David Waldridge drove his Rover in rather leisurely fashion down the centre lane of the M25. He was still musing happily about the meeting at Laurel House that afternoon. As usual, all had gone well, with most members being satisfied with proceedings. He smiled faintly at the memory of Miss Gates’ spanking for her errant minute-taking. It had come as quite a shock to her but, after it, there was no doubt her concentration had been intense throughout the rest of the meeting. That young woman had a most splendid bottom. Maturely fulsome. Yes, it was a pity she wasn’t ensconced in the Council Home for Delinquents, like the younger girl alongside him. In which case Miss Gates’ bottom would be dealt with considerably more severely. By him.
‘Backside a bit sore, Lucy?’ he enquired of the pretty blonde girl sitting alongside him. Then he scowled and cursed as a Jag hooted and flashed behind him before roaring by. ‘Stupid fool,’ he muttered, ‘I’m damn near doing 70.’
‘Just a little, sir,’ answered Lucy Collins meekly. Since she had been consigned to the Home some three months previously, she had found it best to be meek and submissive. She was now not at all the rebellious 19-year-old who had arrived.
The Principal and Chairman of the Board of Governors of the Home nodded contentedly. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘I wasn’t too severe on you. After all, it was only a demonstration, not a proper punishment. Right?’
‘Yes, sir.’ As a demonstration it had been quite painful enough for Lucy. But the worst part was the utter shame of being caned in front of that circle of gawping people, whilst wearing only the most miniscule of G-strings. Even now she felt her cheeks colouring slightly at the memory of it. Punishment in private was bad enough; punishment in public was far worse. Even if, as Mr Waldridge had said, he hadn’t been ‘too severe’ on her. A few months ago Lucy would have considered he had been exceedingly severe but, in course of time, she had become, to some extent, acclimatised to such treatment. And, consequently, more hardened to it.
‘I shall, of course, have to be more severe when we get back to the Home,’ the Principal said.
Lucy shrivelled inside. Secretly she had been hoping that she would be let off, since she had already been caned once that day. What a hard man he was! She could not check a dry little sob.
‘Something the matter, Lucy?’ came the query. ‘You know you deserve it.’
Did she… did she? Did she really deserve the repeated spankings, slipperings and canings which now regularly came her way? Admittedly, she had probably deserved to be sent to the Home originally but did she deserve this kind of treatment? Another sob came from her when she remembered there were still three more months to go.
‘I gather you think you don’t deserve it,’ said the Principal. He was taking the motorway exit that would take them to Radley Grange. There was a feeling of deep contentment inside him. It was so pleasing to have this youngster alongside him, knowing she was completely in his charge. Though 19, she looked even younger, with a slim, girlish figure; a bottom, though small, which was most provocatively shaped. He had got the impression that the Chairman of the Society had been most appreciative. Always a good thing to keep in with him.
For the moment, David Waldridge had rather forgotten why he had to punish Lucy. There were always so many easy reasons to give. Laziness, carelessness, untidiness. Ah yes, that was it. The girl had omitted to make up her bed. Very much against Home rules, that. To emphasise the point, he decided at that very moment, he would cane Lucy in the place she had committed the said offence. In her bedroom. Yes, he would send her to bed early, without any supper, then, later on, he would go up and deal with her. Nice thought that.
Out of the corner of his eyes, David could see the lower part of Lucy’s slim thighs. They were bare. Stockings and tights were not permitted in the Home. Sometimes, also, as a little extra punishment (a form of humiliation really) a girl wasn’t permitted to wear knickers either. However, that afternoon, David knew Lucy had knickers on. If such they could be termed; for they were very, very small indeed. Without realising it, David’s mouth was twisting a little in the semblance of a smile.
‘Here we are then,’ he announced cheerfully as the Rover crunched up the drive of Radley Grange. ‘Home again.’
Lucy remained silent. David glanced at her. That pretty young face said it all.
‘No supper for you, young lady. You will go straight up to your room and get into bed. I shall be up later.’
Some time later, he thought. No harm in keeping her waiting. She wouldn’t go off to sleep with that on her mind. He saw Lucy pouting and there was a hint of tears in her blue eyes. Was that on account of missing her supper or the caning to come! No matter. The girl needed to be punished for such slackness. The Principal had no doubt that her bed would be immaculately made, every day for the rest of her stay. There was going to be more to it than there had been at the demonstration that afternoon. He was going to cane hard. ‘Off you go then.’ He shoo-ed her away, half impatiently, rather anxious to get a good swig at the whisky decanter. The girl hesitated, seemed about to say something (plead, perhaps?) then turned and left the room. Her slim hips moved seductively, yet with a kind of innocence. You’d never think she was nineteen, he said to himself, pouring a generous measure of the amber liquid.
Relaxing in an armchair, David thought of the girl undressing upstairs. He imagined her girlish nakedness. That long blonde hair; her pretty features. By now she would be between the cool sheets with only her nightie on. Possibly she would be feeling the light weals he had raised earlier. Without doubt, she would be thinking of what was to come. Wondering all the time when it would come. The Principal emptied his glass with satisfaction and strolled across the room for a refill. Not a bad job he had. Not bad at all. Lucky that Basil Gates was not only Chairman of the Society but also of the Education Committee as well. It paid to be on good terms with people of influence.
Three hours later, cane in hand, David Waldridge mounted the stairs. It was just past 8.30. Normally, he administered punishments in his study, with the girl (and sometimes, even, girls) bent over his desk. Skirts high, knickers down. Naked from waist to ankles. When they first came, almost without exception, they pleaded desperately to be allowed to retain those knickers. He never permitted it.
Only rarely did he cane a girl in her bedroom. It made a most enjoyable change. There was a special kind of intimacy about it. He opened the unlocked door to find her seated nervously on the edge of her bed, wearing a thin nightie. How long had she been there, he wondered, as her head turned quickly towards him, then away again. He left the door ajar. No harm if others heard the sounds which would soon be emanating from that room. Rather to the contrary, in fact!
‘Stand up, Lucy,’ he ordered sharply. The girl did so hesitantly. ‘Come here.’ He motioned her to the end of the bed.
Pale-cheeked, wide-eyed, she moved towards him, again hesitantly.
‘Pull your nightie up. Pull it up high.’ Lucy was a modest girl, he knew. The moment of exposure was always a great ordeal for her. Nevertheless, the nightie rose as he had ordered, to reveal that young, tight-rounded bottom. What a contrast to Miss Gates, he reflected. That young woman was far more voluptuous. If not to say, buxom. Was there any possible way he could trap her into being consigned to the Home? He dismissed the thought from his mind for the moment in order to concentrate on more important matters in hand.
‘Untidiness will not be tolerated here, Lucy,’ he said in his harsh ‘punishing’ voice. ‘You’re going to learn that now. Once and for all.’ He saw the blonde head bowing down and noted the tension in that slim body. The afternoon’s weals were very faint already. Perhaps he had gone too easy? He lashed the cane down amidst the pale pink tracery to raise a far more vivid stripe.
The girl gasped and gasped (just as if she had been thrust under a cold shower). She shuddered convulsively, twisting from side to side. The gasps ended in a low moan, the head drooping lower.
Again! Just as hard. Oh what a joy it was to give it to a girl like that! To make her squirm uncontrollably. To hear those breathless gasps. David had long since given up trying to deny the pleasure he got. He and his conscience had come to a convenient compromise.
Again! Oh you little beauty, squirm then… squirm! Lucy certainly did. A yelp of pain, this time, preceding her gasps. How many am I going to give her, the Principal suddenly wondered? Usually he told a girl beforehand. This time, he had omitted to do so. Therefore, it was open-ended. Quite simply, he would stop when he considered the girl had had enough. His prerogative. David suddenly decided it would be better to have Lucy kneeling and over the end of her bed. More of a curve to that tight little bum.
‘Get over the end of the bed, my girl. Bottom well up.’
‘O-oh… please, sir…’ David was aware that she was aware that she would thus be even more immodestly exposed.
‘Now… at once!’ he rapped out. One always had to be firm with these youngsters. If you allowed too much prevarication, you were lost. He watched the girl kneel reluctantly, satisfied at the degree of his control. The young bottom curved roundly; the cleft widened a little. Delightfully. The three fresh weals were very evident.
David measured her and resumed the caning. Now he took it very slowly. Perhaps one stroke every ten or fifteen seconds, thus allowing the girl to recover somewhat from the cruel pain he was inflicting. For David was caning hard. Not absolutely flat out but, say at three-quarters strength. Naturally, Lucy’s reactions explicitly demonstrated the level of pain she was having to endure (a level she would never have been capable of three months before.) She kicked out wildly, she threshed and twisted over the end of the bed, she flung back an arm in a vain attempt to protect herself. And, all the time, she sobbed and pleaded quite heart-rendingly.
But there was no rending of the Principal’s heart. From his rather biased viewpoint, the girl thoroughly deserved her punishment. Beyond that, of course, and far more important, he was enjoying himself too much!
‘Are you going to be tidy in future, Lucy?’ The cane whistled down… and bit.
‘Yeeeeooowww… ooowwww… oh… y-yes, sir… ooo… no more… no… more sir…’
‘Are you sure, Lucy?’ Keeping her waiting. Seeing that small rounded bottom flinching with dread. Still keeping her waiting. ‘Answer me!’
‘Mmmmfff… mmmfff… yes… oh yes… sir, quite s-sure… no more… ooo… no more…’
Another hard cut. Oh my word, how it made that bottom bounce and twist! How those slim limbs kicked and splayed! And how delightfully she was forced to display herself!
Another wait. With her sobbing and pleading desperately. She was, he realised, nearing the end of her tether. Well, not surprising. He must have given her closer to eighteen than twelve. That was quite a lot for any youngster to take. Just a couple more then.
The Principal gave them to his errant ‘pupil’ in quick succession — really hard — slicing diagonally across the taut buttock-cheeks. Lucy, screaming, and clasping at herself, went writhing down on the bedroom floor. Now she was howling, rather than yelping, and, the Principal reflected, the sounds would send a chill through the heart of any other inmate who heard them. It was an indirect but efficient form of discipline. The howls became moans, but that weal-striped bottom continued to turn this way and that, twitching incessantly. Yes indeed, Miss Lucy Collins had learnt a proper lesson.
The Principal tucked the cane under his arm and turned through the door. Should he close it behind him? Might as well, he thought after a few moment’s consideration. After all, the girl certainly needed a bit of a rest.
And, who knew, he might well be back a little later.
To comfort her, shall we say?