A few years ago Denise Millwater made a triumphant return from the Olympic Games at the tender age of 21 as the proud possessor of a gold medal. Contrary to all expectations, and definitely against all the experts’ predictions, she had won her distinction by defeating far better-known competitors in a sprint final. For the rest of her life she would cherish a memory of the thunderous storm of applause and shouts from thousands of spectators which she had first become aware of when, in absolute astonishment she had found herself being congratulated by seven other girls who had gathered around her, panting with exhaustion.
Denise had expected to be number eight, but she had won. A dream she had not even dared to entertain had come true. Ever since that wonderful day, she had been pondering why and how. At times there had been a secret little thought tickling deep in her mind, trying to convince her of something which could at least be a part of an answer. It concerned an incident that had occurred in the basement corridor, when she had had to run to her changing room some 15 minutes before the start of the final race to fetch her necklace mascot. Down there she had met Gerry, her coach, who had seemed to be as nervous as she herself was. They had talked and she had giggled and then, quite unexpectedly, it had happened.
‘For luck,’ he had laughed as he had given her a much-too-smarting slap on her compact but very girlishly protruding behind. His palm and fingers had struck partly on her very brief, tight running shorts and partly below, across the bare skin on the back of her right thigh.
Denise had gasped from the wholly unexpected pain and she had blushed. The embarrassment had wound her up to an even higher pitch of nervousness. She had been sure his hand had left a clear imprint in red on a part of her body that looked particularly improper in this costume, similar to those her mum’s hand had many a time made when Denise had been an overly high-spirited teenager. The mere thought of displaying such an obvious mark on her bare thigh overwhelmed her with feelings of shyness and anxiety, in her fear of anybody noticing it — and her race was to be televised!
Strangely enough, the incident also in a way helped to ease her tensed nerves, by taking her feelings right over the top. When the shot sounded, she had dashed away faster than at any time before. She eagerly wanted to get away from everybody, just as she had years before when she had run from the room where her mother had spanked her, for no other reason than a wish to be left alone till the stinging pain had subsided.
Her Olympic triumph had, however, long since faded into the past. She had now settled down and was living in a small, attractive cottage with a surrounding garden, which she had inherited from her grandparents. Her achievement had helped her to a post as a gym teacher at the nearby Winmore Boarding School for girls. She enjoyed living where she had spent many happy summer vacations visiting her grandfather and grandmother, and was gratified that the school had printed a new brochure in which they had put her picture and a few lines about her Olympic fame.
Nevertheless, two years experience of teaching at a boarding school for teenage girls had convinced Denise that being a gym mistress was not always an easy way to make a living. Schoolgirls still liked the same pranks as she had at their age, and she was sure that this generation of girls was more unruly and independently-minded than hers had been. Now, at the start of her third year as a teacher, she had met with a new problem. The number of pupils had increased and by arrangement with their parents some of the sixth formers had to live outside school. A few teachers had taken in these senior girls as boarders and, although she was living alone, Denise had agreed to take one girl, one very particular girl, whose parents had applied very late during the summer holiday.
Their daughter had been admitted in spite of the reputation that accompanied her from her previous school, whence she had been expelled. A sum of money from the girl’s father to the Winmore funds had facilitated the school board’s decision.
This new pupil, Suzanne, was a slender-built light-haired girl just turned 18, with rather large blue eyes in an innocent-looking face. She needed one more year’s education to take her A levels.
Denise soon found that she could get along quite well with the girl, especially as Suzanne spent most of her time at school, which was not far from the cottage. But there was one drawback that Denise had not properly considered when, swayed partly by financial considerations but far more by the pressure she found herself under to take a boarder, she had given her consent to Mrs Blakefield, the Headmistress.
Last term Denise had developed a crush on one of the two male teachers at the school. The other was fiftyish, portly and grey-haired, but Henry was 31 with black wavy hair and features as sharp as hers and Denise found him handsome and sympathetic. Henry liked Denise too, but with a schoolgirl now living in Denise’s house she was no longer able to invite him to her home as often as she wished, nor could she be seen calling on him in his room at school too often because such visits would surely soon start a lot of talk among the pupils. So Denise and Henry had to spend much of their spare time taking walks or going to the pub. Sometimes Denise did not return home until ten or even later at night, leaving the girl to manage on her own. Suzanne said she didn’t mind at all and Denise had gained the impression that the 18-year-old was trying hard to be a well-behaved girl now. Denise had no misgivings about whether her pretty boarder might take advantage of her frequent absences in the evenings.
Only a few weeks after the start of term there came that awful day when everything seemed to go wrong. In the first gym period many of the girls seemed to be doing their damnedest to make trouble. By the end of her first three lessons Denise felt quite exasperated. On top of that the headmistress asked Denise to come to her study during lunch and when they met Denise was criticised for lack of control of her classes. Mrs Blakefield told Denise sharply that she had to make herself more respected among her pupils.
As the day wore on, Denise’s temper did not improve and she felt considerable tension. Knowing that Suzanne had a choir practice that night Denise invited Henry to come. She felt she needed him to give her some consolation. The evening went as planned and they had a pleasant time together.
Henry did his best to comfort Denise and when he had to leave at nine, with Suzanne expected back within minutes, they kissed goodnight and Denise felt much better She was washing up shortly after Henry had left when she received a telephone call from the choir leader, Miss Rawlinson, who asked why Suzanne had not attended the practice.
Startled, Denise did not want to tell Miss Rawlinson what she at once instinctively suspected. Miss Rawlinson was exceedingly prim and proper and might think her unfit to look after the schoolgirl properly. All of a sudden she remembered that Suzanne had complained of a headache at breakfast time. She told the choir leader about this and lied that she herself had not been at home, so the girl had probably gone to bed early. Denise had in fact been in ever since the end of lessons, except for a few minutes when she had popped out to the shop to get some groceries, and she of course knew that Suzanne had left as usual to go to choir practice.
To make sure, Denise went up to the girl’s room and found it empty, as she had expected. The day which had begun in a miserable way seemed to end as it had started. She finished the clearing up and sat down in the living room to wait.
Not until well after half-past nine did she hear the door open and see the mischievous young girl sneak in. In an abnormally raised voice Denise scolded Suzanne and asked her for an explanation, without telling her what she had discovered. Suzanne blushed and tried to stammer an excuse about how Miss Rawlinson had kept them till after nine 0’clock, when she had come straight home as fast as she could.
The very innocent expression on the girl’s face and the calm voice in which Suzanne came to the end of telling her lie were more than Denise could stand. All the tedium of the day came back to her as an oppressive irritation and she felt her nerves snapping. She raised her hand to slap the girl’s cheek but checked herself and grabbed Suzanne’s shoulders instead and shook her slender body angrily. She shouted at her that she knew she had not been at choir practice at all. And suddenly Suzanne now had to tell her the truth.
During the day Denise had had plenty of time to think about the ways in which she had to change. As a young teacher she felt reluctant to punish pupils herself. She had sent a few to their form mistresses or to the headmistress herself with a report of their behaviour. She knew, from what she had seen in the gym what could happen to girls who misbehaved in school. When the tight knickers of the girls PE outfits had ridden up at the back she had noticed that weals were sometimes visible on the lower curves of their trim smooth buttocks, either fresh and swollen or just faint shapes that still unmistakably evidenced the application of a supple cane. Before she had had time to consider what she would say, the words had left Denise’s mouth.
‘You really need a sound spanking, young lady.’
The girl jerked back and her face went from red to ashen grey.
‘Oh no… no. Miss Millwater,’ she gasped. ‘You can’t!… Not now. I’m too old for that. I’m in the sixth form…’ Trembling, Suzanne stared incredulously at Denise.
‘Oh yes I can. I’m not going to stand any misconduct from you. If you’d been living at school you know I’d have had to report you. But as you’re boarding in my house, I’m responsible for your behaviour. So I’m going to spank you and I’m going to do it now. Come with me — and I don’t want any fuss.’
Denise grasped Suzanne’s ear and propelled the shrinking girl towards the small room at the back of the house. Suzanne could scarcely believe what was about to happen to her. But she could feel the heat of the teacher’s anger and anxiously, with her head yanked into a tilt she trotted beside the suddenly-so-strict Miss Millwater, pleading piteously.
‘No! Please, Miss Millwater. Don’t!… Please let me go to my room. They don’t spank girls our age at school.’ But in that last sentence her voice seemed to lack confidence.
‘Perhaps they don’t,’ Denise admitted. But firmly determined to teach her young ward a lesson, she continued, ‘So for the future I’ll just have to get some implement more fitting to your age, in case you choose to cheat me any more.’
Whilst dragging the quaking girl into the small back room Denise looked around to see if she could spot something suitable for the purpose she had in mind, but the clothes brush on the sideboard had no handle and the belt in the raincoat hanging on the back door was made of cloth. What she needed was a painful instrument that would leave smarting red marks on that part of Suzanne’s body where a girl had to learn that special kind of lesson. Disappointed at finding nothing appropriate, Denise turned a chair round and sat down.
Suzanne did not give up her attempts to get away She writhed and twisted her slender body trying to get free, but to no avail. Denise was a strong and accomplished athlete and now she had a firm hold round the teenage girl’s waist. It was a matter of moments to position the struggling creature bottom-uppermost across her lap. Upon suddenly finding herself in that childhood posture Suzanne very likely realised that she had nothing to gain by further resistance.
Sobbing, she became obediently submissive and lay trembling across Denise’s knee, her upturned bottom now the highest part of her body, her hands and feet on the floor for support.
In a trice Denise had the brief skirt of the disobedient girl’s navy-blue school uniform pulled up over her waist and Suzanne was shamelessly displaying long girlish thighs and a very attractive, delicately-shaped bottom encased in a pair of navy blue knickers. The knickers were a trifle threadbare and faded in colour but they stretched tautly over her cute and deliciously-rounded backside.
‘Please, please let me up!… I’ll never, ever do it again, I promise, I promise! Please don’t spank me.’
‘I’m sure you won’t do it again, Miss Suzanne Sanderson,’ Denise said curtly, brushing aside the pitiful pleas addressed to her.
An anguished groan came from Suzanne when Denise put her fingers inside the knicker elastic at her right hip. The distraught girl twitched and her right arm shot back in an attempt to prevent the teacher removing her knickers — a prospect which flooded her with fear and shame. Denise had almost anticipated this reaction and a smarting slap of her palm cracked across the back and inside of Suzanne’s bare left thigh.
‘I said I didn’t want any fuss, Suzanne,’ Denise warned her sharply ‘Now keep your hands on the floor. It’s going to be on the bare, whether you like it or not’
Suzanne snivelled. Her body became limp. She seemed to abandon every sign of resistance, but her long, outstretched slender legs were trembling vibrantly.
Tears of humiliation trickled down her cheeks and dropped to the floor. It was obvious that she was strongly affected by the ordeal of being up-ended over the young teacher’s lap at her age and then having her last vestige of modesty removed. Her blue knickers had become a scrap of cloth without function down around her calves, on the wrong side of her knees.
Suzanne was bitterly ashamed She hadn’t had her knickers pulled down since the time her Mum had discovered her smoking in the outbuildings behind their home many months ago, but her Mum had done it and it had taken place in the privacy of home. Suzanne’s sobbing face nearly touched the floor and the pigtails shivered at the sides of her head. Her lips formed a pouting ‘O’ as she took in and let out quick, short breaths.
Suzanne felt Miss Millwater’s left arm and vice-like hand holding her firmly in position and knew only too well what was just about to happen. Her mother had had her bare bottom turned up in this way on a number of occasions in the past and she thought that the last time really had been the last. She was immensely distressed that her bottom was now to be the target for Miss Millwater’s special attention for some presumably very embarrassing and painful minutes to come.
Lately so proud that she had reached the age of 18, Suzanne now for the first time found something horrible about this new numeral.
Though Suzanne was well prepared for what was to come and had clear recollections of how it would hurt the spanking started suddenly and came as a shock to her system. She inhaled sharply, stretched her body and tossed her head back, staring without seeing out of wide-open eyes at the flames of the gas fire. The sound of Miss Millwater’s hand slapping hard across the soft, resilient flesh of her buttocks with smarting power echoed through the small, bare room. From the very start Suzanne learned that there was definitely no truth in saying that a mere hand-spanking from a school teacher didn’t hurt much. It did. At least when it was given by a hard-muscled young PE mistress. It did hurt, even if the recipient was an almost grown-up girl in her late teens.
SLAAAPP! The second spank on Suzanne’s left bottom-cheek confirmed her newly-acquired respect for that same flat palm. Suzanne’s feet left the floor, her thighs squeezed together and her bottom clenched tight but in spite of the hot smarting in her buttocks the girl was brave enough to suppress the sobbing squeals she wanted to let out. More slaps spread the stinging pain all over her blushing bottom, and with each one the young teacher’s arm proved brilliantly capable of teaching an errant schoolgirl the error of her ways. Suzanne’s poor bottom heaved and wriggled and in despair its owner dropped her head and pressed her chin hard against her breastbone in order to keep her lips tightly closed. She could not bear to acknowledge to Miss Millwater that a plain hand spanking could make a girl of 18 cry out loud, but she was having real difficulty in maintaining her resolve.
Listening to Suzanne’s heavy rasping breathing, watching the girl’s wincing movements and noticing the red blotches forming on the skin of her jerking and writhing bottom convinced Denise that the pain in her palm was as nothing compared with the smarting stinging Suzanne must now be enduring in her regions of shame. She aimed the slaps carefully to make the colour spread out over the disobedient and deceitful girl’s rippling flesh. She was beginning to work off some of the annoyance she felt on Suzanne’s temptingly attractive behind, and had she been calm enough to analyse her motives she would have had to confess that the girl’s unwitting interference with her private life compounded her resentment.
Driven by these emotions, Denise’s right hand rose and fell with increasing force and Suzanne could not withhold her yelps for very long. Soon she wept and cried. Her long, slender gazelle-like legs scissored through the air as the entire curvatures of both her rapidly undulating buttocks became bright crimson.
Left… right… across… left… right… across… left… Denise’s punishing hand found its target each time. Occasionally her palm smacked hurtfully across the back of one of Suzanne’s slim, though firm-fleshed thighs, and these special slaps seemed to make the pretty girl emit longer and deeper moans than the spanks being delivered to her already overheated bottom. In between wailing from the pain she was suffering, Suzanne constantly pleaded to be let up and let off further series of these loud, sharp slaps that stung her posterior so mercilessly. But Denise did not allow her hand to rest until she felt satisfied with the work she had done and certain that she had lit a fire in Suzanne’s neatly-curved backside that would smoulder for hours and thereafter serve as an admonitory memory until her teenaged years were past.
When Suzanne was finally set free on tottering legs she continued to weep and sob like a forlorn infant. With fumbling hands she eased her knickers up inside her fallen skirt and then, red-cheeked at both ends, she very regretfully sneaked away up to her room, her pride shattered. Half an hour later Denise could still hear her crying through the ceiling.
Throughout the following week Suzanne appeared to be unusually subdued, and her behaviour was certainly extremely careful. One evening towards the end of the week, Denise brought home from school a brand new and very supple, thin yellow cane. She put a nail into the wall behind the kitchen door and hung the cane there by its crook. The menacing-looking cane became a good reminder for Suzanne to watch her behaviour. But strangely enough, it was this cane which also started something quite new in Henry and Denise’s relationship.
Of course Denise told Henry about what had happened between her young ward and herself, and he was also shown the new cane. Henry had smiled and agreed with Denise that she had done what he too thought was the best for Suzanne.
As the days passed, the cane became a temptation to Denise. Almost every day she looked at it and ran her fingers along the length of the springy rattan, caressing its girth before bending it between her hands. The cane had a power that began to fascinate Denise, besides reminding her of her own teens. Her mother had spanked her at times, but only once had she been caned. Denise still shuddered when she thought about that punishment. She had tried to forget it but for some strange reason she now seemed to be excited by the memory and to her surprise she often found herself dwelling on it pleasurably at night before drifting off to sleep.
At the time that she had been caned, as any girl would in the circumstances, Denise had felt very deeply ashamed. She had been ashamed of herself, and not so much about the caning that she had received as the reason for her caning. She had stolen a packet of cigarettes and a chocolate bar in a shop. The owner had told her headmaster. Her parents had never been notified. Instead, the headmaster had given her eight with his own supple cane. She had been almost 18 years old then. She herself had felt less humiliated that he had pulled down her knickers to punish her than about the fact that she had done something so utterly unthinkable. She had agreed with him that she fully deserved the punishment he had offered her instead of asking her parents to come to the school to discuss their daughter’s future. The caning had really hurt — like savage stinging fire consuming her bare bottom, leaving thick, swollen, throbbing weals in its wake.
At its conclusion she had just managed to say ‘Thank you, sir…’ as a well-mannered girl automatically would, but afterwards Denise had felt truly grateful to her Headmaster for allowing the matter to remain secret between them.
The approaching weekend would also become a memory, Denise thought as she flitted around her home one Friday afternoon towards the middle of October. She was alone because Suzanne had been given a week’s special leave from school for family reasons and would not be back until the following Wednesday.
For a few days, Henry and she could spend as much time together as they wanted. Denise was expecting him within the hour and his arrival would signal the start of a long weekend which they had planned for weeks. They had talked volumes about it and had agreed upon what to do. The whole scheme had become more exciting every time they had discussed it. Right now Denise felt doubtful if she would dare go through with it. But perhaps it was too late for her to change her mind.
Denise nervously glanced at the clock again. Henry could come at any minute. She went to the mirror and looked herself over and liked what she saw. The reflection in the glass was not exactly that of a strictly-attired school-marm! Denise smiled anxiously, feeling a particular churning in her stomach, and let out a high-pitched giggle. She was suddenly tempted to take a walk down the road to the shops, but wisely she refrained from doing it.
Turning slowly from side to side, she admired her own slim, girlish body She actually felt completely like a schoolgirl. The uniform she had worn in her late teens still fitted her. Her training as an athlete had preserved her lissom figure. The brown pleated skirt was brief, reaching only halfway down her lithe thighs, and to her secret pride it made her display a most shapely pair of long legs whose bareness eventually disappeared into white knee-length socks. As she posed breathlessly in front of the mirror enjoying the sight of herself from all sides, Denise felt most proud of her figure. There were not many girls in the sixth form who had a waist like hers. Perhaps her blouse stretched more tightly across her firmly-pointed breasts than theirs did, but it felt nice to have that old school blouse.
All of a sudden her mood of self-admiration was broken by the harsh sound of the doorbell. Nervously Denise tossed back her pigtails and smoothed her short skirt down. She cast a last glance at herself in the mirror. Her lips quivered in an unsure smile as she turned and hurried to the door.
‘Good evening, sir,’ she gasped, sounding just like a shy teenaged schoolgirl. She dropped a little curtsey, then held the door open for him.
‘Good evening, Denise,’ Henry answered as he stepped in, leaving her to close and lock the door.
Then they both laughed and he hugged her and told her she looked charming in her school uniform. After some long kisses, with Henry showing more passion than ever before, they sat down on the sofa with a glass of wine each, enjoying the first occasion for a long time when they could be alone together in the cottage without watching the clock.
Half an hour went past and both wine glasses were replenished and emptied. Denise then took the tray with bottle and glasses out into the kitchen, where she put them into the sink. She straightened her clothing, took several deep breaths, and then slowly returned to her living-room.
‘There you are, Denise,’ Henry boomed when she stood in the doorway with her eyes downcast and her hands clasped together in front of her brown pleated skirt. ‘I heard Miss Craft sent you to see me. What have you been up to now?’
‘Nothing… er, nothing much, sir,’ Denise quavered in her youngest possible voice. ‘I didn’t mean to, sir. It just happened, it was my satchel, sir.’
‘Yes, so I have heard. Now did you, or did you not throw your satchel through the window?’ he enquired.
‘No, sir. I did, sir… but I didn’t mean to. It was an accident sir.’ Denise tried to sound like a frightened schoolgirl and was surprised by how real everything seemed to be. It could have been true that she had done exactly that. She felt as if she had smashed a window and been sent to the Headmaster. It had happened in reality a few days ago to a poor unfortunate girl in the fifth form and it was her story Henry and she had decided to use when acting out this scene.
Jennifer, the girl concerned, was tall and rather pretty and she had turned 18 only a few weeks before. Denise had watched her in the gym the day after she had received her punishment knowing full well what had happened to her. Jennifer had not been at all happy. She had constantly kept tugging down the legs of her tight gym knickers, desperately trying to conceal from her classmates the lowest cane welts which showed every time they rode up. Denise had smilingly told Henry about it at their next meeting and so their plan had taken definite form.
‘Tell me, why did you throw your satchel, Denise?’
‘It was Melanie, sir. She was… she…’
‘So you wanted to hit her? Is that right?’
‘Yes, sir… No, sir… I don’t know, sir…’
Denise did her best to stammer and to act as if she had been Jennifer, and succeeded in doing it very convincingly — convincing herself too.
‘What did Mrs Craft tell you?’
Denise fidgeted and bit her lip. Then she shyly put the tip of her tongue out and moistened her lips.
‘She said… said I had to go to the headmaster to be… to be p-p-punished, sir. But… I didn’t mean it. You don’t have to punish me. I really didn’t know that Melanie would step aside. Do you have to, sir?’
Denise’s whole body was now tense and her clasped hands were white with pressure.
‘I think that is exactly what you deserve, young lady’ Henry’s tone had changed too and now he really was her very strict headmaster ‘You have been here before, so you know where the cane is. I want you to fetch it for me, NOW!’
Denise hesitated and looked left and right and down at her shoes. She appeared to be in an agony of apprehension and was obviously trying to avoid meeting his eyes. Slowly she turned on her heels and with very short steps she tripped away out through the kitchen door. Her hips swayed slightly, tempting him to feast his eyes on her alluringly clad behind. About half a minute later she again appeared on the threshold, now holding the very thin and lithe yellow cane in her right hand.
‘Come here, girl,’ Henry said sternly, beckoning to hurry her up. As Denise most reluctantly approached he drew out a straight-backed chair and placed it in the centre of the room with its back to the window.
Trembling, Denise handed him the cane and felt him grasp her upper arm, propelling her towards the chair. Her yielding grace was all softness, youth and femininity.
‘How many times have you been here, Denise?’
‘Just once, sir.’
‘You have been punished by your form mistress too. Haven’t you?’
‘Yes. sir… three times. But only once with the cane.’
‘And your house mistress?’
‘Only the slipper. But not very often, sir.’
‘I see… Under the circumstances I don’t think I can let you off with six. It will have to be ten at least And I hope you will try to show some fortitude Denise. Bend over here.’
Denise shivered and felt very repentant. She looked with awe at the springy cane which he was whippily swishing through the air as he waited for her to obey.
Denise knew their agreement had to stand, she couldn’t go back on it now. That cane had started it. She had gone to the headmistress to get one in case Suzanne became too much for her. Mrs Blakefield had smiled and invited her to take her pick from the cupboard containing the new canes.
Denise had discussed the subject with Henry several times since. She felt doubtful whether she would ever dare to use the cane. She had forgotten now quite how such an instrument felt when it smacked down on to its target… perhaps, she had blushingly whispered to him, she would have to learn how it felt.
Henry had readily agreed with her. They had discussed it more seriously at some length and as a mutual fantasy their secret game had grown and they had formed the rules. Henry had to decide how many strokes she would get and he was to punish her with the same strength as would be used in caning a schoolgirl.
Yet there was one distinction upon which Henry insisted. Schoolgirls were allowed one modesty-preserving layer of clothing, their regulation school knickers when they got the cane. But Henry wanted her to take it on the bare.
Denise had not been too keen at first but somehow she felt it would be more exciting that way. She agreed with him that there had to be real cane marks and that he would not be able to see them properly if she had knickers on. At the time, that emphatic proposal of his had caused a strong surge in her feelings.
Denise inhaled deeply and cast an imploring glance at her lover, now her headmaster, as if she wanted to beg him not to be so strict Slowly and reluctantly, no longer really needing to act as if she were that fifth form girl, she stepped close to the back of the chair and bent forward over it Her hands clasped hard around the edge of the chair seat and her provocatively short brown pleated skirt rode up high at the back as she pushed her rounded bottom out.
‘I think twelve will be more appropriate Denise,’ he changed his former decision.
‘Oh, no… n-no-oo…’ Denise stuttered, her hips swaying a little in fright. And then she felt his hands flip the tail of her skirt up over her back displaying the matching brown pair of tight-fitting schoolgirl knickers she had on.
‘Yes, twelve,’ he repeated firmly and hooked his fingers inside the elasticated waist band above her almost boyishly slender hips. Denise closed her eyes with a look of anguished suspense on her face. She was shamefully and anxiously aware of her knickers slowly descending down her hips and thighs till he left them turned inside-out three-quarters of the way down her long, tapering thighs.
Panting with fear and excitement Denise clenched her teeth. She tried not to tense her bottom. She dared not look behind her so she did not see the smile that curled her new headmaster’s lips. With closed eyes she sensed and knew he had raised the cane. Her firm, attractively-curved buttocks winced as she waited for it to swish down and make the first of a full dozen burning streaks across her tender flesh. She heard it travelling through the air.
Unable to control herself, Denise let out a wailing screech through tightly-closed lips. Now she was to be taught by stinging cracks of the cane how Suzanne most probably one day would feel the very same cane’s effects, which would certainly be highly beneficial for her and scorch some sense into the disobedient miss.