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Monday, 30 December 2019

Further Education

Story from Februs 25 by Darren Young
Ben looked around the room, a full house tonight. He enjoyed this weekly evening class, or should that he appreciated? Verbs, verbs, everywhere but never the right one. OK, Contemporary Literature and Society was a pretentious title but the tutor, a ‘serious’ novelist, had a light touch and an amusing style of presentation.
His fellow students were the usual mixed bunch. Would-be writers in the main, anxiously analysing the work of already published authors, concentrating assiduously, taking things very seriously.
Others were more laid back, simply glad of a break from the kids or a chance to make new friends. They’d nothing to prove, future Booker prize juries could relax.
And which category do I fall in? mused Ben. Piles of books around his flat revealed a genuine interest in the subject but if he was honest — one of his better traits — he wouldn’t be adverse to a brief encounter either.
For some reason the only other two males in the class had dropped out in the early stages, leaving Ben the sole remaining representative of his gender. Anxious not to dominate conversation, he’d opted for a low profile. I’m a newish man after all, he’d reasoned.
A couple of female students flashed smiles. Social interaction had progressed to the friendly chat in the canteen stage; polite opinions swapped, jokes benignly smiled at. Could this week’s subject: Sex in Modern Writing — Erotica or Pornography? possibly be why so many souls had turned out on a wet April night? True, romantic fiction had also got a good crowd but he’d a feeling his cynicism was well founded.
‘Hi Ben,’ a warm familiar voice jolted him from his reverie and a smiling young woman drew up an adjacent chair. Ben beamed backed a greeting but had no time to talk before the lecture began.
As the tutor launched into a brief preamble, read a couple of college notices, distributed a booklist, Ben stole a series of furtive glances at his immediate companion; just to practise the character sketch techniques they’d learned last term.
Nicola was her name. Quiet, but certainly not shy. Friendly, if a little guarded. A responder rather than an initiator. Green eyes, red hair, mid-twenties, around five foot four with a slim, shapely figure. Face it, he fancied her.
Her voice jolted the daydream believer back to reality. ‘It’s warm in here,’ she whispered shrugging off her blouson jacket. The jumper beneath emphasised a slender waist and small, high breasts.
Flicking back her shoulder-length curls, suddenly aware of Ben’s gaze, she smiled affectionately then rummaged in her bag for a pair of round, steel-framed spectacles: ‘I’d better put these on, don’t want to miss anything.’ Ben was still absorbing the implications of that remark when the tutor introduced the guest speaker.
Louise Lasalle was in her early forties, extremely good-looking, confident and clearly well-educated. Resembling a successful business woman rather than any stereotype of a writer she was elegantly and expensively dressed.
She began her discourse with some historical examples of erotic writing — Chaucer, Shakespeare, the Decameron, before moving on to practical tips: how to handle commissioning editors, which of the various permutations of acceptable subject matter an aspirant author might consider. The first half of the session passed both quickly and divertingly, ending with a promise from Louise to throw the forum open for questions and discussion after the break.
‘There’s nothing new under the sun,’ said Ben to Nicola as he fetched her a coffee. Without intending to he’d reached the canteen first where, to his surprise and pleasure, she’d made a beeline across the room to join him. ‘They certainly weren’t short of inhibitions in the past,’ she agreed, ‘but it’s the second half, the more contemporary stuff, I’m looking forward to, I think we’ll find things get a bit more controversial.’
Her guess proved correct. Louise was explaining the increase in erotic stories for women — on sale in a high street near you — when the argument started.
With a mixture of cowardice and prudence Ben, as token male, kept his head down and his own counsel while barbed words flew about his ears.
An especially tetchy teacher named Angela Dwight took the line that such paperbacks were just another way for men to make money from women.
‘As a writer and a woman,’ Louise pointed out gently, ‘I feel far from exploited.’
‘We shouldn’t be allowing them on the bookshelves,’ cut in Angela, who despite her education clearly hadn’t absorbed the difference between aggression and assertion, ‘erotica, pornography it makes no difference, people must be protected.’
‘And look what strange bedfellows you end up with,’ replied Louise sagely. ‘Religious fanatics, right-wing bigots, anti-abortionists, people that love to proscribe. You say you’re a feminist Angela,’ she continued, ‘did it ever occur to you that the self-appointed moralists you seem so anxious to court are the same people that want to deny women any choices at all?’
‘That’s true,’ said a nearby voice and Ben turned around to see Nicola on her feet. ‘I’ve bought and enjoyed some of these books, I don’t need your protection.’
‘Like Louise’s spanking stories I suppose,’ sneered Angela sarcastically. ‘Women being beaten or bound, what a wonderful use of our new found freedom of expression.’ Nicola reddened but stood her ground. However it was Louise, still calm and in authority, who answered:
‘You’re twisting the argument again, Angela. You just can’t seem to appreciate the difference between fantasy and reality. A lot of my readers are every bit as professionally and personally powerful and successful as you. If they want to act out a submissive fantasy with a trusted partner it doesn’t make them servile, subjugated or second class. Simply it’s a matter of being honest about one’s sexuality. By writing our own erotica we make our own choices.’
The controversy was still raging when the session finally overran.
Ben was intrigued, and not just by the debate, although it’d been instructive to see women arguing in favour of one of his favourite fantasies. He’d also gained an insight as to where Nicola was coming from, and it was somewhere he’d very much like to go. Now or never, he thought as they filed out of the building.
Nicola stood in the corridor, chatting to Louise. ‘Fancy a drink?’ he asked. He’d intended the question for her alone but 15 minutes later the three of them were ensconced in the saloon bar of the Swan.
‘Did you enjoy reading my books?’ Louise enquired innocently. Her enquiry had been directed at Nicola. ‘Yes,’ they unintentionally answered at the same time, then giggled self-consciously at the revelation.
‘Well, my stories usually feature a good deal of CP,’ Louise began; ‘And sex,’ Nicola interrupted. ‘Of course,’ Louise continued with a twinkle, ‘but I’m interested in means as well as ends. Tell me,’ she continued, ‘is your interest in spanking purely literary, or have you ever indulged?’
The two younger people exchanged glances. ‘No, not yet,’ replied Nicola, ‘but the idea sends shivers down my spine, in the right situation with the right person, I believe I would.’ Impressed by the courage of this intimate disclosure Ben decided to follow suit. Somehow it felt easier to reveal such a long-held desire to a woman: ‘I’d love to have a relationship in which I could be masterful, of course we’d be equal in every other respect,’ he added hastily, ‘if I could just find a submissive partner.’
‘If you’ll forgive me flaunting my age and experience I suggest you’ve found each other,’ replied Louise. Ben suddenly became aware that Nicola was now sitting very close to him; unprompted she held his hand.
‘Let’s not prevaricate,’ continued Louise, smiling at this overt confirmation of her intuition. ‘You must both come to dinner this Saturday; perhaps we can provide food for thought as well. A personal tutorial for two special students.’
‘A masterclass,’ responded Ben with a grin.
‘Exactly,’ confirmed Louise, ‘between then and now I suggest you both read some of my stories, absorb the mood, study the characters and dress for the occasion. Oh, and you might like to bring some decent wine; Italian white would be good.’
‘We’ll be there,’ said Nicola earnestly and Ben realised that she’d made the decision for them both.
Three days later the dinner party was going marvellously. Ben felt calm and at case. He’d an anxious moment earlier in the evening when Nicola had been nearly 15 minutes late at the station. Finally she’d arrived, in no apparent rush and looking ravishing, to greet him with a far-from-sisterly kiss.
Louise and Phil, her partner, owned a large Victorian house in a pleasant north London suburb, decorated inside with taste, flair and an eclectic selection of art.
Ben quickly observed a difference in Louise’s demeanour, noticeably more subdued than at their previous meeting. Phil cooked while she welcomed and entertained yet, despite this apparent role reversal, within these walls a man was clearly in charge.
Just as Louise’s appearance belied her occupation so too did Phil’s. Tall and solidly-built with a Yorkshire accent and that county’s celebrated directness he turned out to be an English professor at a nearby University. Adept at getting his initially somewhat over-awed guests to talk freely he proved an informed and witty host, able, without apparent effort or command, to subtly direct the evening’s events.
The meat concluded Ben noticed Louise sitting silently, hands in her lap, eyes following the flow of conversation but making no comment. An electric tension began to suffuse the atmosphere of what might otherwise have been taken for an ordinary dinner party.
‘Always an enjoyable part of the proceedings,’ observed Phil expansively, ‘the anticipation of things to come. I gather Louise has promised you two novices some instruction in our ways,’ he continued. ‘Well, Saturday evenings here are set aside for Louise to account and atone for her sins and for me to dispense discipline as I see fit.
If you, Nicola, and you, Ben, would care to join us we’d be delighted to share our knowledge and experience.’
‘I’m willing,’ replied Nicola decisively.
‘Me too,’ confirmed Ben experiencing an agreeable thrill of adrenalin-fuelled expectation as he spoke the words.
‘Splendid,’ Phil smiled. ‘Now, you’ll no doubt have noticed Louise has been looking a tad apprehensive this last half-hour or so; well she might. Her conduct over the last week — I won’t bore you with the details — has earned her a traditional three-part punishment which I now intend to commence. If you two would be so good as to follow us through to the next room we can begin.’
The lounge was large and warm, atmospherically lit with uplighters and furnished with comfortable antiques.
‘Proper punishments begin with a spanking,’ Phil pronounced, ‘only a bloody barbarian goes straight for a rod or switch. Build up gradually and be surprised how far you can go.’
Ignoring a suitable-looking upright wooden chair he sat instead on a well-padded sofa. Catching Ben’s quizzical expression Phil explained: ‘I know in the magazines the unfortunate damsel touches the floor with hands and toes but if you’re intending to keep her there for more than five minutes it’s hellish hard on the back.’
Taking Louise by the hand he drew her to attention beside him.
She wore an elegant wool suit, silk blouse and black high heels. ‘Lift your skirt woman,’ he ordered. Louise glanced around, as if only now aware of the expectant looks on the faces of her invited audience. Nervously she ran her tongue across her red lips before obeying. From just above the knee she gradually inched the material up bare legs, teasingly revealing taut thighs and buttocks until at last it bunched around her waist.
Unhurriedly, Phil turned Louise in a circle running his hands over her silky-smooth, lightly suntanned flanks. A few strands of dark hair strayed from the front of a pair of black lace-edged knickers, barely containing a full firm backside.
Every inch a sensual, sexual woman thought Ben feeling the front of his trousers tighten involuntarily. Next to him Nicola put on her glasses. On the sofa Louise now languished across Phil’s lap.
Slap, slap, slap, Phil applied his right hand to the rounded, pale checks. Elbows resting on the sofa cushions, chin in her cupped hands Louise stared into the middle-distance as if entranced. Some 50 or more smacks later Phil halted and instead tugged her knickers tightly into the furrow that separated the two reddening globes. Louise jerked her hips agitatedly, the sudden switch from pain to pleasure occasioning her first audible response. Sighing contentedly she turned to observe her partner’s ministrations.
‘Quite sufficient a gradual warm-up,’ said Phil by way of reply. ‘High time you had a proper spanking.’ Slap, slap, slap. Nicola sat on the upright chair, leaning forward to gazed with rapt concentration as this live CP scenario unfolded. Ben noticed her wince in sympathy as noticeably harder smacks echoed like pistol shots around the room. Her skirt had ridden up revealingly and he watched in fascination as she unconsciously clenched and unclenched her thighs.
The effect on Louise was clearly less erotic. Little yelps and moans now escaped her lips as she tried vainly to twist her body from Phil’s tight, waist-encircling grip.
Another pause, Louise groaning in pleasure as Phil’s hand again soothed the hot mounds and his finger explored hidden depths. Told to raise her hips she instantly obeyed allowing Phil to slip the black scanties to her knees.
Smack, smack, smack, Phil redoubled his efforts. Protesting loudly now Louise wriggled fiercely on his lap earning a dozen scalding slaps to her thighs for her trouble. ‘Women who struggle must pay the price,’ announced Phil steadfastly. Ben stole another glance at Nicola who remained fixated by the sight before her, one hand twirling her red hair, the other beneath her skirt.
Phil’s hard hand descended six more times to conclude the first stage of his wife’s ordeal. Tugged to her feet, she stood hair awry and dishevelled, in marked contrast to the manicured, self-possessed woman of 15 minutes previously.
Instinctively her hands flew to rub her burning bottom, now a uniform ruby red. ‘Oh, no you don’t,’ Phil’s directive was punctuated with a sharp slap to the front of each thigh, drawing a wail of complaint. ‘Hands on head and into the corner, now.’ Fettered by her tangled knickers Louise hobbled across the room to stand facing the wall her dark glistening thatch just visible to three pairs of admiring eyes.
‘Your turn, I think, Ben,’ said Phil mildly, returning to his seat, ‘I’m sure you can find an excuse to punish that pretty young person next to you.’
Ben was equal to the moment. ‘I’m not sure I need one,’ he replied in an assured voice, ‘there again,’ he added after a piquant pause, ‘I certainly do not like to be kept waiting by a date.’
Nicola’s reaction to this new authoritative tone was not quite as he’d imagined. He’d expected to be treated to an expression of fey shock, contrarily she merely poked out her tongue. With one stride Ben covered the distance between them. Grasping her wrists he’d pulled the miscreant to her feet and, before she knew it, seated himself on the chair and pushed her over his lap. Drawing up her short pleated skirt with his right hand he reached with the left to deftly remove her glasses.
‘Bravo old chap,’ said Phil taking them from Ben while the latter surveyed his prize. Ignoring Nicola’s token protestations he allowed his hands to glide over a pair of damson coloured briefs. Similar coloured suspenders were fastened to once-again fashionable tan stockings.
‘Now hang on a min…’ Nicola’s last ditch plea for clemency died on her lips as Ben swung down his arm. Resisting the temptation to spank too hard too soon he followed Phil’s example and built up the tempo slowly, working skilfully to both chastise and arouse. Painted fingernails scrabbled at the rug, painted toenails in high strappy sandals kicked in the air.
Ten minutes later, knickers round her ankles, bare bottom an angry pink, Nicola stood next to Louise sneaking a glance over her shoulder to watch the men sip their wine in companionable, contemplative silence.
Phil’s plan for the next stage of this practical introduction to the not-so-gentle art of CP proved ingenious. Plump cushions were placed at the two ends of a long oak dining table and the women bent over them to lie face to face. He instructed each to grasp the other’s wrists before personally taking on the onerous task of removing knickers and spreading legs.
Walking over to a cupboard in the corner Phil took out two tawses which, judging from their appearance, had given sterling service over many years. He handed the lighter of the two to Ben with the words, ‘I’ll go first, then you follow suit.’ Taking his place Ben noticed the older couple were standing in front of a full-length mirror. He watched carefully as Phil raised the burnished two-tailed leather strap to shoulder height before bringing it down across the crown of his wife’s upturned hindquarters.
Louise cried out, sliding forward on the polished table top. The twin hillocks of her cheeks flattened with the impact before springing back into their former spherical shape. Ben followed suit but was disappointed to deliver a rather feeble sounding swat. Phil’s turn again and a satisfying crack of leather on skin drew another shout from Louise who, were it not for Nicola’s firm grasp, would no doubt have shot bolt upright.
Ben tried again but still had not mastered the technique. Nicola’s cry was one of genuine anguish and, as her feet performed an agonised tap dance, he was horrified to see an angry red weal form on her right thigh. He swallowed the urge to apologise as Phil blithely advised, ‘A little too far to the right, don’t let the tails curl round or you miss the proper target’.
Fortunately Ben hit his stride with stroke number three, going on to deliver five crisp, blazing stripes, one after another, each accompanied by increasing cries of woe.
‘Very good,’ observed Phil. ‘You’re quite getting into the swing of things.’ He ran his hands reflectively across Louise’s now blotchy, blazing buttocks. ‘Another four should fit the bill nicely — tell you what, let’s try to synchronise them.’
It was an image Ben hoped he’d never forget: a pair of tawses concurrently swishing down to punish two already very sore bottoms whose owners, self-possession rapidly deserting them, yelled and twisted in unison, tightly grasping each other’s hands for support and succour. Taking his cue from the reflection in the mirror, Ben ensured his final cuts lashed low into that supremely sensitive area where buttocks and thighs merge, forcing the recipient up onto her toes. Louise’s lip trembled, her face flushed but, although breathing rapidly, she maintained her composure.
Less cushioned to resist the searing impacts by the tenth stroke Nicola’s mascara was running in rivulets down each cheek, her high heels drumming on the polished parquet. She looked absolutely gorgeous, thought Ben, at once proud, vulnerable and thoroughly dominated. His erection neared critical mass as he floated on the biggest high of his life.
‘Feel free to rub,’ said Phil expansively as, a thorough tawsing completed, the two women stood stiffly, tentatively reaching behind to gently knead their ravished nether regions.
‘And finally,’ he added returning to the mysterious corner cupboard, ‘the cane.’ Again his choice of implement was rather heavier than Ben’s. ‘I suggest half-a-dozen for Nicky as it’s her first time, but for Louise, who seems determined to be stubborn, the full dozen.
Right woman, centre of the room. You know the drill.’
Head held high, Louise did his bidding. Shedding her blouse and skirt en route she stood erect in just heels and a Wonderbra, revealing that nature had allocated equally generous curves to the upper half of her body. Taking a deep breath she gracefully bent forward to grasp her ankles, feet half-a-metre apart.
Phil delivered half-a-dozen hard, unhurried strokes spaced at roughly ten second intervals and leaving a legacy of neatly-spaced parallel lines that would decorate her derriere for several days. Between each whack Louise struggled to maintain her stance but, despite the all too obvious pain searing through every nerve ending, failed to shed a tear.
‘Very impressive my dear,’ said Phil affectionately as she stood to once again rub the target area ‘but you’re the architect of your own misfortune. Bend again please, knees together, legs straight, and this time push that bottom right out.’
‘The trick,’ he addressed this remark to no one in particular but spoke with the voice of one uttering a universal truth, ‘is to know and respect your partner’s limits, but each time take them just a fraction further. Louise has demonstrated self-control, I shall now exercise complete control.’
Ben and Nicola stared speechless, this was a scenario far beyond their dreams. Chastened and humiliated, nevertheless Louise was visibly sopping wet. ‘Do you accept this final chastisement?’ asked Phil quietly. ‘I do darling,’ came the unhesitating reply.
This time the strokes fell rapidly, one after another, each criss-crossing those applied earlier. Squirming in pain Louise had tears in her eyes by the second and to Ben’s amazement, was both smiling and sobbing by the sixth.
Having kept position throughout Louise straightened as if released of a burden to address the remaining participants: ‘If you’ll forgive us we’ve some pressing business in the bedroom…’ she paused wincing as she massaged the corrugated globes, ‘please take your own time to finish and make full use of the facilities.’ Another pause, Phil strong and silent stood behind gently cupping her breasts in his large hands.
‘I’m pleased to confirm you’ve both excelled at this first lesson,’ he added with mock severity, ‘next month we’re holding an advanced class, I look forward to your attendance.’
Their hosts departed. Nicola walked gingerly over to Phil, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him long and hard, moulding her body to his as she did so.
‘Just you wait your turn,’ responded Ben firmly, as he led her unprotesting to the well-upholstered arm of the sofa. Off came the pleated skirt, the T-shirt followed. Two diminutive but prominent breasts, each nipple erect, were proffered. ‘Not yet,’ said Ben his voice barely a whisper but suddenly possessed by a confidence and authority he’d only previously imagined.
Having bent Nicola face down over the sofa’s broad cushioned arm, legs straight and slightly apart, he stopped for a moment to survey his handiwork. Her glorious pert little bottom positively radiated heat. Angry red stripes embroidered the centre and a livid crimson hue gradually faded as it spread to her flanks and thighs.
Ben left a long interval between each of the subsequent six strokes of the cane, allowing the full stinging effect to warm its way towards the glistening treasure awaiting him in the valley below. Her beautiful, bare, blush-red arse bore marks that would stay for several days, yet he’d not thrashed her hard. There’d been no need.
And she knew. ‘Now you’ve beaten me, what’s next?’ she enquired rhetorically, replacing the proffered spectacles. A visible tremor of desire ran through her lithe body. ‘Please Ben. I need you, inside me, now.’ By way of reply he loosened his belt and grasped her hips.
One step to heaven. Once more Nicola bent forward then once again went up onto her toes, the heat from her beaten bottom firing her loins and suffusing his as her new lover thrust deep and hard inside her.
Three months later, Nicola’s first erotic novel was published to wide critical acclaim, even gaining plaudits from mainstream book reviewers. It was dedicated to: My two oldest friends, Louise and Phil, and my new mentor, Ben.

Sunday, 29 December 2019

Where Both Ends Meet

Story from Janus 159 by Andrew Grantham
‘C’mon, Sue. It’ll be a super wheeze!’
‘I dunno, Penny.’ The dark-haired, sixth-former stroked her chin. She was obviously not so sure that the tall, blonde-haired, eighteen-year-old’s idea was such a good one.
The bi-annual Stonefield Girls’ Academy photograph was about to take place in the quadrangle. The Junior College had assembled the seats and forms in a semi-circle under the instructions of the fussy, elderly photographer whom the two girls thought had been taking the ritual photograph since Stonefield had first opened its doors.
‘Miss Dingle will be furious,’ warned Sue. ‘Besides, it might be different this time. The photo is going to be in colour, not in black and white.’
‘It’s the same revolving camera,’ sighed the pretty, pony-tailed Penny. ‘And as for Miss Dingle, we won’t be here, will we?’
‘True,’ Sue nodded. Her blue eyes began to sparkle a little and she brushed a strand of dark, curling hair away from one eye.
Stonefield Girls’ Academy was an educational establishment favoured by Service personnel who sent their daughters there whilst they were serving overseas. Both Penny and Sue, who were best friends anyway, would soon be embarking upon a troopship with their respective mothers, as their fathers had not long been posted to Hong Kong. They were nearing nineteen and would then be too old for Stonefield.
‘The photos take ages to come, anyway,’ pointed out the blonde.
Penny’s ‘wheeze’ was for the pair of them to stand at the right-hand side of the assembly and then, whilst the automatic camera was slowly panning round, they would run behind everyone else and take up a position on the left, before the camera had completed its arc.
The result would be the girls appearing twice in the wide photograph; on opposite sides. It would give people a good laugh when they saw it.
Everyone took up their places; squatting, kneeling, sitting or standing. The teaching staff were resplendent in their university robes. The austere, formidable Miss Dorothy Dingle had the place of honour in the centre of the scene. To further signify her importance, she held her tasselled mortar board in her lap.
‘Get ready!’ hissed Penny to her friend.
The blonde was always the leader, whilst the dark-haired girl was the follower. Very slowly the camera began to turn. There was a pause before the taller of the two friends commanded, ‘Now!’
Suppressing giggles, the duo ran around the back of the assembled pupils and teachers, their movements hidden from the lens as those on the back row were standing on forms borrowed from the gymnasium.
‘We’re in time,’ whispered Penny to her friend as the cumbersome-looking camera neared the end of its journey. Her big, blue eyes were twinkling with merriment.
‘Thank you, girls,’ called out the elderly photographer, at last.
‘Dotty Dingle will go dotty when she sees the photo,’ chuckled Penny.
‘I wonder if it will go on the wall with all the others?’ grinned Sue.
It was only a few days later that the inseparable pair received word that their troopship, a pre-war liner, lucky to have escaped the breaker’s yard, had to go into dry dock for repairs. Those families due to have embarked would now be airlifted instead, but several weeks later.
The prospect of flying all the way to the Far East excited the girls. Their previous flights had only ever been to the Channel Islands or the Isle of Man, but in that they were much more fortunate than most people their age, and older.
‘The photo is on the wall outside the Hall,’ announced a prefect, poking her head around a form room door, several weeks after it had been taken.
‘Cripes! I’d forgotten all about that!’ Penny put her hand to her mouth and stared, wide-eyed, at Sue.
‘We’ll have to go and have a look,’ responded her friend, some nervousness evident in her voice. Would the wheeze be spotted she wondered?
There was a chattering throng around the latest addition to the framed Academy photographs which resembled one of the new Cinemascope films. A few of the teachers were there as well, preening themselves as to how they looked in colour.
Fingers stabbed at the glass covering as scholars identified themselves. Penny and Sue started at the back but with all the jostling going on they soon found themselves at the front of the gathering.
‘You two are on the end, here.’ A friend pointed to the left side of the picture. Penny dug her pal in the ribs.
‘No. They’re on this side,’ came a voice.
Heads turned, followed by a chorus of audible gasps.
‘You’re on both sides!’ came an exclamation. There was then much laughter and frivolity.
Penny and Sue became the centre of everyone’s attention. They received many a pat on the back for their cleverness and daring.
‘Be quiet, all of you!’ An authoritative voice boomed its command.
The viewers began silently to disperse and the mistress with the loud voice stepped up to view the Academy photograph. She lifted up her glasses to improve the focus of her eyes.
‘Good God!’ she exclaimed, before scurrying off in the direction of the Principal’s study.
With an ever-growing feeling of trepidation in their tummies, the two once-brave culprits tried to make themselves scarce. They could not, of course, make themselves scarce enough. A member of staff literally pounced on them both and virtually frog-marched the now frightened pair to the study of Miss Dorothy Dingle MA Dip. Ed. (Hons).
Penny and Sue clearly shared the Public Enemy Number One position as far as the Principal of Stonefield Girls’ Academy was concerned.
Miss Dingle’s study was a most unwelcoming place, with its dark and ancient furniture and its portraits of stern-looking Principals of yesteryear.
Miss Dingle, herself, was a forbidding figure with stern features and rimless spectacles. She did not look up as the two girls entered, having previously knocked timidly on the oak-panelled door and been given permission to enter.
The girls froze as they stood before her large, oak desk. Their eyes had already seen what lay upon its highly-polished surface. There, was the framed Academy photograph, confirmation of the reason for their visit to the sanctum, but beside that lay a three-foot long, thin-shafted punishment cane with a curved handle. Penny and Sue had already been found guilty and sentenced. It was a tummy-lurching sight.
‘If it’s about the photograph, Miss Dingle,’ began the blonde, bravely. ‘I can explain.’ Sue wondered just what explanation her friend could possibly offer. It had to be a good one.
‘Go ahead!’ Miss Dingle at last looked up. She spoke in a drawn-out monotone. ‘Let me hear this explanation.’
You see, Sue and I were standing right at the end.’ Penny’s voice was full of confidence and she, herself, was inwardly pleased with the plausible excuse she had just thought up, right out of the blue. ‘We thought the camera had missed us both and we ran to the other end to make sure we were on it.’
‘That’s right, Miss Dingle.’ Sue reinforced her friend’s lie, crossing her fingers that they would be believed.
It was a good explanation although an untruthful one. Miss Dingle was not taken in.
‘Humph!’ she snorted, getting to her feet and picking up the cane by the handle. The wide-eyed girls stared at the quivering shaft. ‘I believe it was a deliberate act on your part, I was going to give you both six strokes but, in view of your bare-faced lie, I shall now increase it to eight strokes each, followed by a two-week detention period!’
Sue immediately felt angry with her best friend. It had been Penny’s idea to doctor the photo and by opening her mouth just now she had gone and got them further punishment into the bargain!
Miss Dingle pointed the cane at the dark-haired girl. ‘Stand back! I shall start with you!’ She moved the stick so that it pointed at the blonde. It trembled like a divining rod.
Its trembling, however, was nothing compared to the trepidation being experienced by the two pretty eighteen-year-olds.
Sue duly stepped well back from the desk. She didn’t know whether or not she had got the better of the deal. She would have to endure watching Penny getting the cane before she did. On the other hand, Miss Dingle’s arm might have tired somewhat by the time it came her turn.
‘Bend over and touch your toes!’ Penny was instructed.
Somewhat wearily, the blonde eighteen-year-old did as she was bid. Miss Dingle put her cane under her left arm, reached out and lifted the girl’s navy-blue, pleated skirt up as far as she could get it.
White socks covered Penny’s lower legs to just below the knee. Above, her thighs were bare, long and graceful. Her bottom was hidden by a pair of white, cotton panties as daringly brief as could be supplied by mail order catalogue.
The Principal then made her bombshell announcement.
‘In view of the seriousness of what you have done I am going to take an unprecedented step. I am going to remove your knickers!’
‘Miss…!’ Penny made to get up. Her protest, however, lasted about one second in total. The woman pressed down on the small of her back and almost simultaneously yanked away the cotton covering from her hindquarters.
Sue’s mouth dropped open. She was, of course, not interested in the view of her friend’s semi-nakedness, even though the blonde girl’s bottom resembled a flawless peach. The whole thing was so ignominious. Word would somehow spread around the Academy like wildfire. How could they look their fellow students in the face ever again?
It was almost as an afterthought that the dark-haired student realised that their naked bottoms would bear the full brunt of the cane. Penny, however, had already figured that out!
She waited on trembling legs for the beginning of the ordeal. Her super wheeze had certainly backfired. The wood was pressed into her bare cheeks and she saw Miss Dingle’s Cuban-heeled, brown shoes shuttle on the carpet. Her heart was hammering like a steam engine. The cane had now gone.
Swish!… Crack!
It was more of a prolonged gasp than a cry caused by the sudden explosion of stinging pain across her backside. Before the effects had had time to wear off the cane swooshed down again leaving another line of fire across her buttocks. Penny whimpered in response and clenched and unclenched her cheeks.
The watching Sue clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, as she saw the results of Miss Dingle’s first two efforts. Penny’s skin was very lightly honeyed and there were two tell-tale marks where the stick had dug into the flesh.
The dark-haired girl watched the downward swing of the woman’s right arm. She heard the awesome hiss of the instrument… and then she jumped a little as the rod sank into the tight undercurves of her friend’s shapely bottom.
‘Owwwwwwaahh!’ cried out Penny as the cane left its stinging imprint low down on her wriggling rear.
Her bottom began to sway from side to side as the semi-naked student fought to cope with the rising anguish.
Sue wished she had been chosen to go first. It was simply awful having to watch her friend getting the cane and knowing that she, herself, would shortly be undergoing the same ordeal. Furthermore, Penny was so much stronger in character than she was and Penny was already finding it very hard going, and the halfway mark had still not yet been reached.
That particular stage duly arrived with the next delivery of Miss Dingle’s punishing wand. Penny cried out as the cane sliced into her unprotected flesh causing further havoc to her insides.
Sue winced as she observed the resultant cavorting of her friend’s stricken posterior. It was adorned already with four red and rigid marks. Would there be enough room on the buttocks for a further four more?
There was a pause now before the Principal of Stonefield prepared herself for the next swipe of the wicked-looking rattan. The dark-haired girl awaiting her turn hoped that, perhaps, Miss Dingle would be tiring already.
The briskly-administered cut, however, offered clear evidence she anything but. The cane embedded itself in the teenager’s rich moons, where it seemed to adhere before falling away to stay at Miss Dingle’s side.
‘Yeeeoowwww!’ screeched Penny.
Her behind went out of control and performed obscene movements. Her thighs had now opened up and her femininity was thus blatantly exposed.
Sue was horrified by Penny’s actions. She knew that her friend would be horrified at the way she was showing herself off. It was a good job that she was the only member of the audience. Still, even Miss Dingle should not be seeing what really ought to be hidden from her view. It wasn’t right that they should be caned on their bare bottoms!
‘Keep still!’ commanded the Principal.
Sniffling uncontrollably the blonde, despite her torment, managed to render her ravaged rear a still enough target for the next inevitable slash of the rattan.
It duly came. Penny’s clenched buttocks were as well prepared for it as was possible. The resultant slash of fire across their already pain-wracked surfaces again sent the mounds into a frenzy of action.
OWWWWWWW!!’  The girl’s painful and pitiful cry was punctuated by the fiery red weal that stood proud of the others.…
The gnawing feeling of dread in the pit of Sue’s tummy intensified as the time for her own punishment now rapidly drew near. How on earth would she cope? She had been caned on a previous occasion for the most heinous crime of playing hit parade records. That time she had received only a few strokes and she had been able to keep her knickers on. Their material had been quite thick and had absorbed a good deal of the cane’s energy. Now, it would be her bare bottom getting the full brunt of the painful impacts.
Penny was now sniffing and crying fitfully, and knowing that her friend was made of much sterner stuff than she was, Sue wondered how she could possibly cope with the awful sting of Miss Dingles cane when her time finally came?
That time came ever nearer as Miss Dingle again drove the cane into the blonde girl’s castigated cheeks.
Sue screwed up her eyes as she watched the stick score its imprint diagonally across the ruby lines from the previous half dozen strokes.
Penny’s reaction was loud and instantaneous… an ear piercing cry of agony that reverberated around the study. For one horrible moment Sue thought her friend was about to jump up, an act that everyone at Stonefield knew was strictly forbidden during a caning. The howling blonde teenager thankfully stopped short of doing that and levered herself furiously up and down by her knees as the thin, diagonal line slowly illuminated itself across her burning globes.
Miss Dingle seemed completely unmoved by Penny’s reaction to the penultimate stroke, preferring instead to examine her varnished, wooden shaft for any possible signs of damage. Satisfied that its continual collision with the blonde girl’s behind had not impaired it in any way, she let it drop to her side and repeatedly tapped it against her lower leg, clearly eager to bring the first period of punishment to an end.
Sue was quite pleased at the show of impatience. Miss Dingle seemed keen to get things over and done with. That could mean that her own caning might be less severe than Penny’s. If so, it served her jolly well right, even though she was her friend. It had been her silly idea anyway!
Gradually, the blonde girl’s up down movements began to lessen and Miss Dingle slowly lifted up her trusty cane, its tip quivering as it pointed towards the high ceiling of the study. The woman’s face was set firm and focused. This was the eighth stroke she was about to administer. Clearly, she was determined to make it count.
Whirrrrrr! Penny clamped shut her wet eyes.
Swishhhhhhhh… SHWACCKK!
The sound of the wood striking the young flesh was followed instantly by another deafening screech of agony.
The cane landing diagonally again caused Penny’s bottom to gyrate most obscenely. Sue could not take her eyes off the sight. Her gaze was magnetised. She bit her lower lip. Very shortly she herself would be performing in the same vulgar manner, or at least her bottom would be.
The time for that performance came just a little quicker than Sue had been expecting.
‘You!’ Miss Dingle prodded her chest with the end of the rattan. ‘Bend over there!’ She pointed to a place alongside Penny.
The dark-haired girl’s heart gave a tremendous sickening lurch as she instantly obeyed the order. She jack-knifed her curvy body right beside Penny. The blonde girl was crying uncontrollably. That did not do Sue any good at all. Furthermore, her friend’s ordeal was over.
Her pleated skirt went up and she felt Miss Dingle’s hands on her lightly perspiring body. They were cold and made Sue shudder.
Next, her knickers, similar in style to those of her companion were roughly yanked away to deprive her bottom of both modesty and protection. The material quickly settled around her ankles.
Sue was a little more sturdier-framed than the blonde girl and her behind was more ample. It did have a voluptuous quality to it. The dividing crease was very deep.
The Principal poked Penny’s criss-crossed derriere, the end of the cane carelessly digging into one of the weal’s and causing an Ouch! from the girl.
‘Get up and move away!’ commanded Miss Dingle.
Penny winced as she rose. Her skirt fell back into place. Not having received approval for pulling up her panties, she shuffled awkwardly backwards, to keep well clear of the cane’s trajectory.
Sue felt so alone and vulnerable now that her friend was no longer alongside her. She wished they could have been caned together, side by side, instead of being made to watch the other getting the stick.
The girl in the submissive stance locked her knees and, unusually, offered a silent prayer.
Whirr! The awesome sound heralded the descent of the fast-flying wand. Crack!
‘OHHWuhhhaa!’ The girl’s vocal reaction was more of an audible escape of rushed breath, rather than a cry of pain.
The pain signals in her brain had, however, begun to register. Sue had instant recall of her previous caning. Then, the first strike onto her somewhat protected semi-spheres had not hurt anywhere near as much as this one had. She shifted her buttocks a little.
The second one seemed to sweep in without any warning. Penny had given out a little cough and that had drowned out the sound of the descending rod.
The twin sounds were almost as one as the ever-hurtful length of thin wood scorched another trail across the eighteen-year-old’s chubby buttocks. The fleshy recipients began to shiver and shake.
Penny’s eyes were still damp as she watched the proceedings in front of her. She wanted to pull up her knickers, but was afraid of doing so without permission from the stern Principal of Stonefield. It was very ignominious standing there as she was.
She also wanted to soothe her wealed nates with the palms of her hands, but was fearful of reaching under her skirt and incurring Miss Dingle’s further displeasure.
Sue heard the next one coming and she held her breath until the whippy wand had imparted its fierce sting. Then, a small cry escaped from the back of her throat. She knew that the stick had landed lower down than the previous two had done. Miss Dingle certainly knew how to hurt a girl!
Sue’s tramlined behind began to weave this way and that. She knew that a gap had now opened up between her thighs and that she would be revealing her honeypot. The girl was no prude, but she did not believe that Stonefield girls should show themselves off in the manner she was doing.
Miss Dingle did not wait for Sue’s red-striped orbs to still before scything down the cane once more. It made another furrow in the chubby, well-presented nates, which began to move in a more urgent motion than before. The movements had been preceded, a split second earlier, by a shrill cry of reaction to the increasing anguish.
Penny, naturally, wanted to look elsewhere, but her eyes were magnetically drawn to her friend’s naked, up-poked rear. There were other things to look at; cups, shields, as well as school photographs! There were lots of the latter, similar to the one still lying on Miss Dingle’s desk top!
She saw the latest red stripe beginning to develop in front of her. It was the fourth. At least, the halfway stage in Sue’s chastisement had been reached.
Miss Dingle waited calmly for Sue’s wildly gyrating bum-cheeks to settle down sufficiently before driving her stick into them once again.
‘Aghhhhhharooh!’ another sickening cry and this time Sue buckled her knee’s desperately trying to keep her fingers on her toes whilst feverishly humping her chastised bottom up and down.
Through all this pain and anguish, Sue was acutely aware of the humiliation her punishment was creating. It was simply awful cavorting her nether regions as she was doing, but coping with the humiliation was, however, a lesser priority than that of coping with the terrible sting of that awful cane.
Miss Dingle sneaked a look at her wristwatch on her other arm as she tap-tapped the cane against her legs.
Not waiting for the movement of the anguish-filled bum-cheeks to subside, she hoisted the willowy wand aloft once more and brought it arcing down onto the target. The Principal had correctly judged just when the hummocks would be at the correct place for the maximum impact.
‘Ohhhhh… Owwwwwwaaah!’
A wild rotation of her afflicted nates ensued although the blow had been delivered with less force than the earlier ones. Miss Dingle now wanted to end the session as quickly as the girl would let her. She was actually a bit pushed for time and now rather regretted not ordering the delinquent pair to appear before her later in the day.
The Principal now looked at Penny for the first time since giving her attention to the dark-haired student. The tip of the cane vibrated as she pointed at the puddle of white cotton at the blonde’s ankles.
‘Pull your knickers up, girl!’ she thundered, her eyes blazing, ‘Or are you keen for more?’
No!… No!, Miss!’
As quickly as she could, Penny got down and retrieved her knickers before yanking the garment up her long legs and pulling them tightly into her crotch. It was Miss Dingle’s fault for not giving her permission to adjust her dress. The girl dared not venture to say so.
Meanwhile Miss Dingle turned her attention back to the snivelling brunette. There was of course still plenty of room on the girls castigated buttocks for another horizontal stroke, and focusing on that precise spot she duly took aim and delivered another jolting, stinging swipe.
‘Owwww!… Oohhhhhaaaah!’ Sue emitted another throaty cry as her poor bottom was reignited, and her posterior oscillated wildly once more.
The impact could have been more excruciating. Only the Principal was aware that her strokes were now rather less forceful than they had been, due to her eagerness to attend to what she ought to be doing at that time. Nevertheless, it was still a hurtful swipe for all that.
Penny watched the lewd display, aware that matters were now so nearly over. She thought that her friend had actually performed better under the goading rod than she herself had done.
The eighth and final cut of the cane was aimed to diagonally-intersect the existing seven angry stripes. Miss Dingle’s aim was, as ever, true and the result was, obviously, excruciating.
Poor Sue gave out a wolf-like howl and her devastated derriere resumed its frantic dance, gyrating wildly and erotically, displaying all her private charms.
A few minutes later the two soundly thrashed and humiliated girls stood before Miss Dingle’s desk.
‘This is Monday,’ she remarked, pointing to the images of the delinquent duo on one side of the Academy photograph in front of her. ‘They have now been dealt with, Yes?’
The blonde and the brunette nodded ruefully…
‘Now then!… On Friday.’ She pointed to the other end of the lines of girls.
‘I shall deal with this pair!’ Her forefinger stabbed the glass for emphasis before raising her head and giving a sickly smile.
‘That’s you two, I believe, isn’t it?’