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Friday, 18 October 2019

Counting the Cost

From Blushes Supplement 13
Four!’ The number came out in a strangled, high-pitched gasp, the pitch increasing until it ended in a kind of squeak. She’s cracking, thought Bradley, looking down at the fourth bright weal he had just raised across the ample bottom curving before him. Well, it wasn’t surprising; he’d given them to the girl almost flat out. Even so, throughout, her hands had managed to stay gripped to the far edge of the table. Maybe she’d let go just once, but only briefly, and made no attempt to interfere. But those stripes had certainly put her hindquarters into motion. She’d twisted frantically as each had bitten, sliding along the table, half turning over, buttock-flesh bouncing and juddering.
Bradley, from previous disciplinary experience of this nature, already knew Connie was tough. That was why he was laying into her with the force he was. All girls were different. Some could take hardly anything without making a dreadful fuss. You simply had to learn how far you could go with each one of them. Connie’s acquired toughness, he knew, came from the frequent beltings her father had given her ever since she reached the age of 12 or 13. These, it seemed ceased at 16 when, for some inexplicable reason, he had decided it wasn’t seemly that he thrash his daughter any more.
‘I’m leaving that to your teachers in future,’ he said. ‘In fact, to one in particular. Mr Bradley Davenport, the Assistant Head. I shall be writing to him.’
Connie, it transpired, had appeared unperturbed. There was nothing she could do to avoid her father’s beltings but she reckoned she’d be able to wheedle around ‘Bradders’, as the girls had nicknamed him. Now Connie knew differently; especially at that very moment.
The girl gritted her teeth fiercely, tensing for the fifth stroke which was so long in coming. Her buttocks kept clenching with anticipatory dread; she had no control over them. However, stubborn-minded as she was, she was determined not to cry out even though she knew the rotten beast was really giving it to her good and hard this time. The weals felt like thin bands of hot metal curving over her flesh… from the left flank to the right flank. And it was at the right flank, where the tip of the cane zipped in most furiously, that they burnt most of all.
Then came the short rasping sweeesh of the cane descending again. Instinctively, Connie twisted her bottom to the right — so as to avoid that tip on the right flank again — it made very little difference. She took the full blaze of the pain over her left buttock-cheek and half of her right buttock-cheek, with the tip biting deep into the centre softness of that cheek. Where it seemed to hurt just as much.
She caught her breath, sucking it again and again, as she absorbed the pain. It was the sound one made when going under a cold shower.
It wasn’t exactly crying out, but it was the next best thing.
‘F-five… ahhh… five…’ she managed. Her eyes were moist. There was only one more to go.
Bradley’s admiration increased. Still the girl had kept her grip; still he hadn’t got a proper yell out of her. How old was she now? Must be 17½ at least; so she wouldn’t have to put up with this sort of thing much longer. Pity as far as he was concerned. He reckoned he must have caned the girl at least half-a-dozen times since he’d received her father’s directive (it was certainly more than mere permission) and he frankly had to admit to himself that he particularly enjoyed doing so. It was the sort of bottom which positively invited the cane. Rather on the large size, full-rounded, upthrusting. Moreover, Connie’s toughness was an added bonus. He could really swing the cane.
Despite the girl’s contortions, the stripes were fairly evenly spaced, about an inch apart. Pity the last one had not quite gone full circle. Still, you couldn’t have everything. Not when you were making a behind writhe as much as he was. Bradley knew exactly where he was going to place the sixth stroke. Just at that join of the lower buttock-cheeks and the tops of the thighs. In his experience, that always made them jump more than anything. A most sensitive strip of girl flesh. Difficult, though, to be absolutely accurate. One could easily be half-an-inch or so out either way. Mind you, a cut across the tops of the thighs seemed to produce plenty of agonised reaction, too!
Bradley steadied himself. Poised… and took aim. No. The girl was twisting again. She was expecting it any second now. A violent clench-clench of the plump nates. Oh definitely! So he kept her waiting a little longer. Almost resignedly, it appeared, the bottom turned square on again. Bradley struck instantly and, as it turned out, most accurately. Just where he had aimed, just where he wanted.
And, this time, a true yell of pain was forced from the girl as her head was thrown back and, at long last, she could no longer maintain her grip on the table. Twisting and kicking, hands clamping urgently to the very last weal raised, Connie tumbled off the end of the table to end up kneeling on the floor. Her shoulders heaved, there were tiny dry sobs. Bradley sensed she was angry with herself for that final display of weakness. If such it could be called.
‘How many, Connie?’ he demanded.
‘Six… sir…’ Was there sulky petulance in that reply? He always made them count. He considered it all part of the punishment. They must never forget — which was easy to do under the circumstances. Recently, it had occurred to him that it might be even more salutary if the girl not only had to call the stroke just received but then, after a few moments, state how many more there were still to come. The more he thought of the idea the more he liked it.
‘You may get up, Connie.’
The girl stood up slowly, automatically reaching out for her school knickers on the floor, where they had been tossed before the start of the punishment.
They were of thin, white cotton. Bradley saw that her eyes were moist and reddened, but she was not actually crying. Yes, this Connie was tough all right. That evening, she was certainly going to have to be!
‘No… don’t put your knickers on, Connie,’ he said abruptly. She looked at him in some bewilderment, at the same time showing him an ample brown triangular bush. Not that that seemed to perturb her.
‘W-why ever not?’
‘You obviously have not seen the note your father sent with you this evening.’
‘No… I haven’t… so?’ She was beginning to look cheeky and defiant. Silly girl. You couldn’t win against the willow.
‘I will read it to you, Connie. At least, the important parts. He says: ‘Connie, despite repeated warnings, has been persistently staying out late… has been consorting with youths in local public houses… I am simply not going to have this sort of thing at her age. If something is not done, she will soon be in serious trouble. Mr Davenport, the remedy is in your hands. This evening, Connie is not to receive the customary six strokes, but twelve. I am sure this will do her a power of good.’ Bradley paused, seeing the girl’s mouth opening in shock and dismay.
‘Ohhh… no… that’s too much…’
‘Personally,’ said Bradley,’ I think your father is right. You need to be cured of such wayward habits.’ What a pontificating ass you are sometimes, he thought! Really, all you want is to have a girl’s bare bottom in front of you and lay a cane across it.
‘Please… it’s too much… you must understand that… sir.’ The ‘sir’ was a sob. She was looking at him with melting, pleading eyes. ‘M-must you, sir?’ He knew what she was driving at alright, but he wasn’t having any of that. Far better to stick to the job in hand.
‘Yes, I must,’ replied Bradley firmly. ‘However, I shall give you a little time to compose yourself before we resume. I know it won’t be pleasant, Connie, but I think it is best for you.’
A flare of hate in those eyes, then a big, big pout. Now she was crying. Just a little.
Bradley locked the door behind him. It seemed a sensible precaution.
In his own room, he sipped a glass of whisky. A quarter of an hour would probably be long enough, he thought. He wondered if she would give him any trouble. Never had done before but, under the circumstances, you never knew. He’d always been able to cope; even with the weak ones.
For Connie’s father had started something. Word had got around amongst parents (discreetly, of course) and Bradley was soon getting many parental letters giving permission and directives. Soon there were some pretty regular arrivals in the evenings. Not all for the cane, it must be said. Some for a spanking; others for a slippering. Bradley got the instructions and carried them out. Anxious parents were having their minds set to rest. Teenage behaviour, amongst the girls, at least, was improving.
When, refreshed, if not stimulated, Bradley returned and unlocked the door, he was a little startled to see that Connie was now completely naked. Her breasts, he noted at once, were as fulsome as her buttock-cheeks and, since she was still so young, they sagged scarcely at all. Buxom was a word that described her most adequately. Yes, there was definitely temptation there, but he knew, he was going to resist it.
‘S-sir… Mr Davenport… sir…’ She began to stammer. Her cheeks were very pink. ‘I… I’ve been thinking, sir… there could be another way out.’ She moved her hips suggestively. ‘If you see what I mean?’
‘Oh yes, Connie, I see exactly what you mean,’ replied Bradley almost derisively. ‘You are offering me your body if I spare you the rest of your punishment. Is that correct?’
The girl’s cheeks changed from pink to red. ‘If… if you put it… like that…’
‘I do,’ said Bradley. ‘And your offer is rejected. Absolutely. Frankly, if your father heard about this, I can hardly bear to think what he’d have me do to you.’
‘Ooohhh… you wouldn’t tell him! Not ever! W-would… you?’ That lush young body was now quivering with dread.
‘I may not tell him, Connie,’ he said. ‘It very much depends on your behaviour from now on.’ He gave a kind of snort of disgust. ‘Really, Connie, you have amazed me this evening. Only 17, aren’t you… and I must be at least twice your age. I don’t know what you girls are like these days. I think there is only one cure…’
He picked up the cane off the table. ‘Ohhh no… no… no… I’m so burning sore already!’
‘Precisely,’ said Bradley. ‘That’s why you’re getting these six extra. They’re going to hurt a very great deal. That’s what it’s all about. A plan to stop you sliding into evil ways.’ There I go again, he thought, pontificating. What a hypocrite you are! ‘Come along… I want you over this table again.’ The supple rod tapped peremptorily on the wood.
‘Please… not too… h-hard… not after what you’ve done already!’ Oh how plaintive! Yet so simple to ignore. Bradley wondered how Connie’s female pride was feeling at that moment. She’d offered herself and had been rejected. Perhaps she didn’t value herself all that highly.
‘Just bend over, you wicked young lady,’ he said. Then he watched the nubile nakedness spread itself across the table.
Yes nakedness. Stark nakedness. He’d never caned a girl in that state before. it certainly added a new dimension. Made the girl seem more helpless and vulnerable. More humiliated. He heard Connie sobbing and, mercifully, took up a stance on the opposite side of her hindquarters. The right flank had had plenty of zip; now it would be the turn of the left. ‘This is for disobedience to your father’s orders, and to help you to grow up a decent woman.’
The cane whiplashed down just as hard as it had done earlier but now, with the added tension and torment, Connie lost control immediately. Proud and stubborn as she might be, there were limits to what she could stand. She catapulted up off the table, hands urgently clasping, yelping gasps jetting out unrestrainedly.
Bradley took his time. ‘Count…’ he ordered at last.
‘Mmmmf… urrr… s-seven…’ came the sobbing reply. He decided to apply his new piece of numerical discipline.
‘How many to come, Connie?’
It was not a difficult piece of arithmetic. ‘Uuuurrrr… mmmfff…  five…’ came the answer after a few moments.
‘That’s quite right, Connie. Kindly place yourself over the table again.’
‘Ohhh… I can’t b-bear it!’
‘You’re going to have to, I’m afraid.’ Up she came, eyes now streaming, big breasts swaying; stretching out once more, lush buttocks curving. Hhhmmm… they certainly were beginning to look a nasty sight. Bradley was confident that Connie would be home early in future. For the next few weeks at least. His eyes lingered on the quaking flesh; there was not any hurry at all. Not the slightest. He tapped that flesh lightly and got the most amazing flinching-quivering reaction. Oh yes, quite delicious to observe. He measured the curves; heard the sobs increasing; saw the whiteness of the clenched knuckles. She was definitely suffering. He was trying to lay these strokes in between the first six… but one could not always be successful. Stroke number eight over-laid an earlier one and Connie’s shriek of torment was half-demented as, once more, she threshed frantically down on to the floor.
Yes, this is quite some caning, reflected Bradley, looking down. But he was sure this was absolutely the right course. Possibly this young girl’s ultimate salvation. He had to admit, though, there were some fringe benefits as far as he was concerned!
‘How many, Connie?’ he demanded over the half-hysterical sobbing.
‘A… a… eight… oooh… please no more… I can’t bear… any more!’
‘How many to come, Connie?’
‘Aaaaagghhh… f-four… oh please please… nooo… oooo!’
‘Correct, Connie,’ Looking unemotional, but not feeling it in the slightest, Bradley raised the whippy cane yet again.
When it was finally over (which was quite some time in view of Connie’s increasing reluctance to present herself in the desired fashion) Bradley was sympathetic and consoling in a ‘fatherly’ sort of way. He admonished; yet he said he regretted what he had had to do. Why didn’t she behave better, like girls used to do?
‘Did they?’
Bradley saw her looking at him defiantly. Surprisingly, she was still completely naked, but this aspect of things did not seem to concern her. He suddenly recalled the first time he had ordered her to take off her knickers. There had been no complaint nor hesitation. Maybe she’s a bit of an exhibitionist, he thought.
‘Yes… I’m sure they did,’ he answered, after quite a while to consider. ‘Connie, would you like me to get you something for your bottom. It must be very sore.’
The girl grimaced. ‘Sore’ was obviously an understatement. In fact, it was throbbing and burning quite excruciatingly and the weals felt as if they were standing about a quarter of an inch out of her flesh. Which they weren’t, it must be said. ‘Like what?’ Sulky again.
‘Some cold cream. Something soothing like that…’
She looked resentful, not wanting to accept any favours. But there was a calculating look in her reddened eyes as well. ‘Alright then…’
‘You’ll have to come downstairs.’ Bradley unlocked the door and, much to his surprise, Connie followed him out, still quite naked. Most girls would have taken her chance to cover up a little. Still, he wasn’t going to complain about that. Indeed, a little plot was already forming in his mind.
‘Scotch, Connie?’
‘Yes… make it a big one. I reckon I deserve it.’ That was true. All the same, Bradley found it quite difficult — within the next minute — to realise he was drinking in private with a nude 17-year-old. One he had just thrashed the arse off! How strange life was; yet sometimes how rewarding! ‘Where’s this cold cream then?’
Happily, Bradley went to fetch a jar. ‘Here you are, my dear. I’m sure it will help.’
‘I suppose,’ said Connie, slanting eyes at him in streetwise fashion, ‘you’d rather put it on?’
Bradley felt a thumpity-thump inside. ‘Er… if… if that’s what you’d prefer.’
‘It’s not what I prefer,’ answered Connie, coming close to him, naked breasts pressing to his chest. ‘I’m just working out what’s best for me.’ Bradley, needless to say, was not slow on the uptake. Maybe his little plot was unnecessary after all; maybe it was all going to come good anyway.
‘Well, then… I… well… I’d be happy to do it for you, Connie.’ Bradley paused, feeling suddenly hot. ‘Perhaps you’d like to lie down on the sofa.’
The girl gave him a sardonic look. ‘Better than being caned,’ she said. ‘Remember that next time my Dad sends me here, eh?’
‘Er… er… yes… I’ll remember that, Connie…’ Bradley looked down at the weal-striped bottom thrust up at him, thighs well splayed. It really was a fascinating sight. His fingers began to soothe ointment into the soft joggling flesh. Connie gasped.
But was soon sighing with pleasure.
‘Sure you’ll remember?’ she enquired after a little while.
Absolutely sure!’ said Bradley…

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