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Thursday, 31 May 2018

Rule 28

Story from Janus 18 by Evadne Richards
This story is about that time long gone, just after World War 2, when young ladies of a modest educational standard were sent to secretarial college. The girls were usually between eighteen and twenty-two and the disciplinary standards were quite strict. Reports were sent back to their guardians or prospective employers etc. if there was persistent lateness or their work was not up to scratch, and girls were kept back working overtime — a form of detention. After all they needed a diploma to get a job so they put up with it!
There was a notice pinned to the door which said KNOCK THEN ENTER. Judith did so.
The Principal of Tupperwell’s Secretarial Academy, a large ruddy-complexioned man in his early 50’s, was seated at his desk checking stock lists. He was in his shirt-sleeves. It was a hot, airless day and the wireless had forecast thunderstorms by the afternoon.
Apart from the sheaf of invoices the only other objects on the well-polished oak desk were an in-tray and an out-tray, blotting pad, paperweight, and a small stand-up calendar with the day’s date displayed, Monday, September 12th, 1950.
Judith stood before the Principal’s desk, politely waiting for him to look up from his labours and acknowledge her presence.
The minutes ticked by. It seemed like an eternity to Judith. She felt tired and listless, she’d hardly slept a wink last night for thinking about it.
She hoped she’d remembered to do all the right things that morning. She’d polished her black court shoes furiously, ensuring that the backs of them were properly done; she’d put on her nicest knickers and checked that her seams were straight. Had she forgotten anything?
At last the Principal put down his pen and looked up. He remembered Judith was a new girl. Maybe she hadn’t heard of Rule 28. Would he have to put her in the picture? He cleared his throat.
Judith listened attentively as he extolled the high standards of the college, and the need for a system of strict discipline to ensure their continuance.
Judith, he said, had begun her college career disastrously. So far she’d been nothing but a bitter disappointment both to the Academy and to her parents. He pointed to a letter on his desk. Judith recognised the notepaper and the handwriting. It was from her dad.
‘I have here, Judith, a communication from your father, fully authorising me to implement Rule 28. Are you fully acquainted with Rule 28? Would you like me to read it out to you from the college prospectus?’
His keen blue eyes studied the comely, well-groomed girl nervously fidgeting before him.
Judith already knew about Rule 28. The other girls had warned her what a ten o’ clock appointment with the Principal invariably meant.
But she had no choice in the matter. He was going to read it to her anyway, whether she liked it or not.
He put on his reading spectacles and drew out a prospectus from the drawer:
‘— For absence without parents’ note, persistent unpunctuality, gross negligence with office equipment, idleness, disobedience and insolence… corporal punishment may be administered at the discretion of the Principal.’
He put down the prospectus and sighed patiently.
‘I’m sure you’re not a bad girl at heart, Judith.’ His stony features softened slightly and Judith managed a sickly smile in return.
‘But,’ he went on, ‘your work is sloppy, sporadic and erratic. You’ve badly damaged one of our best typewriters, quite apart from dropping it on Mrs Bridgewater’s foot. Your father is of the opinion that you’re just downright lazy and careless, and I’m inclined to agree with him.
‘Well here at Tupperwell’s we have developed an excellent way of dealing with lazy, careless girls!’ A new hardness entered his voice, ‘— a short sharp remedy… distasteful to many… painful and embarrassing for certain… but always effective!’
His fingers drummed a tattoo on the desk. He looked at his watch. Better get cracking, he thought. Two more to deal with after this one!
Judith hung her pretty head, too frightened and ashamed to look him in the eye. Her mouth was dry and she suddenly felt weak at the knees. She felt like a condemned prisoner about to face a firing squad.
He strode over to a cupboard by the window and extracted a whippy rattan cane. He tapped the top of the desk, indicating where she should bend.
Tears were already beginning to glisten in her eyes as Judith stretched herself awkwardly, apprehensively over the shiny wooden surface, gripping the far edge of the desk so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
She smelt the sickly aroma of wax polish. Her father’s letter lay inches from her nose.
With one eye she could just about decipher ‘…my full permission to punish her as severely as you…’ she couldn’t make out the rest of it, but it was as she’d feared. Her father had indeed given him carte blanche. She could expect no mercy.
She gasped in horror when he hoisted her full skirt and petticoat up to her shoulders. Her bottom, encased in the filmy nylon of her brand-new polka-dot panties, suddenly felt very exposed, sickeningly vulnerable. Her tummy did a double somersault and she clenched her buttocks tightly together in the hope that it would somehow prevent him seeing all there was to see. She was terribly conscious of her all-too-generous growth of pubic hair.
She wished now that she’d worn an old pair of cotton knickers — at least they weren’t so revealing. But she’d wanted to look grown-up, and she’d only been allowed to wear nylon ones since leaving school, seven-and-a-half weeks before.
Her white suspenders dug painfully into the fronts of her thighs where the edge of the desk moulded the arch of her body — she was terrified they were going to snap. It reminded her unpleasantly of a popular joke on the wireless, the punch line of which was You should have used stronger elastic! She was worried too, in case she laddered her new stockings, her pride and joy. Fully fashioned with seams, one shilling and eleven-pence halfpenny, from Lewis’s.
But most of all she was just plain scared. Scared of the Principal, scared of the cane, scared of having to submit to this dreadful ordeal…
Softly, she began to cry.
The Principal surveyed the girl with wry amusement.
‘Well, well, what have we here?’ he chided, in the manner of addressing a child. ‘A big cry-baby, eh?’
That did it. Judith broke into loud sobs that shook her whole body, making her plump little bottom wobble appealingly.
‘Just think of it like going to the dentist, Judith,’ he offered, helpfully. ‘just hurts even more, that’s all!’
Flexing the cane expertly, he addressed it to her well-spread, stuck-out bottom, with her flimsy knickers disappearing up her virginal cleft — delicate tracery of dark pubic hair peeping shyly through.
He tapped the broad swell of her out-thrust cheeks… slowly he drew back the cane…
It sped down like greased lightning and caught Judith right across the crowns of both buttocks, the tip of it viciously biting into the fleshy contours of the far cheek.
‘Yeeeeowww!’ she protested urgently.
‘Relax your buttocks, Judith.’ the Principal advised. ‘It won’t sting quite so much then.’
Still battling with the outrageous smarting, Judith was mewling and spluttering — her immaculately varnished finger-nails scrabbling furiously all over the desk top. But she overcame her modesty, unclenched her bottom-cheeks, and they broadened and softened invitingly. Her polka-dot panties tautened and stretched to accommodate the greater spread.
He could see the bright red weal forming beneath the diaphanous nylon… maybe he should make her pull them down in case they split under the onslaught of the cane. He usually caned girls on the bare bottom anyway, unless, like Judith, it was the first time. He decided it would be unfair to make an exception so her knickers would have to take their chance!
Judith tried frantically to swerve and dodge the stroke. The end result was that her left buttock-cheek alone took the full force of the impact, causing her considerably greater pain than if it had landed on both.
However her wriggling annoyed the Principal so much that he dispatched the third stroke immediately to the backs of her thighs before she’d even had time to draw breath.
There was a deathly hush then Judith found her voice and emitted a loud soprano wail — loud enough to be heard over half the college.
Betty Sugden and Dawn Fairweather, awaiting their turn outside the Principal’s office, nearly wet themselves in fright.
‘Who’s he got in there, anyway?’ Betty demanded, biting her lip, all the colour draining from her cheeks.
‘One of the new girls, Judith Marriot, I think,’ Dawn replied gloomily. ‘Talk about initiating her, sounds like he’s thrashing her black and blue!’
The three thick, ridged tramlines on Judith’s poor bottom were of such a vivid hue they looked as if they had been painted on.
But they were real, alright. Judith fingered them in horrified incredulity. She just couldn’t believe this was happening to her. She would have to cancel her date with Colin tonight — that was for sure. Sitting down for any length of time was going to be out of the question, let alone three bum-torturing hours stuck in the back row of the cinema.
What would Colin think of her if he found out she’d been caned? Probably think she was just a big kid. He might even ditch her for the bitchy blonde in his office who fancied him, Judith thought glumly.
‘Now keep still for the last three, Judith,’ the Principal berated her, ‘or I shall get very cross and add more strokes!’
He was so cold-blooded about it all. His patent unconcern at her plight intensified her feeling of abject humiliation a hundred-fold. She thought what a comic spectacle he’d made of her, with her skirt and petticoat flung up to her shoulders, her pretty new knickers all twisted up in her pussy-crack, her bottom pushed out at a vulgar, indecent angle — bearing those shameful marks of the cane. All in all, she felt like a branded calf.
Her tears splashed down her cheeks, ruining her make-up. She knew she must look an utter mess.
Judith’s body jerked convulsively as the cane landed yet again, higher up this time. It buried itself in the thin fabric of her drum-tight panties but still they miraculously stayed intact. A shriek was drawn from her throat.
Her hands instinctively sought the fresh flashpoint of pain, but the Principal tapped them away impatiently with the cane, warning her he was going to finish the job off there and then. He hadn’t got all day to waste on her!
The two final agonising strokes were laid on criss-cross fashion; goading the four other weals back to life with such a vengeance that Judith’s bottom seemed to erupt into one great mass of pain.
OH! OH! OH!!!! OHHHHHHHHHH!’ she yelled at the top of her voice, hot bitter tears cascading down her face.
Betty and Dawn shivered and quaked outside the door. ‘Poor cow!’ Dawn exclaimed and that said it all.
Minutes later the door opened. Judith, still sobbing hysterically, pushed past them and tottered down the corridor.
‘Next!’ the Principal snapped, cane in hand. Clutching protectively at the seats of their skirts, Betty and Dawn edged their way in. Both girls were practically in tears already.
At lunchtime the Principal was informed that Judith had vanished during the mid-morning break. No one had seen hide nor hair of her since. The Principal uttered a mild profanity under his breath and rang Judith’s parents in order to cover the college legally.
Judith spent the remainder of the day feeding her sandwiches to the ducks in the park. She’d lost whatever appetite she once had. How she hated that beastly college! She vowed she would never go within a mile of it again. She would run away from home… if only!
She’d tried to sit on a park bench but when that proved painfully impossible she lay on her tummy in the grass where the sunshine soon lulled her into a deep sleep.
‘Where the hell have you been, Judith?’ was the explosive greeting she got from her mother when she arrived home that evening. The clock showed ten past six. She’d been asleep for hours.
‘The Principal phoned us hours ago! Whatever possessed you to run away from college like that? We’ve been worried sick!’ Mrs Marriot cried.
‘But mummy, I’ve had a terrible day!’ Judith wailed, ‘I’ve been given the —’
But at this point, her father, face as black as thunder, stuck his head round the door.
‘Not another word out of you, young lady!’ he bellowed angrily, ‘Just get up those stairs to your bedroom and take off every stitch of clothing! Then you can wait for me to come upstairs. I want you stark naked for the strap! I’m going to give you the hiding of your life, young lady!’
‘But daddy!’ she sobbed frantically,’ I’ve already been —’
NOT ANOTHER WORD!’ he roared.
Sniffing and snuffling disconsolately, Judith made her way slowly upstairs. Life, she reflected, could be very cruel!

Wednesday, 30 May 2018

The Caning Machine

A film from Spanking for Pleasure with an infamously hard cut from an over-calibrated machine. Rumour has it the model sued…
As a sharp eyed reader of this blog noticed, the set and equipment also seem to have been used for the photo-story A Testing Time in Februs magazine, although in that story the model in the film appears as the avenging wife Marjorie Baxter rather than being on the receiving end of the machine.
From the film blurb:
At an austere educational establishment deep in the English countryside, discipline is upheld in traditional fashion by the Headmaster Brigadier Hodelius Urquhart-Norton who has invented a caning machine. The contraption is so terrifying that it’s mere presence acts as a deterrent. However one Italian student finds herself in deep trouble and must face a stroke from the machine. The Brigadier spanks the girl firmly and uses his riding crop on her but nothing can prepare her for what she is about to receive.
The review from
An oldie and famous for its conclusion, which we were surprised to find was not as we had expected. Actor Martin Sykes plays one of the great sleazy ageplay spanking aristocrats, one of those gentlemen you will find at the bar pinching bare bottoms in a George Harrison-Marks-era film. He is a devious weasel. An actress credited as Luna Winter is the guinea hen here.
To silly tension-intended soundtrack music, we watch Sykes assembling his caning machine, a Rube Goldberg device in light of the current spanking machinery, but a lot of fun. Luna arrives late and signs the punishment book. She has an appointment, for what Sykes tells her is “mortification of the flesh,” as he shows her the machine.
We must get started. Luna first bends over a desk for a palm-size tawse on her jeans. She then takes her jeans and knickers down together–don’t know why they came down in a bunch — for more tawsing on the bare, the camera work showing up and down her legs. OTK, a slow and silly spanking, but ritualized, with fondles.
After a fade and cut: “Taking effect? We’re halfway through.” Luna has dressed again in this interlude and kneels on a chair for the crop on her tight jeans.
“Now… strip!” Lovely shock and awe, slow grudging compliance, excellent stuff. Luna gets naked and shows us everything. Sykes is wonderful when he is firm and angry.
It’s time for the climax. While she stands there nude, with Sykes in professorial garb, he loads the cane by pulling it back like the string of a bow and locking it, bent and ready to be sprung, in place. Naked Luna will assist in a demonstration first. She holds a pillow just so  Dykes releases the spring and the cane whacks the pillow, startling Miss Winter. No mistaking how this works.
Now it is her turn. She positions her bare bottom and Sykes makes his setting and loads the cane. He releases the trigger. Luna jumps and screams. Sykes checks her buttocks. “It’s nothing… nothing.” Not true — the single welt is already noticeable. She is let off — she did not run off as other reviewers have described. This torque is too much. We had to wait 20 years for a European company to get the sweet tension just right and add automation.
Part 1:

Part 2:
And for those who like to cut to the chase, here is the infamous stroke:

Tuesday, 29 May 2018

Mr Fulford’s New Maid

From New Blushes Uniform Girls 2.17
The girl on the stairs has a distressed look. Her pretty face is flushed, tearful. She would like to wipe a hand at those big brown and very moist eyes but that is not easy as she is carrying a tray of tea things and really needs two hands for it in her present wobbly-legged state. We can see a lot of her legs of course. The whole shapely length of them in the black nylons with the bare soft pale thighs above. We can see her bottom too. Her bare bottom. The rather wobbly bare cheeks are red, inflamed. We can see all of this because the skirt of her black dress is pinned up to her waist at the back and underneath it she has nothing on. No knickers. Just the slim black straps of a suspender belt fastening the taut tops of the sheer black stockings.
It is a maid’s dress this pretty girl is wearing in such a revealing manner. A plain black dress with a little white collar and with a white apron tied round her waist. A white maid’s cap with black lace inserts sits on her head of thickly curling brown hair. The black stockings end in white high-heeled shoes. Yes she is a maid, this unhappy-looking girl with the tray and the red-glowing bare bottom. A maid no doubt who has just had her bare bottom spanked.
That is correct, she has just had her bare bottom spanked, but she is not really a maid. She is not employed as such. In fact she is still at school. Her name is Avril Mayfield and she is 17 and in her last year in fact. No, she is not a maid but she is having to act as one. This weekend and next. Here at the house of Mr Harold Fulford.
Why is Avril acting as a maid in Mr Fulford’s house? And who is Mr Harold Fulford for that matter?
We will come to who Mr Fulford is shortly but Avril is undergoing disciplinary training, that is why she is here performing as a maid. Training in the Rangers. Avril is a member of the local Ranger Group and has been for almost a year now. It is very enjoyable, good fun. But once a girl reaches her seventeenth birthday there is also a more serious side to Rangers. Once you are 17 you are required to take the various disciplinary tests.
Girls know this, that there will be this requirement once they are 17. Maybe they are not too happy about it but they all accept the fact, it is part of Rangers. And so Avril has accepted it too. Not that girls know what exactly is involved in the disciplinary testing. There are no detailed statements on the Rangers clubhouse notice board, and nothing is formally said at meetings. But a girl may hear whispers of course. Avril had heard whispers. Some of them could rather take your breath away. And give you that tingly feeling between your legs. A glowing dampness…
You don’t know whether to believe whispers, though, do you? Maybe they are just that — silly whispers That is what you may think. But when you do reach 17 you’re going to know. When Mrs Elliott calls you into her little room for her talk. As Avril was called in, at the Wednesday evening group meeting two days after her seventeenth birthday.
Elaine Elliott is Group Leader. She is only 25 herself, an attractive blonde with a shapely figure. Some of the girls have swoony feelings about Mrs Elliott but not Avril, she doesn’t get those feelings about members of her own sex. But now, quite soon, standing in her short-skirted blue uniform in front of the pretty Group Leader, Avril did find herself feeling decidedly hot and bothered. Those whispers…
Elaine Elliott, brushing back a strand of her curling blonde hair and maybe a little flush-faced herself, said that as Avril knew, the disciplinary testing would now begin.
‘So would you please take down your knickers, Avril. And come here and get across my lap.’
Could you believe it! No Avril couldn’t! Not really.
Mrs Elliott with a rather hot-faced smile. ‘Come on, Avril dear. It’s a requirement. Your first discipline test. I’m going to spank your bottom. You’re not going to fail your very first test, are you? No? Come on then, get your knickers down!’
Well what could a girl do!! The answer was nothing really except… do it…
It was awful! Decidedly! Avril hardly knew which end was up. Although of course it was without doubt her bottom end that was up. Her full, ripely-rounded bare bottom squarely across Mrs Elliott’s neat lap. With the Group Leader’s hand smacking firmly and decidedly painfully down on Avril’s squirming nude flesh.
Awful, yes! It went on for quite a while, as Avril let out desperate gasps and splutters. Finally the spanking hand ceased. Elaine’s calm voice now, with perhaps just a slight tremor. The hand began softly caressing the hot flesh. Elaine was telling Avril what would come next. The next stage of her testing. It would be Mr Fulford…
But Avril could hardly hear, couldn’t concentrate. Because the hand had now gently pushed her trembly thighs apart. And then slipped in between them. Elaine’s cool fingers at Avril’s moist sex! The fact was that Elaine just couldn’t resist it, knowing as she did that a bare bottom spanking was a pretty sure way of getting a girl going. Getting her on a very short fuse.
It did that to Avril alright. She gave a shuddery gasp. Elaine made a little moaning sound herself. As she began massaging Avril’s clitoris.
Mr Fulford? Harold Fulford was Area Supervisor for the Rangers, with responsibility for all the Ranger Groups in the southern half of the county. So you could say it was natural he wanted to be involved in the disciplinary testing of 17-year-old Rangers in his area. Well, a person in that position needed to be sure that standards were being maintained. Avril knew about Mr Fulford. Knew something at least, from those whispers! Could the whispers be true? Well a girl wasn’t going to find that out until she was round there. Round at Mr Fulford’s big house on the edge of town. But here at least was Mrs Elliott confirming that Avril had to go.
And Avril’s parents, Susan and Tony Mayfield, they had a pretty good idea too. But they told themselves, like other sensible parents, that Mr Fulford wasn’t doing it for his own enjoyment, for pleasure. It was to discipline a girl, and there was no doubt that a 17-year-old girl did need discipline.
More unfortunately Avril’s brother Steven, a year younger than her, knew too. He knew because his friend Derek’s sister was also a Ranger and had already had to go and see Mr Fulford. Avril’s parents weren’t going to say anything, not wishing to cause her embarrassment, but Steven. Well younger brothers were like that, weren’t they?
What Mrs Elliott had told Avril of course is that she is to go round to Mr Fulford’s at the weekend and perform maid’s duties for him. Go round there on Saturday and again on Sunday and do menial jobs wearing a maid’s uniform. This is what Mr Fulford usually requires as a disciplinary test. Avril somewhat nervously announced this rather unwelcome news when she returned from Rangers after the Wednesday evening meeting. To tell the truth her head was still in a bit of a spin primarily as a result of that session over Mrs Elliott’s lap. The breath-taking bare-bottom spanking — and the even more breath-stopping hand between Avril’s legs. And now there is to be this other. Mr Fulford…
The elder Mayfields glanced at each other. Avril’s news was not exactly a surprise to them. Susan Mayfield said matter-of-factly, ‘Oh really dear.’ It was obviously better not to discuss it. Unfortunately Steven was in the room too. His eyes gleamed.
‘A maid! For Mr Fulford!’ He chortled. ‘I know all about that. He’ll cane her! He’ll cane her bare bum!!
There was immediate bedlam. Avril giving a shriek of anger made a grab at Steven. ‘You horrible bastard!’
Susan tried to separate them. ‘Let go of him, Avril! But really Steven! How could you say such an awful… Oh! Ohh!’
They were struggling together. Steven laughing, Avril half in tears. What Steven had said was of course no more than what those whispers had said. That Mr Fulford would cane you. Cane a girl’s bare bottom…
Susan eventually managed to calm her daughter down. Getting them apart and sending Steven out of the room. Her arms round Avril now. Avril who was still tearful.
‘Don’t let it upset you darling. Steven was just being silly.’
But Susan had a good idea that what Steven had said was true. She rather thought, from what other mothers had said, that Mr Fulford did cane his 17-year-old Rangers. It might not be strictly speaking allowed, but no one complained or made a fuss about it. The feeling seemed to be that if he did, well, it was probably good for a girl. Susan couldn’t help her thoughts turning to it. The mental picture of Mr Fulford caning Avril’s bottom. And then the other thought. What it would be like. Imagining it happening to herself. Being bent over a chair or something. And having Mr Fulford raise her skirt, and lower her knickers…
She made an involuntary little moaning sound. She could almost feel the fierce cane slicing into her bared buttocks. It was quite awful. But at the same time definitely arousing. Hugging Avril Susan tried to close her mind to it.
Oh God! Saturday morning and Avril has cycled over to Mr Fulford’s. A nice sunny June morning, lovely outside, and how nice to have been able to keep cycling. Not stop at Mr Fulford’s but go off and maybe meet James her boyfriend somewhere. Or really do anything except… Oh God! He won’t really, will he? The… Oh Christ… the cane.
Avril is wearing a dark full skirt with a white blouse and cardigan over it. Mrs Elliott said this outfit would be suitable, but maybe Mr Fulford will decide he wants her in a maid’s dress instead. If so he will provide this. That was what Mrs Elliott said. Mrs Elliott is also responsible for the rest of what Avril is wearing. The black nylon stockings fastened with a black slim-strapped suspender belt. And the white lacy-edged French knickers. Mrs Elliott thought these items would be regarded as most suitable by Mr Fulford, and the Group Leader in fact actually provided Avril with the suspender belt and knickers.
‘We want Mr Fulford to be suited, don’t we Avril dear?’
Did Avril want that? Oh Christ! What she wants is to turn tail and run but that isn’t on, is it? No, her bike is parked now round the side of the house and she has to knock at the door. Her head is in a spin. Maybe no one is in, he has forgotten and gone out somewhere. And she’ll just quietly leave…
But the door opens. As she knew it would. A smiling lady. Mrs Fulford?
‘Ah. Avril, is it? Come in dear. Mr Fulford is expecting you. Of course.’
Oh God! Avril is feeling slightly sick. Her head still spinning so that she seems not fully aware of what is happening. But she has evidently followed the lady along the hallway and now, here she is in this room. Standing before this table. On her rather wobbly legs. The door closed behind her and the lady gone of course. Facing Mr Fulford.
Mr Fulford is oldish, in his fifties perhaps one might guess. Tall with grey hair and a rather intense look, like a school headmaster maybe. Avril has met him before, he visited the Ranger Group one evening, shown around by Mrs Elliott,  but of course he wasn’t there to see Avril Mayfield on that occasion and she had been able to remain anonymous. Now of course that is not the case. By no means. She alone is here to see him. Avril alone is here for Mr Fulford. For him to discipline her. Her bottom…
She tries to force herself to concentrate. He is asking her questions about herself but her mind keeps drifting onto something else. What is to come. This table. Is he going to make her bend over this table? For the cane! Oh Christ!! Or will it maybe be somewhere else? One awful whisper she can remember mentioned a bedroom. It happened in a bedroom. A caning. And also… something else…?
Oh Christ!!
Mr Fulford is getting to his feet. He is frowning. ‘Are you really paying full attention, Avril?’
Her mind snapping back. ‘Oh yes sir. Yes…’
He comes round to her. His hand squeezing her arm. ‘I’m not sure I can believe that. I think we may need something. To concentrate the mind, my dear.’
‘Oh… Aaa…aaahhhhh. Please…’
His hand has let go of her arm. And gone to her bottom. Cupping the right cheek of her bottom through her skirt. There is a rubbery sensation in her legs.
‘Pl…Please… M…M…Mr F…F…Ful…’
‘I rather think we need something here, Miss. Can you bend over the table. I do think discipline is required. Yes.’
Oh Jesus! Her worst fears have been realised! She is lying face-down over the table. And Mr Fulford has her skirt up and those pretty French knickers down. They are halfway down Avril’s thighs. So her bottom is bare. Oh God! His hand is there. On the flinching bare flesh. And she knows what is coming. No…ooo.
‘No sir! Please sir!!’
‘What?’ His hand fondling, fiddling with the bare cheeks. ‘What my dear?’
‘The cane sir! Please not the cane!! No… No…ooo…!’
‘Not the cane? But the cane is a most effective instrument, Avril. For disciplining girls of your age. The most effective in my opinion. There’s nothing else to compare with the cane. As I’m sure you’ll agree once you’ve had a touch of it. What shall we say — three to start with? On your bare bottom.’
‘No sir! Please! No…ooo…’
Mr Fulford’s voice hardens. His finger and thumb give Avril’s fleshy bottom a painful pinch. ‘Stop saying no,’ he growls. ‘Or it will be six to start with. It’s discipline we’re talking about, isn’t it?’
Avril gives a shuddery little cry. It is too impossible. The cane! On her bare bum! She can already feel it! The hot, impossible pain… She gives another desperate yelp.
And then she feels it for real.
For a fraction of a second there is the just the cane’s sharp impact. A firm, zippy cut landing squarely across the undercurve of the two cheeks of her bottom. Just that, no pain immediately. But then it starts. And rises. Rises. Welling up. A hot stinging pain. She writhes her stung bottom, emitting gaspy yelps.
Mr Fulford’s voice from up above her frenzied bottom with now it’s bright red stripe. ‘You see Avril? Very effective. Don’t you agree? Now try to keep it still. For the next one…’
And then he brings the cane down again.
‘Hello Avril! Back again then.’
The pleasant-faced lady whom Avril now knows is Mrs Fulford lets her in. Avril has been home for lunch but has had to come straight back. It was awful, her father at least was out but her mother and brother were there and of course they knew, or could guess. Her mother didn’t say anything but naturally horrible Steven did. Leering at her at the table, and then when he got her alone in the kitchen whispering hotly in her ear.
‘Was it with your knickers down? I bet it was! Let me see Avril!’
There was an intense little struggle, terminated satisfactorily for Avril when she managed to get her knee sharply into Steven’s balls.
But now she is back here at Mr Fulford’s. For more of the same! That bloody cane!! Mrs Fulford is leading her through into the lounge.
‘Mr Fulford is upstairs dear. He likes to take a little nap right after lunch. And he would like you to take some tea up to him. I’ll make it in a moment. But first of all…’
First of all there is this maid’s outfit. A maid’s dress, black silky material with a little white collar, and a maid’s cap, white with black lace inserts. These items are here on the settee in the lounge. Mr Fulford wants her in them this afternoon. And there is something else too.
‘Ah… no knickers dear. Nothing at all underneath in fact. Just the dress. With your stockings and the suspender belt of course. That is how Mr Fulford would like you. For the… ah… discipline, dear.’
Mrs Fulford gives a sympathetic smile. No doubt she is used to this, aiding Mr Fulford in his disciplinary duties with girls. So it doesn’t embarrass her.
‘Alright dear? I’ll leave you then, and go and make Mr Fulford’s tea.’
And here she is, with the tea tray, in Mr Fulford’s room now. Avril in the maid’s dress with nothing underneath it except for the black suspender belt. Mr Fulford seems to have got up from his nap, he is sitting in an armchair in a dressing gown. Avril has got this far, she has navigated the stairs in her high heels and trembly-legged state, without breaking or spilling anything. But now, perhaps with the thought of what is going to happen, she falters. Her heel seems to catch slightly in the carpet. Whatever it is she gives a sudden lurch, and a desperate little yelp. She manages pretty well, she doesn’t send everything flying. But a few drops of milk do sail out of the jug and onto the tray.
Mr Fulford frowns. It is no doubt an excellent excuse. If he needs an excuse. He shakes his head.
‘Self-discipline, Avril. Control. That’s what we need, isn’t it?’
She gulps. ‘Yessir.’
‘Yes. Put the tray down then. On the table. And come here.’ He adjusts his dressing gown. ‘A smacked bottom, don’t you think. For starters. And then I should think the cane again, wouldn’t you?’
Avril turns. Her mind is a bit of a blank. She manages to place the tray on the table.
‘Now lift your skirt up. Right up round your waist. And come here. Across my lap.’
‘Alright dear?’ Mrs Fulford asks.
She is used to seeing girls like this of course. After Harold has had a disciplinary session with them. Flush-faced, a few tears perhaps, the hair a bit mussed. And of course the dress. The back is unfastened revealing a wide sweep of bare flesh, while the skirt has been pinned up at the back, to expose more flesh — the whole of pretty Avril’s bare bottom. A rather red bottom it goes without saying.
Avril doesn’t answer Mrs Fulford. She is not really in a state to. Her poor bum! Not to mention Mr Fulford’s other assaults. And her legs — well, they don’t really seem to belong to her and she is having difficulty controlling them.
‘Here, let me.’ Mrs Fulford takes the tray from Avril and puts it down. And then turns to the poor sweet girl. Poor thing indeed, because Harold can get a bit carried away, she knows that. When he gets his hands on a sweet girl like this. Not that it’s not good for them. Oh no, girls at this age do need disciplining. But even so…
Margot Fulford puts her arms round the unhappy girl. She is sniffing. Her poor bottom of course. Still stinging no doubt. Still hot. Margot can’t resist sliding her hand down. To the quivering flesh. Oh yes it is hot. Burning! Her hand caresses. Avril gives a sob.
If what she has gone through wasn’t bad enough, Steven, when Avril gets home, is really unpleasant. He is still smarting from having Avril’s knee crunchingly in his balls. He can still feel the mind-stopping pain of it. And is determined to get his own back.
‘OK!’ he hisses when he gets Avril alone. ‘I’m going to tell everyone that Mr Fulford caned your bare bum. Everyone. I…I’ll write it on the notice board at school.’
Avril pales. He wouldn’t do that, would he? No! Because although some people may guess, or suspect, what can happen in Rangers disciplinary testing, that’s not the same as having it broadcast from the rooftops.
She adopts a more placatory line. Even saying she is sorry for what happened, it was an accident. Steven appears unmoved, he is still going to tell everyone. Avril, forgetting thoughts of dignity, pleads with him. And now a different look comes into Steven’s eye. He is no doubt imagining the scene. Imagining his sister being spanked, being caned… His voice is tighter now.
‘Well maybe I won’t. But you’ll have to show me. Let me see your bum. Where he caned you.’
Avril feels a hot flush. What Steven wants is too much. She shakes her head. But he won’t budge.
And so… they go up to her room.
‘Look, Steven, really…’ she says weakly.
But he insists. She has to take her knickers down and pull up her skirt. Yes you can still see the marks of the cane.
‘No!’ she breathed. But Steven persists. Well there is no way he can resist the impulse. His hand touching the still sensitive flesh…
Avril has to go back to Mr Fulford the next day, Sunday. She is also going to have to go Saturday and Sunday next week too. And it’s not getting any better. No, not at all. On Sunday morning there is something else for her to wear. A pink sleeveless T-shirt and fishnet tights. Nothing else. Well nothing except her high heels which she has been told to bring. But no knickers. Just those net tights enclosing the bare flesh of her bum.
It feels pretty awful.
But it’s going to feel a lot more awful. When he gets that cane out. Avril tries not to think about that. Or the other thing. Because there is also something else for her to do today. It’s not just taking tea up.
Mrs Fulford comes in. ‘Ah… that’s very nice dear. And I think Mr Fulford is ready for you. Just have a look at this first.’
She hands Avril something. It is an instruction sheet. Avril looks at it, forcing her eyes to focus on the words and diagrams. It is describing how to apply a massage cream. In Mrs Fulford’s hand in fact is a tube of the cream. She now hands this to Avril as well.
‘OK dear. I should go up to him now.’

Monday, 28 May 2018

Saint Cecelia’s

From Blushes 23. Interesting writing style – I don’t recall reading similar in Blushes before – perhaps an author moonlighting from Kane.
When John Craig B.A., M. Ed., (Cantab) applied for the job of junior housemaster at Saint Cecelia’s he made one of the best decisions in all his thirty years.
To begin with the effect of a dishy male on the upper sixth was quite traumatic. Miss Jones the Headmistress stressed to John the need of discipline.
‘None of your namby-pamby state sector at Saint Cecelia’s. We run a tight ship here and any trouble,’ she paused, ‘beat ‘em. The girls need it and the parents expect it.’
In the event, although John Craig always carried a cane, his ‘Mr Whippy’, as he affectionately called it — just as much a badge of office as his B.A. gown — he found the teaching of his gaggle of Lolitas a doddle.
It wasn’t long before Craig had his girls mentally pigeon-holed according to their various characteristics.
Mary Smith had a good brain and the prettiest of titties. Sarah Brown always chose the desk below the blackboard, teasing Craig with ample glimpses of thigh. In short, every day was a revelation, in one way or another. Mentally Craig was stimulated by the girls intellectual abilities. Physically — well he was only too pleased that the billowing folds of his gown concealed the devastating effect that a glimpse of tit, underthigh or peachy pube had on him.
Only one girl, Audrey Ponsonby, affected a calculated disdain towards the new member of the staff. Audrey — ‘Pon’ to her friends — was in truth a bit of a tearaway. She painted her toenails a vivid green; smoked black Russian Sobranie cigarettes and wore the most outré undergarments; open-legged French knickers and half bra from Jean Roget. She was, so she confided to her pals, ‘quite safe’ having purloined a supply of foil-encased rubbers from her mum, the Honorable Lady Ponsonby who was no better than she should have been.
Pon, like Craig, was content to play a waiting game. The other girls of her class giggled and flirted throughout the lessons; Pon, suave and soignee, sat in the second row just near enough to give Craig exciting glimpses of the cleavage between the bewitching valley of her tits. She set out, as she vulgarly put it, to ‘get a rise’ out of Craig. As she crossed and recrossed one succulent thigh over the other she sensed that the sight of satin suspender ribbon stretching the welts of her gunmetal nylon stockings did just that thing.
Pon glances at her Longines. It is only three o’clock. ‘Golly! A full hour to wait for tea!’ An hour to wait before her fag and friend, the pretty and succulent Minnie Smith, is due to attend to her needs; tea and crumpets toasted at the blazing hearth. Minnie might be her junior but Pon has her well trained, and is she not a little darling? Audrey Ponsonby stretches her body the length of her study sofa and purrs.
Truth to tell she ought to be out there on Saint Cecelia’s weekly run, pounding over the wintry Barsetshire countryside. But with a little guile, why not opt out of the exercise and spend a pleasant, decadent afternoon in the privacy of her study? Naturally one has to use a little cunning, but if nothing else Pon is cunning par excellence.
Tog yourself out in the ridiculous Saint Cecelia’s P.E. outfit: runners, white cotton socks, white cotton vest and navy-blue, bum-hugging knickers. Then one stands shivering while the dishy Mr Craig’s eyes wander over you from head to toe: chapped thighs, the tight stretch of knicks between your legs and the outstanding nubbins of your boobs. On these occasions would Audrey sometimes wish that that the good God might have given her titties a little less obvious.
Craig whistles the pack away. Scoot off at top speed. Hard right at the Old Oak scarce five minutes from the start and back to one’s study. Now one has a full hour of idleness while the rest of the poor darlings puff and gasp their way over hill and dale. Come tea time, slip back to the Oak; an easy lead and Audrey will breast the tape the winner. Victor Ludorum, laurels and praise. Hot shower and crumpets for tea prepared by one’s fag. Two hours to supper. Time enough, who knows, for a little girlish dalliance with the aforementioned Minnie Smith.
With the rest of the school away, circuiting painfully over the mud-squelching course, Audrey lies back in her study chair and indulges in idleness and sensuous reverie. She runs a hand lightly over her body and raises her right leg languidly. She wriggles her toes. Alone of all the girls at Saint Cecelia’s Audrey paints her toenails: deep apple green. Very sexy.
Only last week Mr Grant, the school chaplain, in one of his pie-wiggings had accused Audrey of being narcissistic. If Audrey was not sure what the word meant, (flower power perhaps?) she sensed that it was something very wicked. The Reverend Grant might be very old, all of fifty, but Audrey reckons that given the inclination she is quite capable of giving him an inexpensive thrill.
Pon flips the pages of a French novel which caught her attention in the school library. She chuckles to herself. That pretty Mmselle had recommended it to her. In English it would be called a ‘dirty book’; in French it is literature. She finds the page which had so excited her at the last reading. ‘…I have with reckless hands raised the folds of your dress and contemplated your bare bosom which though virginal is heavy with milk but only gave suck to divine lips. I have followed the entire tracing of its delicate blue veins to where the eye can no longer trace them. I have pressed my fingers to the teats as though I could cause the celestial potion to jet forth in white jets. My lips have grazed the bud of the mystic rose…’ Reading and then re-reading this erotic story Pon can scarcely contain herself. She eases aside the thin shoulder strap of her vest to finger her nipples. The novel drops to the floor beside her.
Pon grips the elasticated waistband of her running knicks and pulls them down, in no hurry, from the deep set swirl of her belly button over a tight muscled tum to free the tendrils of her bush.
A certain instrument of relief purloined from mum goes to work, and a soft hum cuts out all sound from the outside world.
A minute or so later there is a rap at the door of her study but, for the present, Pon is quite oblivious of all but her sensuous pleasure.
Back at the school Craig has sauntered upwards to his victims lair. Was Craig stupid? Of course not. For a whole term, Pon and her wicked, idle ways have been under his surveillance. Now is the time to strike. The Head Girl’s study door swings open.
‘Enjoying yourself, eh?’
The ‘thing’ ceases to buzz and is pushed down between the cushions of Pon’s chair. All is confusion. The half-clothed girl tries to cover herself and then reddens as she has to face the inevitable. Craig is stern of mien.
‘Got you, my girl!’ He saunters magisterially to the centre of Pon’s study. Pon decides that to brazen it out in all the circumstances is not really on. Craig has indeed caught her in flagrante delicto.
‘Head Girl, what an example! Cheat on the run, bad example to the juniors and,’ he glances at Pon’s mud-bespattered thighs. ‘Just look at yourself! What a sight!’ He pauses.
‘Dirty girl — need a good clean up! — A little bit of discipline!’
Pon gulps. ‘Discipline?’
‘Yes. Discipline. A good beating!’ The words of the Headmistress come back to him. ‘Beat ‘em hard. That’s what the parents expect, that’s what they deserve.’ Craig looks at his watch. Half an hour to go to the end of the run. Staff all out. He takes Pon by the arm. ‘Go and find your clothes, shall we? Down to the changing room.’
With Craig behind her, no one, but no one else is in the building. There is a full half hour before the pack of the upper sixth is due back and meantime Audrey and Craig are alone.
Splat! and Craig’s Mr Whippy catches Pon mid-thigh to encourage her down the steps. The door of the changing room shuts with a thud.
Craig glances at his watch. Plenty of time to discipline the unruly Pon and to bring her to her senses. Pon is firmly pushed against the edge of the sink.
‘Get these off shall we’? Craig watches as first the vest and then the knicks fall to the floor. He grasps a handy bar of red carbolic soap. Pon gasps as cold water splashes over her while vigorous hands lather the mud of the run from her thighs to gurgle away into the waste pipe.
Back home at the manor, Pon has been well used to giving her pet pooch, a snappy Pekinese, his monthly shampoo. She would grasp him by the back of his neck, ignore his anguished barks and proceed to shampoo him all over. Minutes later the tyke would emerge, shaking dollops of water all over but fit for Crufts after a brisk rub. Now Pon waits with trepidation for her own medicine.
She looks up appealingly. Her boobs are firm and outstanding. Two melons, firm as bullets and tipped by over-sized nipples begging to give suck.
‘Perhaps, sir? Well — you know sir?’ Pon ventures. ‘Perhaps — an understanding?’
Craig shakes his head. The little jezebel. Try to seduce him! A housemaster! No. Negative. No.
Craig cups a bum-cheek with his right hand and guides her squirming up into the sink, into the six inches of ice-cold water.
‘Christ’ gasps Pon, as she sits in the sink and the water seeps up the length of her thighs over her bush to lap just below her navel.
‘That’s a good girl.’ He starts to wash away the last traces of mud from her thighs with his rough block of carbolic soap. Pon squirms and gasps as Craig’s soap-filled hands cover first one and then the twin of her breasts, the nipples of which quite uncontrollably fill out to the caress. Fingers slide from her buttocks to her bush concealed under a snowy field of suds. Pon shivers unwittingly at the deft fondling of damp fingers.
Craig recollects the Latin tag of his schooldays. Mens sana in corpore sano. In a clean body a clean mind. So far as the body is concerned, Craig is quite satisfied. From the auburn crown of her head, downwards from shoulder-blades to the skin of her slim waist burgeoning over fulsome bum and down again past open-splayed legs to the dearest of tootsies, Audrey is as clean as a new pin.
Audrey sits miserably in the sink. A forlorn tear drops and runs to a stop, arrested by the uprising of a tit. What a humiliation! To have been washed all over by the hateful Mr Craig! Oh the shame of it all! Craig leans forward and scoops up one of Pons discarded runners.
Crack! He slaps the sole of her slipper against the sink. Firmly he pushes Pon face downwards to lie gasping like a landed fish along the length of the sink surround. Completely naked now and glistening with damp, Pon’s body offers itself as sacrifice. On a dry skin the punishment would be painful. Against this flesh bedewed with water it will be horrendous!
‘One!’ The slipper cracks down dead on target.
‘Two!’ and the slipper slices in as a hot knife into butter.
‘Three!’ A misfire catches Pon mid-thigh.
‘Ooooogh! That bloody well hurts!
‘Four’ And quite uncontrollably Pon lets a hand run to the crease of her bum.
‘Five!’ ‘Ooogh! Jesus Christ!
Number six is to be the Daddy of them all. He pauses, raises the slipper full height. The air whistles as he catches her deep in the crease of thigh and bum-cheek.
Pon blubbers quite uncontrollably.
Upstairs later, and back in the study, Minnie Smith with a plate of buttered crumpets waits for the Head Girl. Talk of tea and sympathy! Pon sobs out the whole unhappy story. Both agree that men are horrid. Min wipes away Pon’s tears.
The cool sheets of Pon’s bed invite. Girlish limbs intertwine. Minnie dips her fingers deeply. Pon forgets the horrors of the afternoon. The pain disappears and gives way to sweet nothings as Minnie’s hands stroke away those horrid burnings of her bum-cheeks. All tensions depart in a warm sensation; only to be experienced by very good friends.