Search This Blog

Friday, 26 May 2017

Up the Ladder

Photo-story from Blushes 80
Julie said with a nervous little laugh, ‘I keep having this awful dream. Well it’s kind of awful.’
There, she had said it. She had kept saying to herself she would and she wouldn’t tell Paul. Now, in bed with him, she finally had, thinking and hoping that maybe this time she wouldn’t dream it once again when she got to sleep. But she immediately half regretted her decision, because it was such an embarrassing dream to tell your husband. A very sexy dream. But weren’t you supposed to confide in each other when you were married? That was what marriage was all about, or so they said.
Yes, but Paul was going to want to know why she was dreaming it. Julie knew why she was dreaming it. It was that Mr Calburn she had seen about her headaches. But she didn’t want to tell Paul that. She wished again that she hadn’t mentioned it.
Paul grunted and said, ‘What dream?’
Her nervous half laugh again. ‘Oh it’s nothing really.’ Maybe she would just go to sleep — and this time not dream it.
But now of course she had sparked Paul’s interest. They were lying on their backs and he half turned and slid his hand across her tits. ‘Come on, let’s hear it. And then I’m going to give you a long, hard fuck. That’s a sure cure for any bad dreams.’
‘Do you think?’ she asked. They were both 22 and had been married almost two years now. They had a good relationship, with regular and quite frequent sex, and no hang-ups. Not until this dream problem at least. Not until Mr Calburn. Julie hadn’t told Paul anything about Mr Calburn and the headaches.
Paul prompted her again. She was going to have to tell him.
‘Well it’s kind of really awful and I keep dreaming it. I... I am with these two blokes. Older blokes. And they’ve taken me to this really plush house which one of them has. They... they want to do it to me of course but I don’t want to let them. Anyway they won’t let me go home until I’ve taken all my clothes off. Well everything except these black stockings and a sexy little black suspender belt that I’ve got on under my dress. I can keep that on, and my high heels. But that’s all. And then they make me climb up this ladder. Up into these rafters. So that I’m standing up above their heads. Just in these stockings and high heels. And I have to stand there with my legs apart. You know, so that they can see everything.’
‘Christ! How can you think up such dreams…!’
Paul sounded annoyed. She knew she shouldn’t have told him. ‘I didn’t think it up. You can’t think up dreams. You just... get them.’ But Julie knew where the dream had come from. It was that Mr Calburn. The house with the rafters in the dream was Mr Calburn’s — and he was one of the two men.
‘Well is there any more? Or is that it and you wake up then.’
‘I’m not telling you any more. You’re angry already.’
‘No I’m not. Why should I be? I want to hear it all.’ Paul put his hand down between her legs. ‘And then I’m going to give you that really big screwing. So you won’t dream it again.’
‘Well I warn you, it gets worse. I... I’m up there and I really need to pee. Because they’ve given me all these drinks before they make me go up there. But they won’t let me come down and go to the loo unless I agree to screw them. Both of them. Well it gets really desperate. I’m just not going to be able to hold it in much longer. And the thought of it... peeing myself as I stand up there, with them both staring goggle-eyed up at me.’
‘Well at last I just have to agree. I don’t have any choice. So that’s it. I can come down and go to the loo. And then I have to let them screw me. First one and then the other. They get me lying on this little table for it. But before they screw me one of them really belts me. With this leather strap. This awful strap across my bare bum. The pain is really killing. And I get that for not agreeing to screw them in the first place.’
‘Jesus!’ Paul said. ‘Well all I can say is you must have something pretty steamy down there in your subconscious.’
‘I haven’t!’ Julie felt suddenly close to tears. She knew she shouldn’t have told him. ‘It was that...’
She stopped herself just in time. From saying ‘that Mr Calburn.’
Paul didn’t seem to notice her suddenly stopped sentence, because for one thing Julie did start crying. It was all too much. She was probably going to have the awful dream again tonight. And tomorrow night. Maybe every night for the rest of her life. That awful dream of being up there in the rafters. Having to stand with her legs apart and the two men down there looking up. Grinning, making comments. While she got more and more desperate. Until finally...
And Paul didn’t really care, he wasn’t really bothered. All he wanted her for was to screw her. Which of course was what Mr Calburn wanted. And quite probably that Dr Milding as well. Well she was going to have to see Calburn again. It was the only way out. She was sure he could do something about the dreams. Stop them if he wanted to. She would have to see him because otherwise the awful dreams just weren’t ever going to stop.
Paul eventually persuaded her. To let him have his screw. That was all he wanted. He tried to make it sound like he was going to for her of course. It would make her sleep. A nice sound sleep and she wouldn’t be dreaming. He said he was sure the dreams would stop, probably it was something she had eaten. All the time he was smooching her and rubbing her up. Her tits, the insides of her thighs. Her pussy. Wanting to get her hot for it. And of course he succeeded. Screwing at least made her forget for a while.
It was Dr Milding who had sent Julie to Mr Calburn. Her own doctor, Dr Phillips, was on holiday and her girlfriend Sophie had said try Dr Milding. Julie had been getting headaches but they hadn’t been that serious and probably they would have gone away of their own accord.
If only she had done that, just taken some aspirin, there would have been no Mr Calburn and no awful dreams.
But she had gone to Dr Milding, who had decided to take it seriously. Because there was a scrumptious-looking young blonde with a nice sexy figure. Oh yes.
‘Yes, well we’d better have a check-up Mrs Filford. Can you take your blouse off. And your bra...’ Oh yes. His hands very professionally at Julie’s lovely tits. Professionally fingering her sensitive nipples. Dr Milding was a big, heavy-set man, fiftyish. And of course he was the other man in the dreams. They were Dr Milding and Mr Calburn.

Not surprisingly perhaps, Dr Milding had not found the reason for Julie’s headaches in those large and shapely tits. With their nipples which responded to professional fingering by becoming erect and sticking blatantly out, despite her willing them not to.
‘Yes you seem to be in good shape physically,’ was Dr Milding’s verdict. ‘So it is probably psychosomatic. And I can recommend a very good man. I’ll write you a note. His name is Anthony Calburn. Mr Calburn is an excellent psychotherapist. Sometimes these little problems can be treated with hypnosis Mrs Filford. Anthony Calburn has achieved very good results in similar cases using hypnosis.’
Julie, perhaps presciently, had not liked the sound of hypnosis but Dr Milding had assured her it was nothing to worry about. And so she had reluctantly gone to Mr Calburn.
Mr Calburn had hypnotised Julie on his consulting couch. It had cured the headaches — or perhaps they had simply disappeared of their own accord. But in place of the headaches Mr Calburn had put that dream in Julie’s head. He had done it when he had her hypnotised, she was sure he had. Because that very next night she had the dream for the first time. The dream with Mr Calburn and Dr Milding in it. And the house was Mr Calburn’s new house. He had shown Julie pictures of it just before he put her under hypnosis.
Mr Calburn of course had denied it. When Julie had gone back to him three days later having had the dream on each of the preceding three nights.
He had laughed and said it was simply Julie’s subconscious. She was sexually repressed and that was why she was having sexy dreams. And the way to exorcise the dreams and release her repressions was to do what her subconscious wanted.
Which was of course to have sex with someone other than her husband. Some other man or men.
It was clear that a prime candidate for this was Mr Calburn himself. He made that quite clear. Mr Calburn was more than ready to relieve Julie of any sexual hang-ups — by fucking her. He was keen for Julie to come round to his house for a drink — and clearly the other as well. That new and splendid house in the pictures he had showed Julie. It was a lovely big house with a magnificent living room. With that high, timbered ceiling. The room which in her dream had a ladder up to those rafters. The ladder she had to climb in just her black nylons and the sexy high heels while the two men watched.
Well she was going to have to see him again. And plead with him to stop her dream. Because Julie did have the dream again. That night, after telling Paul and then the fuck which according to Paul would stop any bad dreams. Yes she dreamt it exactly as before.
She didn’t tell Paul, though, when he asked her in the morning. ‘No... I don’t think so.’
‘Well there you are,’ he said. ‘I told you so.’
Julie hadn’t told him because it was clear she was going to have to sort it out herself. And Paul knew nothing about Mr Calburn — or Dr Milding. As soon as Paul left for work she went to the phone. Julie certainly didn’t want to see Mr Calburn again but she had no choice.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Today?’ He could see her that afternoon. Julie shivered.
She was about to put the phone down when Mr Calburn said, ‘Tell me something about the dreams. A few details.’
‘I... I told you last time,’ she replied. ‘It’s been the same. Exactly the same.’
‘Yes... but remind me. I would like to be reminded of the details.
So Julie had to go through it again. The words came haltingly out — because she sensed he was just making her repeat it for his own pleasure. It was a demonstration that he had her in his power.
‘Thank you,’ Mr Calburn said at the end. ‘That’s very helpful. Black stockings and the black high-heeled shoes. That’s all you have on in the dream. It would be... ah... helpful if you wore them when you come to see me. Under your dress I mean. I’m sure you will have these items? And the little black suspender belt? You’ve got something like that too?’
In his consulting room Mr Calburn greeted her with a bright smile. ‘Lovely to see you again Mrs Filford. Would you like a drink.’
Julie shook her head. She was feeling awful. In particular about what she had on under her blue summer dress and light coat. Yes, the black stockings and suspender belt. She had tried to refuse to wear them but Mr Calburn had insisted it was important.
He took her coat. ‘Are you sure you won’t have a drink? It can be relaxing. Now then...’ He motioned Julie to the consulting couch.
‘Look... I just want to finish with all this. I know you did it. That hypnosis...’
‘Just keep calm,’ he interrupted her. ‘There is no reason to think that. I only tried to cure your headaches. And I believe they have ceased. Anything else... it must be in your own subconscious. As I told you last time.’
‘No...!’ Julie yelped.
‘Yes.’ Mr Calburn leant closer. ‘As I also told you last time, I believe that basically you are highly sexed. And you are not getting full satisfaction with your husband. Deep down you would like more sex. More exciting sex. The dream shows strong exhibitionist aspects. Displaying yourself above the two men in just the stockings and suspender belt. Standing with your legs apart to display your sex. Even it seems the strong desire to urinate in front of them. And then of course having intercourse with both men.’
‘No!’ she gasped. ‘I hate it. I don’t want it. It’s a nightmare.’
‘You think you hate it but that is just a disguise. Masking your real desire. Anyway what I should like is for you to act out some of the sequence. That is why I asked you to wear the dream clothing. I would like you to strip down to your stockings and suspender belt. And then stand up on the table.’
Julie’s heart missed a beat. Had she been expecting something like this? She had stopped herself from thinking why he wanted her in the dream clothes, but deep down...
‘No...!’ she yipped.
‘Yes,’ Mr Calburn said briskly. ‘I understand these things remember. You must place yourself in my hands. Come on. Get your clothes off. And then get up on the table.’
Perhaps she should have just got up and walked out. Julie desperately wanted to. But... maybe there was a chance that Mr Calburn could help her, and was prepared to. So after another hesitation she got to her feet... and started unbuttoning her dress. She slid it down and off, and then her slip. That left her in brief black knickers and bra.
‘Those things as well. I want you as in the dream. No bra. And no knickers.’
Julie forced herself to take them off. And forced herself to stand with her hands at her sides and not covering her tits and pussy. Mr Calburn came close. ‘Look at me,’ he told her.
‘No...’ She shook her head. He wanted to hypnotise her again. And then...
Mr Calburn took hold of Julie’s face, forcing her to look at him. At those scary eyes behind his glasses. She gave a little whimper. His other hand had gone to her pussy. Cupping the fur-covered mound.
‘It’s this, isn’t it Mrs Filford. It gets you all hot and bothered. You want more action down here.’
The eyes were riveted on her all the while. As his fingers worked at her pussy. Julie felt herself going all weak, out of control. With a big effort she managed to pull herself away. She was whimpering, half crying.
Mr Calburn said, ‘Get up on the table.’ He took her arm, leading her. Making her get up on the seat of the chair and then onto the table top. As she stepped up his hand went between her parted thighs from behind. Groping at her pussy again. Julie stumbled, almost falling. Mr Calburn caught her, and pushed her back. She was up on the table. Standing in her high heels. She felt sick. That awful feeling she felt in the dream.
‘Good. Now stand like they make you in the dream. With your legs apart. So that I can get a good look at your sex Mrs Filford. A good look at that nice hot pussy.’
Julie shook her head. She was half crying. Mr Calburn repeated his demand, his voice now harder. This time Julie obeyed. Opening her legs. Showing him her pussy.
‘Good. Does that feel like in the dream?’
‘I... I...’ She couldn’t find any words.
‘In a moment I’m going to try you with the other thing Mrs Filford. The strap. I’m going to have you on your back on the table. And give your bare backside a good strapping. A good, hard thrashing with the strap.’
Julie gave a whimpering cry. Her knees were all rubbery. She was going to faint. Faint and collapse down onto the floor.
But Julie didn’t faint. The feeling passed — and she was still standing up on the table, with her legs apart. Mr Calburn came closer... and slid his hand between her thighs. Stroking her pussy.
‘Does that feel nice Mrs Filford? I’m sure it does — to a highly-sexed young woman. You like it, don’t you? And you’re going to like something else in a minute. My strap. It hurts of course. It really stings. But sexy women find that arousing. Yes?’
Julie could only give a shuddering moan. Was this happening, or was she in a dream? She knew it was all really happening, it wasn’t one of those dreams this time. Or did she? She was feeling faint again. And Mr Calburn was now telling her to get down. To lie on the table now. With her legs in the air. He had the strap in his hand. A wide, heavy leather strap. He was going to use it on her upturned backside.
It had been real alright, not a dream. When Julie got back to their flat the bright-red strap marks were there across her bottom to prove it. Angry red weals that still stung as if her bottom was on fire. She would have to make sure Paul didn’t see. She shuddered at the thought, at the sheer impossibility of making up any explanation.
Afterwards, when he had finished with her, Mr Calburn said it might have done the trick. There was a good chance it had broken through to her dream level and the dreams would stop. Julie shivered. She felt utterly dead. Emotionally flattened, as if a 20-ton tank had rolled over her. But if...
No. The dream came again that night. It seemed even worse. Longer. Stronger. Julie woke up crying.
Mr Calburn called Julie the next morning, to ask what had happened. She angrily told him, stuttering her words because she found herself half crying again. Mr Calburn had done those awful things — that awful strap and all the other dreadful humiliating business — probably just for his own sensual pleasure. Maybe he had had no real expectation that it would work — he had just wanted the pleasure of doing those things to her.
Over the phone Mr Calburn’s unconcerned voice said, ‘Oh dear. Never mind, we’ll have to try something else. I think you’ll have to come round to my house Mrs Filford.’
He meant the house in her dream. That big room with the high, rafted ceiling where all the dreadful action took place. Julie felt a surge of panic. No, she couldn’t possibly go there!
Mr Calburn’s voice became harder, and it was almost as if she could see those staring eyes boring into her. ‘Yes, of course you’ll come. You want me to sort this out, don’t you? I want you there tomorrow afternoon Mrs Filford.’
She desperately wanted to say: No. I won’t come. But the words wouldn’t come out. Instead when he repeated his demand Julie heard herself say a meek ‘Yes.’
‘Good. That’s better.’ Mr Calburn’s voice was softer. ‘I feel sure we can do something. I shall want you wearing the same things of course. The black stockings and suspender belts. The black high heels.’
He rang off and Julie felt as if she was going to be sick. She couldn’t go there! Because after that dreadful ordeal yesterday at his office it seemed clear what Calburn intended. He was going to put her through the whole business. Make her re-enact the whole nightmare dream sequence. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t go. But when she told herself that, Julie could hear his voice again, see those eyes And she knew...
The rest of the day was awful. She was like a zombie, unable to think. Wandering distractedly round the flat, going back to bed to try to sleep but getting up again because she couldn’t. After lunch (though she couldn’t eat any lunch) she went out, to take the bus into the shopping area. And there as Julie walked aimlessly a man tried to pick her up. An older man in a business suit. She didn’t respond — but equally she felt too zombie-like to tell him she wasn’t interested. He wanted to buy her a drink... and although she didn’t say yes Julie somehow found herself going with the man.
He took her to a pub and bought her something, although she said she didn’t want it. She didn’t drink it, probably if she did she would be sick. ‘Are you feeling alright?’ the man, who said his name was Jim, asked. She said Yes, and made herself take a little sip. He put his hand on her knee and said, ‘You’re really lovely. Your husband’s a lucky man.’ Because of course he had seen her wedding ring. Then the hand slid up her leg. ‘Please don’t,’ she said, but there was that sense of having no strength or will power to stop him.
He suggested going for a drive. Julie shook her head. But once again she had that zombie feeling of helplessness. Nothing mattered — only tomorrow and what was going to happen then. And somehow she was shortly going with him to his car. He took her out in the country. A secluded lovers-lane place. A place where you would take a married woman, someone else’s wife, when you want to fuck her. He did it on a blanket a little distance from the parked car. ‘You’re really lovely,’ he breathed, on top of her and rhythmically fucking her. ‘A really lovely girl.’
At least she had the sense to get him to drop her in town, not take her home as he wanted to. Back at the flat Julie had a bath... and started to cry.
She said nothing to Paul of course. Nothing of the dreadful thing she had done that afternoon and nothing of Mr Calburn. She badly wanted to tell him about Mr Calburn: if she did of course then she wouldn’t go tomorrow. Julie desperately wanted to tell Paul when they were in bed — but she couldn’t. She began silently weeping. Paul asked her what was the matter. ‘Nothing,’ she blubbed.
He asked again but didn’t press her. Probably deciding it was impossible to understand the strange emotional ways of women. And anyway what a woman who was feeling upset for no reason needed from her husband was a good fuck. Julie didn’t want it, especially after that dreadful business in the afternoon — but Paul was insistent. He knew what she needed. And was going to do it.
They were both there when she arrived at Mr Calburn’s house. He opened the door and led her through into the big living room with the rafters — and there was Dr Milding. The ladder was there as in her dream and the little table — and seated at the table was Dr Milding. Smiling he got to his feet. Yes Mr Calburn and Dr Milding just as in her dream. Julie had half suspected that the doctor might be here but had vigorously dismissed the thought from her mind.
‘No!’ she automatically yelped.
Mr Calburn smiled. ‘Don’t be silly my dear. Dr Milding is here to help. He has very kindly given up his afternoon to assist you. Now would you like something to drink? Well, you’ll have to have something. As in the dream. We want to have that sensation of a painfully full bladder. So something to drink... and of course take your clothes off. Like before. Strip down to your nylons and suspender belt. Yes we are really going to act it out.’
Julie yelped another panicky protest. Mr Calburn sharply told her to do as she was told. Otherwise the two of them would do it for her. They would forcibly take her clothes off. Also forcibly make her drink. Was that what she wanted?
Feeling sick Julie accepted the offered glass of wine and gulped a mouthful. And then started taking her things off.
They made her drink two glasses of white wine plus several glasses of orange juice. Mr Calburn said they didn’t want her drinking only wine and getting drunk. Julie needed to be wide awake.
‘Do you think she should have the strap first of all?’ Dr Milding asked pleasantly. ‘I’m not sure of the sequence of events in the dream Julie. But probably it isn’t important. As long as we get it all in.’
‘No!’ she squealed again. Julie had everything off now, stripped down to the required items. Standing by the table—on which in the dream she had been turned upside-down and viciously belted with the strap. And then screwed by each man in turn. ‘No! Please... I don’t want ...’
‘Up the ladder first,’ Mr Calburn said. His hand took hold of Julie’s bare pussy. ‘Any feeling of discomfort yet my dear? Any urgent need to visit the bathroom?’
‘I should give her a taste of the strap first,’ Dr Milding repeated. ‘A hot, stinging bottom can get things going in that regard I imagine. Our lovely Julie may be hopping up and down before she even gets up the ladder.’
Julie gave a squeal of panic. The mere thought of that strap was giving her the sensation that she needed to relieve herself. There followed another desperate squeal as Mr Calburn agreed.
‘Yes maybe you’re right Harold. OK. Bend over the table Julie. We’ll have you like that for starters. We’ll have that other position later. The upside-down one on the table showing off your pussy.’
She yelped again. Mr Calburn now had the leather strap in his hand and brought it slicing in across the backs of her thighs.
‘Come on Julie. Get in position. We mustn’t mess about.’
They got her bending over the table in a spread-legged, knees straight stance. Seconds later the strap whipped in across her thrust-out bare bottom. Julie let out a gasping yell.
‘I don’t think she likes it Anthony,’ Dr Milding said.
The pain was desperate. Agonising. And it was only the first. The hot pain intensified as the strap rose and fell in a steady, spaced-out cadence. There was the actual red-hot pain from the explosive impact on Julie’s poor bottom — and also the other. Because Dr Milding had been right. It was causing an urgent need to go to the loo.
‘I... I need to g... go,’ Julie yipped when at last Mr Calburn stopped. ‘To the b…b...bathroom.’ Speaking through clenched teeth and clutching her throbbing rear. ‘Please...
‘No. I think we must follow the routine,’ Mr Calburn said. ‘You go up the ladder next. That’s the dream isn’t it? Up there until you’re feeling really desperate. And then after you agree to an act of sexual intercourse with each of us you can come down and go to the loo. After that the strap again up on the table and then Harold Milding and I each have our very satisfying screw. Isn’t that it?’
‘It’s only for the therapy of course,’ Dr Milding put in. ‘I mean we may enjoy having intercourse with you. Well I’m sure we will, you’re such a lovely girl. But that is purely incidental. We will be merely acting out the dream for your benefit.’
Julie gave another shuddering yelp. The awfulness of what they were saying was now as nothing compared to her need to rush to the bathroom. Her desperate need to pee. All that drink and then that vicious strapping...
Mr Calburn came up behind her and reached round to cup Julie’s big trembling boobs. ‘You must climb up to the rafters first,’ he said, squeezing them. ‘You needn’t stay up there long, not if you’re getting too desperate.’ One hand reached down and grabbed her pussy. ‘But we must go through the sequence.’
He let go of her. Julie was making desperate moaning sounds. She hesitated for a moment and then made a frantic dash for the ladder. With more shuddery moans she began awkwardly climbing as best she could in the high heels.
‘Good girl,’ Mr Calburn said. From behind and below he reached up between her frantic legs to grope her pussy.
‘I’m coming down now!’ she called as soon as she reached the top. ‘Oooooohhh!’
‘Get right into the rafters first,’ Mr Calburn said. ‘And of course you have to agree to what we want when you come down. Just like the dream.’
Julie couldn’t worry about that. Couldn’t think about it. There was only one thought in her head. She struggled out into the rafters, hanging on desperately to the uprights. Just a couple of moments... and she would be down there. The bathroom.
‘Stand up there. Still. With your legs apart...’
‘No! I can’t! I can’t h...hold it...’
‘Just a little while. Two minutes. I’ll time you.’
Two minutes was too long. Two minutes plus the time it took to clamber down again. Julie crying tears of desperation and embarrassment. It was too long and she couldn’t hold it.
‘Don’t worry,’ Mr Calburn said as she rushed out to the bathroom. ‘My lady who comes to clean, she’ll see to it.’
There was the rest afterwards of course. On the table for the strap again. On her back with her legs up, Dr Milding holding them and Mr Calburn whipping the heavy leather down onto her upturned buttocks. And then the other. Mr Calburn and then Dr Milding. Screwing her.
‘It’s therapy remember,’ Dr Milding said. As he went vigorously at it, with Julie on her back on the table with legs spread.
Yes all as in the dream. But this time really happening.
And after that? Well it seemed to work. Because that night for the first time since it all began Julie didn’t dream the dream. Or the next or the next night. The dream did seem to be exorcised.
But that wasn’t the whole story of course. Because Julie had to make more visits to Mr Calburn’s. When the events were repeated again in real life.
‘We need to make quite sure,’ he told her.
And Julie couldn’t refuse because they’d taken photographs. Of just about everything. ‘For the record.’ Mr Calburn said. ‘For a scientific record.’ And naturally the thought of that scientific record being shown to Paul... or anyone...

Tuesday, 23 May 2017

Cane Reaction

Story by Andrew Grantham from Janus 35
Sandra winced as she pulled up her knicks. The tight elastic kept digging into the six weals adorning her mature, though still teenage, bum-cheeks.
‘I will not tolerate lateness!’ thundered Mr Hunter, the Headmaster.
The pretty girl flicked away black curls from her face. ‘I’m sorry sir,’ she stammered. ‘It’s the buses!’
Actually it was one bus in particular that was often late, and inevitably when a certain young driver was at the wheel.
‘I am not interested in transportation problems!’ raged Mr Hunter. ‘My only concern is with the smooth running of this school. And it cannot be run properly when the pupils fail to arrive on time!’
Sandra was sorry she had spoken out. She ought to have just accepted the caning and walked out of the Head’s study without saying a word. Now Mr Hunter was about to deliver a lecture.
‘When I was your age, my girl,’ he intoned. ‘I walked to school.’
Mr Hunter droned on and on. Sandra pretended to listen, but her thoughts were miles away.
She had a date that night — a nice bloke too! Mr Hunter’s stingers were subsiding as regards the pain, but the marks would still be there for several days. She would have to be careful just how far she allowed her current young man to go. She couldn’t let him see her poor behind in the state it was in. That would be too humiliating.
She inwardly cursed Mr Hunter — and the young bus driver too.
The two girls at the bus stop kept looking at their wrist-watches.
‘Oh dear. We’re going to be late,’ groaned the blonde Carol.
Her companion, a leggy redhead, transferred her school bag from one shoulder to the other. ‘Yeah,’ she sighed. ‘Looks like it!’
‘We’ll get the cane, won’t we, Ginny?’ wailed the blonde.
‘Yeah,’ sighed Ginny. ‘Looks like it.’
Carol’s shoulders slumped. ‘Oh dear!’ she groaned. ‘I’m usually early. I’ve never had the cane before.’
‘I have,’ Ginny told her. ‘Lots of times. I’m a bit fed up with my arse looking like a piece of corrugated cardboard every time the bus is late.’
Then she giggled and her green eyes twinkled. ‘Mind you,’ she added. ‘The sight of my bum after a caning doesn’t half turn on my boyfriend!’
Carol blushed. To think that Ginny probably wasn’t a virgin. How awful! Or was it?
No member of the opposite sex had yet seen her bare bum. Her heart sank. It looked as though Mr Hunter was going to be the first. And soon!
‘Here it is!’ announced Ginny.
The red-and-white single decker swept round the corner and approached the stop.
‘And about time too!’ snorted Ginny as she strode up onto the platform of the bus and handed over the fare.
The driver was young — very young in fact. He was good-looking too. Carol hadn’t seen him before as she usually travelled on the earlier bus to make sure she was in school on time.
‘There’s a lot of traffic in the High Street today,’ sniggered the driver.
The two girls sat on the long seat at the front of the bus. The driver winked at them as he drove along.
‘You aren’t going very fast!’ shouted Ginny.
‘There’s a speed limit on this stretch,’ replied the driver. ‘Do you want the police to get me?’
Ginny turned to her companion. ‘He goes slowly on purpose,’ she told her.
‘Why?’ asked Carol, looking anxiously at her watch.
‘Because he knows we’ll get the cane for being late — that’s why!’ was Ginny’s answer.
The blonde girl was absolutely horrified that the young driver would want to get them into trouble.
‘He thinks it’s hilarious,’ continued Ginny, ‘that grown-up girls like us should get the cane.’
‘It’s nothing to laugh at,’ sniffed Carol, looking somewhat enviously at a teenage girl sitting halfway down the bus. The same age as the two schoolgirls, she casually inhaled on a cigarette and flicked over the pages of a magazine. She was probably going to be late for work but she wasn’t going to have a cane applied to her bottom.
Carol kept looking at her watch. Ginny shook her head. ‘It’s no use,’ she told her. ‘You might as well accept the fact. We’re late!’
The blonde slumped back in the red leather seat and imagined what the caning would be like. Her imagination ran riot!
The bus driver was certainly taking his time. Carol got to her feet a long way before the school stop but Ginny pulled her down again by her arm.
‘It’s no use, Carol,’ she repeated. ‘It doesn’t matter how late we are — it’s still six of the best on the bare!’
The bus slid to a halt and the doors ‘whooshed’ open.
‘You’re going to get your bottoms smacked, you naughty girls!’ laughed the driver as they got off. ‘Don’t forget to show me the results in the morning!’
‘I wonder how you’d like it!’ shouted Ginny angrily before the doors closed on them.
The young driver was still chortling as the bus drove off.
Ginny emerged from Mr Hunter’s study rubbing her eyes with her balled-up fists. It didn’t do Carol, who was fearfully waiting her turn for the cane, any good to see her like that. The pretty redhead was generally regarded as a tough nut.
‘Oh golly!’ groaned the just-caned girl, moving her hands to rub her bottom instead of her reddened eyes. That really hurt! He’s not half laying it on this morning!’
Carol’s heart sank further into her shoes. Ginny could have been more diplomatic, she thought. But perhaps it wasn’t easy being diplomatic when your bottom was on fire.
The Headmaster’s study door was wide open, but the roar was so loud, it would have been clearly heard a hundred yards away even if it had been shut.
A feeling of panic enveloped Carol as she walked to the study. She was tempted to turn away and run — she didn’t have to attend school, apart from the fact that she wanted to go on to University.
However, she kept putting one foot in front of the other until she was standing in front of Mr Hunter.
Her breathing almost stopped when she saw the crook-handled cane the Headmaster was holding in his right hand.
‘I will not tolerate lateness!’ he thundered, launching into his usual tirade.
Carol stood, terrified. She wanted to listen to what he was saying, but her thoughts were concentrated solely on the menacing length of thin wood in the Headmaster’s strong hand. That very cane had brought tears to Ginny’s eyes and the redhead was a lot tougher than she was!
She was only vaguely aware of the instruction to lean over the chair in the centre of the study and she did not move with the alacrity expected by Mr Hunter.
‘Didn’t you hear me, girl?’ he roared.
Poor Carol was in such a state that she knocked over the chair.
‘You clumsy girl!’ snapped Mr Hunter.
‘I’m sorry sir,’ sobbed the petrified blonde. Now the Headmaster was in an even worse mood. He would take it out on her poor virginal bottom, of that she was sure.
Poor Carol didn’t, at that stage, know how right she was. One of Mr Hunter’s pet hates was clumsiness.
She put the chair back the way it had been.
Roughly, the Headmaster bent her over so that her head was resting on the chair seat and her bottom was poking high up into the air.
She was aware of her navy blue pleated skirt being raised higher and higher.
‘Tut, tut, tut!’ exclaimed Mr Hunter as he surveyed her backside. ‘When I raise a girl’s skirt, I expect to see a bare bottom ready for the cane. I do not expect to see a pair of knickers in my way!’
Carol raised her head. ‘I’m sorry sir,’ she whimpered. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘You’ll jolly well know the next time, young lady!’ growled Mr Hunter, tucking the cane under his left arm.
Carol resolved, there and then, that there was not going to be a next time. In fact she wouldn’t be in the position she was now if that awful young bus driver had not deliberately gone so slowly. She had a good mind to report him to the bus company.
Mr Hunter tugged at her white cotton knickers and yanked them over her backside and down her legs.
Carol felt the cold air on her bum. She was terribly embarrassed at the fact that she had to expose that part of her body anyway. However, it was only her bottom and not…!
It was only then she realised that if she did not keep her legs together then Mr Hunter would be able to see... well, everything!
She was still thinking about that part of her rather delightful body when she heard an unfamiliar sound. It was a sound that was to become very familiar!
‘Ow-ee!’ she yelled out suddenly. It felt as if her bottom had been attacked by hundreds of stinging bees. Of course it was only a well-struck cut of Mr Hunter’s cane. Only! That willowy wand was a near-lethal weapon when it was in the Headmaster’s hands with his sights on a youthful bottom. It was a form of catharsis and relaxation for him.
‘Keep still, girl!’ The rasped command made Carol realise that her rear end was writhing furiously. She stopped it, tightened the muscles of her bum-cheeks and bit her lip.
‘Ooh… ooh… ooh… ooh!’ Carol let out a high-pitched shriek as the cane paid its return visit
The fire seemed to course through her body but nowhere was the fire fiercer than at the point of impact, where the blazing sensation was sheerly intolerable.
Before she had time to recover, Carol’s bottom squirmed again under the goading cane. Tears flooded her eyes and her shoulders heaved with little sobs.
The torment was terrible and what made it worse was the fact that it was someone else’s fault she was having to undergo a bare-bum caning.
‘Yeeek!’ she cried as the thin cane again sank into her tender young flesh. She made to get up but Mr Hunter roughly forced her head back onto the chair seat.
Before the first stroke had whacked into her bum, she had been worried about revealing the secrets between her legs. Now she no longer cared. It called for too much effort and concentration to keep her thighs pressed together, and hardly seemed important anymore.
‘Oh oh oh oh!’ she wailed as Mr Hunter delivered another blow to her buttocks. Her feet performed an involuntary dance routine on the carpet and her striped arse shook wildly from side to side.
The sixth stroke seemed worse than the other five put together. It felt for all the world as if tongues of scorching fire were licking every inch of her posterior. Her whole body shook as it reacted to the awful pain that followed the Crack!
Gasping for breath, and still bending over the chair, Carol listened in horror as Mr Hunter addressed her for the first time since denuding her bottom.
That was your six strokes for arriving late. In addition, I am giving you two more — one for reporting for a caning still wearing a pair of knickers and an extra one to cure your clumsiness!’
Eight strokes! She was one of the best-behaved girls in the entire school. Yet here she was, just a few weeks short of leaving, having to endure a painful, humiliating ordeal that was all the fault of someone else.
There was only a short pause after the Headmaster finished speaking. Then the sound of the cane slashing through the air was followed by a sharp crack and an agonised yelp as the whippy wand took another bite of flesh.
Carol had never known such agony. It was the worst day of her young life. From now on she would certainly make sure she got the earlier bus. She wasn’t going to suffer such a horrendous happening ever again. And it wasn’t over yet!
Mr Hunter paused before delivering the final cut. He was not normally strongly affected by the sight of a young bottom, he had seen so many of them. However, the one he had at his mercy was a particularly lovely bottom. It was a charming sight. At least it had been before he had started to work on it!
The pale skin had been turned deep red and was traversed by seven angry, crimson weals.
The girl had tried to protect her modesty, but had had to abandon the attempt after a few strokes as she had been unable to keep her legs together. At least she had tried — not like some of the girls who brazenly bared their delights as they bent forward to bury their head in the chair.
Carol’s thighs were taut with expectation as she waited for the final blow to her battered buttocks.
Mr Hunter was an indiscriminate caner. He simply hit bottoms as hard as possible. The strokes and stripes were never spaced out systematically.
Thus, when the eighth cut dug into Carol’s bum, it sliced across several still smarting weals. The resultant pain was indescribable. It was excruciating. The blonde jerked upright her hands shot to her bum and she performed, to her own vocal accompaniment, what seemed to be a frenetic tribal dance.
Mr Hunter could not help but stare at the crop of golden curls adorning her mound. Caning wasn’t normally a pleasure-giving experience for him, but Carol Barker of the Upper Sixth was arousing feelings within him that had been dormant for a long, long time.
Gradually the hurt began no subside a little and Carol, realising the exhibition she was giving, hurriedly hauled up her knickers and pulled down her skirt.
She sniffled all through the first lesson and sat as still as possible on the hard wooden seat so as not to aggravate the stinging throbbing.
Ginny and Carol commiserated with each other at lunchtime. The blonde repeated her vow never to be late again. The redhead, however, pulled a wry face.
‘I have a problem getting up sometimes,’ she admitted, ‘so I quite often get the later bus. Whether I’m late or not depends on who the driver is.’
Her face began to brighten. ‘At least I’ll be turning on my boyfriend tonight,’ she laughed. ‘Even more so than usual, that is,’ she quickly added.
Carol didn’t have a current boyfriend, not that a boyfriend would ever see her bum anyway — or so she told herself. That evening, she met one of her girlfriends and they went for a walk before deciding to have a coffee on the way home.
They sat at an empty table and took their time with the hot drink. Penny was a good friend of Carol’s. She was in her last year at a college which was not as strict as the one the blonde girl attended. Carol was very fond of Penny but she did not confide in her about the awful caning she had received.
Suddenly Penny looked up at someone who had just entered. ‘Ooh, he’s nice,’ she remarked.
Carol turned around and was amazed to see the young bus driver. He wasn’t in uniform but was casually dressed in a tee-shirt, jumper and jeans.
‘Well, well, well,’ he declared when he caught sight of Carol. ‘It’s our naughty schoolgirl!’ Chatter stopped and heads turned. He spoke loudly: ‘Who got her pretty botty caned this morning, then?’
Carol went red, stood up and made to leave. It was probably the worst thing she could have done.
‘Let everybody see the marks on your bum!’ he taunted.
Carol wished a hole would open in the ground and swallow her up. The young patrons of the cafe were laughing at her and urging her to ‘bare her arse’. Even her friend Penny was smiling.
Suddenly the young bus driver made a move and he gripped Carol around the waist. Then, to her intense shame he took hold of the hem of her skirt and lifted the garment up to her waist.
Everyone in the café, Penny included, left their seats to have a look. Carol, of course, had her knickers on, but they were so short and skimpy, they were no more than just a tiny little V on the expanse of her bum-cheeks. The stripes caused by the cane showed up clearly on either side of the thin cotton covering.
The shouts and remarks of both customers and staff caused Carol a great deal of distress. Her face had become a sheet of flame.
‘Let me rub it better!’
‘Get ‘em off!’
‘What a lovely arse!’
Carol could see, through the many mirrors lining the cafe walls, multiple images of her wealed and bruised backside. She had never felt so embarrassed in her life. But then, mercifully, it was harder to see, for her eyes had filled with tears for the second time that day.
Carol struggled out of the bus driver’s grip, lowered her skirt and, leaving Penny behind, she ran out of the café. After showing her bottom, she could never show her face in there again!
‘Over the chair!’ ordered Mr Hunter.
Obediently, Sandra did as she was told. Roughly, the Headmaster lifted up her skirt. The brunette’s bottom, pink and shiny, was ready and waiting for another ‘six of the best’.
Sandra balanced on her sturdy but shapely legs as she waited for her bottom to be marked up yet again by the thin, springy cane.
Mr Hunter didn’t waste any time. He raised his much-used instrument of correction.
Sandra’s bottom contorted as the painful fire coursed through her body. She was well used to the cane but she was never able to bear it with a stiff upper lip.
The second stroke was perilously near the first one. Sandra yelped like a scalded cat.
Her reaction became more vociferous with the next stroke. Her thick, dark curls swayed from side to side. So too did her rosy red, striped bottom. Tears cascaded down her cheeks.
The strength behind the cane strokes was all-powerful and it never diminished. Mr Hunter could swing the cane all day if he thought it necessary.
‘Ow… ow… ow… ohhh!’ wailed Sandra as her wounded bottom surrendered to another attack from the thin bamboo. She realised that her legs were spread so wide she was nearly doing the splits. Painfully, and as quickly as possible, she regained her modesty.
The fifth cut buckled her at the knees. She couldn’t cry out as the breath had left her body. Her bum-cheeks writhed furiously.
Two things consoled her as she waited for the ‘sixth of the best’. She had only one more stroke to absorb. But wonderfully, it was the last day of term — her last day at school. That awful bus driver could be as late as he liked from now on. After today it wouldn’t be her problem. Or Ginny’s. Or Carol’s.
The sixth of the best was the worst one of all for Sandra. The cane was delivered diagonally across the five weals Mr Hunter had already put there. The pain was devastating. She shot upright, her hands glued to her bottom, hopping first of all on one foot and then on the other. Her dainty breasts bobbed up and down as she did so, her bottom an infuriated blaze.
‘What do you think this is?’ thundered Mr Hunter angrily, ‘A dancing class?’
Twin waterfalls of tears ran down the girl’s cheeks. She stopped hopping and turned around to face the Headmaster, clearly showing off her curly black bush. Mr Hunter pretended not to see it.
‘Sorry sir,’ she wept, her shoulders shaking. ‘It hurt me so much I couldn’t help it!’
‘I’m giving you one more for this exhibition!’ Mr Hunter told her coldly. ‘Bend over again!’
Shocked by the Headmaster’s instruction, Sandra sullenly turned around to poke her bum into the air once more. Who was it had said ‘schooldays are the happiest days’? Whoever it was had never had the cane off Mr Hunter.
‘Aye… yee… aagh!’ screeched Sandra as the thin flashing stick dug into the tops of her tender thighs.
Carol, who was waiting outside in the corridor, screwed up her eyes. She had heard everything, even the whirr of the cane as it had sped through the air. Despite her vow, she had risen late and had missed her usual bus. When the next one had come along, she had been mortified to find the driver was the young man who drove slowly so that the girls on his bus would be late and get the cane.
Sandra hobbled out of the Head’s study furiously rubbing her sore buttocks.
With her head downcast, Carol sighed and walked in to take the place of the dark-haired girl
 She bent over and placed her head on the leather seat of the chair.
Mr Hunter flicked up her skirt. The firm and beautiful peach arse was all ready. The Headmaster licked his lips, aware of a disconcerting pressure from within his underpants.
He resolved to take his time over the pretty blonde girl’s posterior. It was the end of term and he would have six whole weeks to wait before he could use the cane once more. And with regret he realised that he would never have the chance to cane this particular bottom again.
‘You’ll all get your backsides stung!’ grinned the young driver as the bus approached the school stop. ‘You’re all late!’
His remark was directed at Carol, Ginny and Sandra who were sitting on the long seat at the front of the bus. The three girls smiled at one another.
‘Hey!’ cried the driver. ‘Aren’t you getting off?’
‘No,’ Ginny told him. ‘School finished yesterday!’
‘We’re going to the terminus,’ grinned Carol.
‘The terminus?’ echoed the driver. There’s nothing there. It’s in the middle of nowhere.’
The bus gradually emptied until, when it came to the final stop, in a desolate spot, the three girls were the only passengers. The engine was cut and the driver got out of his little compartment to stretch his legs.
Almost before he knew what was happening, the girls had him over a seat. Ginny, something of an expert in the removal of men’s trousers, soon had him bare-arsed.
Carol held up the garden cane she had ‘borrowed’ from her father’s greenhouse. The young man bit his lip and groaned.
‘We’re getting our own back. You’re going to get six of the best!’ the blonde delighted in telling him.
‘From each of us!’