pleasure to meet you."

They shook hands and Lisa walked out into the street.  Andrea, her friend was sitting in her car a little further down the road.

"Everything alright?" she asked, as Lisa got in the car.  "Shall be go for a coffee?" 

"It's a nice idea but there is something I have to do at home." replied Lisa  "Can we make it Thursday?"

"Of course we can," said Andrea.  "I will look forward to it.  You can bring me up to speed with all the news."

Lisa smiled.  Perhaps not all the news, she thought to herself.

 



Monday 6 February 2012

Saucy Sal - A sailors tale


A sailor boy was I on leave
A girl in every town
And once in port I'd waste no time
To pull their knickers down
In London there was little Nell
Near Liverpool lived Nancy
While Bristol harboured Jill and Jane
Who both did take my fancy.

In Plymouth fair I chanced to stray
One morning bright and early
And there I spied a pretty maid
Whose hair was long and curly
“Would you care to step out with me?”
I asked in tone quite pally
“I don’t mind if I do kind sir,”
She said, “My name is Sally.”

“But not today for I must work
Meet me tomorrow night at eight
And if you buy my beer and ale
You surely will enjoy our date
For I am gay and fancy free
And liberal with favour
If you would kindly spank my bum
My normal fee I’ll waver!”

Next day before our rendezvous
Not wishing to be bored
I met with Sue and Katie too
With both of them I scored
Then in the afternoon I met
A girl called Lizzie from the docks
Inside her knickers she me let
Down on the beach, behind some rocks.

At I made my way
Down to the Rose and Thistle
My throat was parched; I ordered ale
With which to whet my whistle
Then through the door behind me stepped
Young Sally for our meeting
Her eyes were flashing wild with rage
She spurned my cheery greeting

Confronting me my saucy Sal
So full of fun and frolics
A vicious oath at me did yell
And kicked me in the bollocks.
“Two timing rat!” she screamed, irate
“I've heard that you’ve been busy
Out dallying with Sue and Kate
And then with my friend Lizzie

“Now piss off back to sea,” she said
“Forget designs upon my bum
And if you come near me again
I’ll go and tell my mum!”
So friends heed warning from this tale
The next time a pretty girl you dates
If time to spare, for goodness sake
Don’t spend it with some of her mates.

Friday 3 February 2012

Unholy Orders


Brother John the fiery preacher
“Praise the Lord” we hear him yell
Thanks his god in church on Sundays
Visits prostitutes on Mondays

Someone needs to purge their sins
And he is on a mission
For fifty bucks their bums he hires
And from his task he never tires

With leather strap in hand he rants
Pulls their pants down; rubs their bottoms
Orders them across the chair
Nice soft bottoms, pink and bare

Crimson welts appear like magic
Suffer pain to gain salvation
Now the wrath of God they feel
All the better if they squeal

Spare the rod and spoil the child
The scriptures say that, do they not?
Beneath his cassock, brown and flowing
Brother John is stiff and hot

His task on earth seems never-ending
Sure is he of place on high
John will not his duty shirk
No Devil tempt him from his work

“Hush my child” they hear him holler
“Take your pain and save your soul.
Follow Him, His way is best.
Now tell me, which of you is next?”