Her mother gave her one of those famous withering looks.
‘Do you want to be a Majorette or not?’ she spoke the words rather than asked a question.
‘Yes, of course I do mum. But I am twenty years old; not ten?’ the attractive young daughter reminded her mother in an exasperated tone.
‘So?’ her mother’s eyes widened in surprise at what she considered a very stupid and unnecessary statement.
‘Well… you know Mr Hansom… he… well you know… he thinks of all women as… well… as girls… and if they make mistakes then Mr Hansom gets his strap out…’
‘I don’t know what is coming over the younger generation these days,’ her mother said derisively. ‘When I was a girl we expected to be punished if we misbehaved. It was all part of growing up.’
‘Yes, Mum… but I am not a girl.’ Sandra retorted.
‘Tosh,’ her mother showed her contempt.
‘Mum… I am not a girl,’ Sandra tried to defend her dignity.
‘Look here my girl. A woman is always a girl at heart. There will come a time when you will blatantly tell lies to cut years off your age.’
‘Alright mum. But I do not want to go into a situation now where Mr Hansom will make me well you know… make me take my panties down for a tanning,’ the lovely blonde blushed in anger and also the squirming distress that filled her tummy.
‘OK… OK… I’ll tell him you’re not interested and we can give your majorette uniform to Cynthia and she can have the lessons,’ her mother told her. That was the one statement she knew would have her own daughter in a state of incensed anger. The mention of Cynthia, the hated cousin, having the glory light in the big parade was sufficient goading to get Sandra in a more acceptable state of mind.
‘Cynthia?… are you seriously suggesting Cynthia takes the majorette’s place instead of me?’ Sandra was aghast.
‘Certainly. You don’t want to take lessons from Mr Hansom. But I know that Cynthia would not give two hoots about the strap… she’d be too grateful to him for taking the trouble.’
‘That’s… that’s not fair,’ Sandra angrily spat out.
‘You can’t have it both ways,’ her mother told her.
‘Oh shit,’ Sandra groaned.
‘That’s enough of that language young lady, or it won’t be Mr Hansom who straps your precious bottom,’ her mother warned her.
‘Sorry.’ Sandra reddened. She knew her mother in one of these moods!
There was now one of those ‘pregnant pauses’!
‘Alright, Mum. I…I’d like to do the training,’ Sandra told her mother.
‘Suit yourself,’ her mother told her unreasonably. ‘Just so long as one member of the family is leading the parade I am beginning not to care which one it is.’
‘Mum,’ Sandra smiled her very best winning smile. ‘You know you want me to do it.’
‘Yes, of course I do. Look. Forget Mr Hansom’s little strange ways. He’s one of the old school but he is so very good at the disciplines that are necessary for a first class majorette,’ she sighed.
Sandra was adamant that it would not be that bloody Cynthia! She would rather have her bottom skinned alive than let Cynthia be the one doing the well-disciplined steps that would lead the big parade. Anyway, her cousin would probably enjoy having Mr Hansom strapping her bottom… randy cow!!
‘No we do not want the full uniform, Sandra.’ Mr Hansom was being at his very tetchiest.
‘Oh… what should I come in?’ she asked.
‘You will need your headgear, of course. We must make sure that all your movements will not dislodge your top gear. Oh yes… panties,’ here followed a short jerky laugh. ‘You must have panties. Your ankle socks and the shoes you will be on parade with. And the upper garment. I think that should do it. Not worried about the skirt because that only comes halfway up your thighs and I want to be able to study your leg movements, so I think that should do… see you tomorrow,’ he hung up.
Sandra stood beside her bed and studied the short outfit that she would be wearing when she went along to Mr Hansom. Lord, but there wasn’t much of it!
Except for the hat, she felt that she could quite easily hide the whole lot in a small envelope. Oh well; she knew she would suffer the hell of the damned rather than let Cynthia have the spotlight in the parade. Normally she would have encouraged Cynthia to go along to Mr Hansom, but that cow would positively encourage the master of music to stripe her bum… peculiar girl that Cynthia! How could a girl possibly thrust her bottom back so forcefully and plead for the strap across her behind. Sandra remembered only some years before how Cynthia had insisted that Harold their other cousin lay it on as hard as he liked when they were playing in the garden.
There was no doubt as far as Sandra was concerned; Cynthia must not be allowed to take the prime place in the big parade. And like all young ladies, once her mind was made up. Sandra knew that she would be prepared to suffer hell and high water to attain the prized position.
Even as she walked up the long path to the old oak-panelled door, Sandra was beginning to feel the jitters in her tummy. He’s going to find every excuse to spank my bottom: I know he is. Mum doesn’t care so it will be no use complaining to her. And it will certainly do no good to plead with him not to do it. She had the feeling that the more she begged him not to, the more he would anyway. It would not be so bad if he just gave her sort of paternal smacks, but she automatically and intuitively knew that he would enjoy watching her bottom move under the administration of a spanking. Or the strap. She had seen that terrible-looking strap laying on top of his piano. What made it all worse was the fact that the strap had been purposefully manufactured for the express reason to beat across young bottoms! How could anybody dream up a manufactured piece of leather for the express purpose of strapping it across a bare bottom? It was barbaric. Well, in her case it was! It would have been alright if he was bringing it down on that awful Cynthia’s bum because Cynthia was a peculiar type of another degree. She would positively plead with him to strap her… one of those masochists or whatever they are called.
Anyway, Sandra knew without any self-flattery that her bottom was much nicer than Cynthia’s. Harold had told her so when they played those games in the garden and it was her turn to have a twig brought down onto her fresh-bloomed checks,
‘Come on Hansom, you bloody old slow-coach. I’m getting cold standing out here. I know you are in a hurry to get your hands on me,’ she muttered under her breath.
‘Ah Sandra. How nice to see you,’ his smile was only with his mouth. His eyes were a steel blue that told her volumes that if she did not conform then her poor bum would most certainly suffer.
And because he wanted to impress upon her the importance of doing her best, he gave her bottom a slight smack as she passed him. Sandra felt indignant rage and embarrassment all at the same time as she deftly thrust her pelvis forward to escape the second smack.
‘Sod him, he’s not going to have carte blanche freedom with my backside,’ she resolutely told herself.
‘Now Sandra let us have you in your uniform,’ he smiled hungrily.
At least she was allowed privacy to redress herself and when she eventually peeped round the screen she followed her look by stepping into the room. One could hardly blame Mr Hansom for wanting to see this perfect statuesque beauty in such a state of attire. She was a glorious beauty and a sheer delight on the eyes. Short tight panties. (they’d have to come off, he decided) a halter bra arrangement that was a uniformed piece of material with tassels hanging from the cups themselves and the tall majorette hat. Prim ankle socks with high heeled shoes. Yes, positively delightful.
He told her to stand on the circular stool and then he went to his piano.
‘It is all a matter of discipline. Discipline in mind and discipline in body,’ he told her.
Here we go, she thought. He hasn’t taken long to introduce the threat of the stinging strap. She was attractive in face and body but she had all her faculties about her. Sandra was not stupid nor naive. The word discipline could only carry one suggestion… spanking. The gusset of the panties were a bit tight and she constantly had to run her fingertips round the legs of the panties to ease it free of a tight grip it held on her thighs and into the soft vulva lips themselves. Not only that but the legs seemed to want to get between the crevice of her bum and this was making life decidedly uncomfortable at the moment.
‘Now what’s the matter?’ he snapped angrily after Sandra had slipped her fingers into her panty legs for the umpteenth time.
‘These are too tight,’ she snapped back with equal fury.
‘Don’t you get snappy with me young lady. There are plenty of girls ready to take your place,’ he reminded her.
His words had the desired effect of making her realise that she would get nowhere if she upset him. He was the deciding factor as far as who led the parade and who did not. So far he had been content to accept Sandra as the most prominent, attractive and shapeliest girl to do the job.
‘In that case, we can slip them down,’ he said.
And as her eyes opened in amazement her panties were tugged in one sharp movement all the way down to just below her knees. She was so surprised that she just stood there looking down at her re-sited panties!
‘I… oh… please…’ she gasped.
As she leaned over to recover her panties and her modesty, she felt a stinging spearing line of fire buzz across her bottom.
‘Aaaaooower…’ she shot up straight again, her hands raced to the fire-filled cheeks of her bottom and, despite the panties down below her knees, her feet danced frantically up and down making the panties situation even more precarious.
‘The rhythm is alright… I think you are moving your feet up and down much too fast, and you are not moving them high enough,’ he smiled at his attempt of pulling her leg.
‘Oooh… that… that hurt,’ she angrily told him.
‘Flea bite, my dear,’ he told her back uncompromisingly.
‘I don’t like it,’ she said unnecessarily.
‘Then you must do nothing to earn further strokes,’ he reasoned. ‘Now. Hands together above your head,’ he instructed.
Slowly, now fighting tears of outrage, Sandra reached up with both hands and this gave him a perfect view of the fluffy triangle of curly hairs that nestled in a thatch-like nest at the juncture of her thighs. It was truly a picture of a shapely young woman having to forget her pride and dignity and accept the complete humiliation of having her body near naked before this authoritarian tyrant.
He turned to the piano again. Mr Hansom was rather reluctant to take his eyes from the still-life statue now standing like a display piece on the circular dial. He would normally have been content to sit there looking at it all afternoon. Looking at it and touching it, of course. Touching it where his fancy took him. But soon she would be bewildered enough not to understand the reason he was feeling her wherever he liked. He knew he would have to ‘hand-measure’ her breasts before she went out. She would probably get excited, but that was all for the better.
‘Now come on. Bags of ‘swank’ in your movements,’ he told her.
The piano tinkled out the martial music with his perfect tempo to guide the movements of her feet as they rose and fell, rose and fell. The panties were suffering the restrictions of her legs and the need to respond to gravity.
‘No. No… Sandra… not good enough…’ the strap was in his hand.
‘Please Mr Hansom,’ she cried out… there was a swishing sound… deadly swishing sound and then a really hard and loud whack…
‘Yaagh… noooo…’ her feet once again did some very unorthodox steps as the blistering heat on her bottom intensified. Then his hand was feeling her bottom. He had turned her round so that her bum was before him and he had eased her slightly over so that it was almost presenting itself properly for the strap in his hand. There was no thought of pleading with him not to do this. All mental capabilities had been transferred to the heated stripes across the bare cheeks of her bottom!
‘I shall give you three for now,’ he warned.
‘Oh no. Please Mr Hansom. That’s monstrous,’ she gasped in disbelief that he could mean it.
‘Six,’ he simply doubled the dose because she was arguing. ‘And I shall double it each time you argue,’ he gave her further warning.
‘That’s not fair… I can’t take six of the strap,’ she choked in an anguished voice.
‘Twelve,’ he said the word simply as though he were prepared to go on doubling the figure all night long if need be.
‘I…’ whatever Sandra was going to say was quickly swallowed in her throat… two twelves are twenty-four… and double that…??? She turned her back to him and when he told her to bend right over, she slowly obeyed the command. It was not just the tawsing that was worrying her either. It was the complete helplessness that she felt as her naked bottom was being made rounder and rounder for the sole purpose of getting a strap across it!
And of course, there was his hand again at work, stroking and feeling the whole area of the rounded orbs and making her feel stupidly childish. It was diabolical that he could keep her bending like this as he felt and played with the cheeks of her arse. And her thighs too. He was stroking his palm freely up and down having a really good free feel of them. Each time his fingertips came up to the crease between bottom and thighs, she thought he was going to touch her very personal parts and she even choked on several occasions as they came perilously near to proving her right!
‘Back with your bottom my dear… right back or else I shall think you are arguing again,’ he told her.
She bit her tongue on a retort she thought she was going to make… and he was gratified to see the delightful buttocks actually make an effort to increase the symmetrical roundness… delicious, he thought, positively delicious to have such perfect cheeks properly rounded and bared for what they deserved!
Swiiisssh… the sound was a curt invasion on the silence of the room. The loud thwack was like a pistol shot.
‘Nnnnooowwww,’ her voice seemed to explode from her mouth. ‘Yeeeooowwww,’ she emphasised her protesting yell with another complaining yelp as her body responded in the most obvious manner. It shot upright and her hands flew once again to hold the cheeks of her backside as the searing flash of fire burned across the orbs themselves. She would never have believed that a bottom could be so fiercely heated. Then she was yelling again… the backs of her rubbing fingers had taken the following swishing stroke and that too was what she did not want. Her hands came round to her mouth as she tried to ease the sting from them by pushing her lips against her knuckles… then there was that terrible pre-warning swish… the thought that came into her mind that she should move out of the way came much too late! She had not realised that she had leaned over again and then the furtherance of excruciating heat throbbed across her bottom.
‘Ywwww… owwwww…’ she was uttering the sounds of a girl who is suffering the pain of a beaten bottom. It was intended for no other reason.
Mr Hansom was quite pleased with her performance so far. He had seen a few bums wriggling and prancing about under the direction of the punishing strap… but this was a superb piece of pulchritude that seemed to have a perfect rhythm all of its own. And he was a past master regarding rhythm and movement.
But he was a man of his word. Despite the imploring tones, the heart-felt pleading from the shapely young miss, her backside was given the full measured dose of twelve. Sandra was sure that she would never be able to take so many strokes… her bottom was a throbbing heated blister of a fireball of shock-pain.
She was not so sure that she even wanted to put her hands on it. It was too tender to the touch but she discovered that by thrusting her bottom from side to side, and then making it go round and round in circular motions as well as thrusting it backwards and forwards, then this seemed to help soothe the whole rounded and reddened area. It was not so much that she was making it perform so perfectly; rather the pelvis seemed to have taken on a routing pattern of its own making!
‘Same time next week?’ he smiled sweetly.
She nodded. It had been an hour since the thrashing.
‘If you change your mind, then Cynthia will be delighted to take your place,’ he gave her a smile that spoke volumes.
‘I…I’ll be here Mr Hansom,’ she said demurely.
‘There… not too tender now is it.’
She chewed her lips stoically as his hands held both cheeks of her bare bum. There was no argument now.
‘Is it nice having me rub it all better?’ he smiled even wider.
‘Y…yes, Mr Hansom,’ she was positively ashamed of herself for her cowardice because she dare not say otherwise and to have to stand here like this with him squeezing and stroking her bottom as he placed his arms round her was the purest form of ignominy.
‘And perhaps next week, I shall be able to soothe you somewhere else,’ his eyes dared her to argue.
‘Y…yes, Mr Hansom,’ her small voice agreed.
‘Good. Now just go and dress my dear.’
She hastily dressed in her outdoor clothes and scuttled back to the front door.
‘Now don’t worry. You are going to prove a really first-class majorette… the best we have ever had… just a few more exercises and then I think we shall have a perfect parade.’
Thank heaven he did not attempt to stroke her bottom again… the pain had receded now to a slightly steady throb…
‘Oh Sandra,’ he said as she went through the door.
‘Mr Hansom?’ her soft blue eyes looked back at him.
‘I don’t think we shall need those tight-fitting panties next week. I shall get you some new ones by the time the parade is to take place. And if you are practising without the panties we may just as well leave the brassiere off too,’ he said.
‘Yes…yes, Mr Hansom,’ she sighed and blushed at the same time.
‘How did it go?’ her mother asked.
‘Alright. He is quite pleased with me I think,’ Sandra continued walking up the stairs.
She studied her blushing face in the bathroom mirror… would she ever lose those blushes she wondered.
‘Ah yes… much better, Sandra,’ he complimented the nude young woman. She raised her knees higher and higher… she turned and she held her arms above her head… even as he held his hand between her legs so that the lips of her soft area moved on his palm. Each time her thighs raised she felt the heat of added caressing sex.
‘Move your hips backwards and forwards.’
As he clutched her in her vulva so she managed to make the desired movement so that instead of his palm stroking her there, she was manipulating the whole act of rubbing her pussy on his hand!
‘That is nice… harder… harder,’ he insisted.
And he proved himself the past master, because before long he needed to give her no further instruction on how fast to move her pelvis in the pistoning movement… she was making all the speed herself and she was pressing herself into even speedier movements…