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Tuesday, 23 February 2021

Corporal Therapy

Story by Michael O'Connor from Februs 14


Gravel crunched beneath the wheels of the red Mercedes as it rolled to a halt in the chill shadow of an ivy-walled mansion. Five other cars were already parked in the yard. Marcella looked anxiously at her husband as he switched off the engine.

‘I’m not sure I like the look of this place,’ she said hesitantly. ‘Perhaps…’

‘We haven’t come all this way for you to get cold feet,’ Ben interjected firmly. ‘Besides, the small fortune I paid to book you in here is non-refundable.’

‘Money is all you ever think about,’ the chestnut-haired woman whined. ‘Don’t you give a damn about me? These Vallance people could be psychopaths. God knows what they’ll do to me once you’re gone.’

‘What they’ll do is cure you of that bloody poisonous addiction of yours,’ he replied. ‘It’s only because I care about you that I’ve gone to all this trouble. I don’t want you smoking yourself into an early grave, so would you kindly stop behaving like a spoilt brat? You do want to stop smoking, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do,’ Marcella snapped. ‘Haven’t I been trying hard enough ever since we got married?’

Ben shook his head. ‘If you’d been trying hard enough, my darling, we wouldn’t be here. Come on, let’s get you checked in.’

He unloaded her overnight bag from the boot and she reluctantly followed him up the steps to the front door of the mansion. Regardless of what she had agreed to, if she did not like the look of whoever answered the door, she would not set foot inside it. Ben could blub all he liked about promises broken and money lost.

The woman who appeared on the second toll of the doorbell was a pleasant surprise, especially for Ben. She was in her mid-thirties, blonde and healthily bronzed, with classic high cheekboned features. Stylish gold-rimmed spectacles framed her soft blue eyes. Her cream silk blouse and black slacks did full justice to her slender figure. Ben looked sorry he was not the one checking into the Behavioural Correction Centre.

Having accepted Ben’s apologies for arriving late and exchanging customary pleasantries, the softly spoken woman invited Marcella to come inside. She threw Ben a look that pleaded for a last minute reprieve.

‘I’ll pick you up at six tomorrow evening,’ he told her. ‘This is for your own good, my darling.’

A fleeting peck on the cheek and he was gone, abandoning Marcella to the appallingly attractive blonde and her fellow Correctional Therapists.

‘You may call me Brigitte,’ the woman smiled, ushering her through the hallway. ‘Are you nervous?’

‘Just a bit,’ Marcella admitted. ‘To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure I should be here. This was all Ben’s idea. He feels I’m in need of radical therapy. You were recommended by one of his colleagues.’

‘We do have a very high success rate in combating behavioural problems,’ Brigitte told her. Have you heard anything about our methods?’

‘Only that they’re a bit on the unorthodox side,’ Marcella replied.

She laughed. ‘Some would consider them so. We don’t like to publicise our methods. Only our results.’

‘What exactly are your methods?’ Marcella demanded.

‘You will soon find out,’ was the mysterious reply.

Marcella followed her up a long and winding staircase, to a small, cell-like room. The walls and ceiling were a stark white and the wooden floor bare. The only furnishings were a small bed and a wardrobe.

‘Come downstairs when you have unpacked,’ Brigitte told her. ‘I will introduce you to my husband and our other guests.’

‘Cell Block H has more character than this place,’ Marcella sighed, as soon as the door was shut. ‘And this is supposed to make me stop smoking!’

It did not take her long to unpack. With every passing moment, her desire for a cigarette increased. She tried distracting herself with the view from the window, which was pleasant enough. A large, tree-lined garden led to a shallow river, beyond which loomed acres of forest. Marcella glanced at her watch. It was six-thirty. She had not had a cigarette for over four hours. Instinctively, she reached for her purse and took out a packet.

‘What they don’t know won’t worry them,’ she reasoned, placing the cigarette between her lips.

It was on her third puff that the smoke alarm on the ceiling began squealing like a stuck pig, causing her to leap from the bed. She threw open the window and tossed out her cigarette, praying the infernal alarm would shut up before somebody heard it.

A moment later, the door of her room burst open. Brigitte had not bothered to knock. As if by unspoken command, the smoke alarm fell silent.

The blonde woman’s pleasant expression of earlier had been replaced by a stern glare, that rendered her positively wicked. Marcella stared at the floor, feeling herself blush.

‘Naughty, naughty!’ Brigitte tutted, stepping into the room and shutting the door. ‘Breaking the rules already.’

‘You never said I couldn’t have a cigarette,’ Marcella protested.

‘It should hardly be necessary to state the obvious,’ she replied icily. ‘Now, I must punish you.’

‘Punish me!’

She nodded. ‘In this house, no infringement of rules is permitted to go unpunished. Turn around and bend over the window ledge.’

‘Why?’

‘Just do as I say. I’m in charge here. Or perhaps you would prefer to receive your punishment from my husband.’

Marcella’s first instinct was to sharply remind the arrogant blonde that she was dealing with a twenty-three-year-old woman, not a child. But there was an authority in Brigitte’s tone that commanded obedience.

Bent over the window, palms flat on the ledge, Marcella felt her calf-length taffeta skirt being raised. Something she could not explain prevented her voicing the protest that sprang to her lips. Holding her skirt high above her waist, Brigitte surveyed the white lace-cupped mounds of her buttocks.

‘What are you doing?’ Marcella demanded.

The reply was an open palmed slap that stung the bare pale flesh between her pantie edge and the top of her left stocking. A perfect pink print was left in its wake. Brigitte struck her again on the opposite side, waited a moment for the afterburn to fully smoulder, then delivered half a dozen smacks to her bottom, in rapid succession. The flimsy lace of Marcella’s panties provided little protection from the heartily administered punishment. Her backside and upper thighs tingled pleasantly as her skirt was smoothed back down over her legs.


‘Come downstairs,’ Brigitte commanded. ‘It’s time for our first group session. Bring your cigarettes.’

Marcella meekly followed her, uncertain whether she was more shocked by the spanking, or her own reaction to the idea of having her cheeks reddened for the heinous crime of sneaking a cigarette. But instead, she had experienced a kind of pleasure. Worst of all, she was certain Brigitte was aware of this.

The five other female guests were already assembled. They stood in the centre of a large room that had been cleared of all furniture, with the exception of an iron stepladder. The women ranged in age from early twenties to late thirties and all seemed equally ill at ease. Marcella was hurriedly introduced, then ordered to get into line. She obeyed without protest. Brigitte’s authority over her was quite remarkable.

The six women collectively tensed when a stockily built man in a sharply tailored grey three-piece suit entered the room. He looked at least ten years older than Brigitte. His gelled black hair and pencil thin moustache lent him a general gangster appearance. The six women spared his general demeanour only a glance, before their eyes were drawn to the long, thin cane in his gloved right fist.

‘My husband, Max,’ Brigitte announced, before introducing each of the women by her first name.

‘A pleasure to meet you, ladies,’ he said, flexing his cane in both hands. ‘Do we all know why we’re here?’

Silence was the unanimous reply.

He stepped towards the group. ‘I’ll tell you, shall I? You are here because of a vice, namely cigarettes. You have tried all the usual methods, without success, so it falls to Brigitte and I to cure you of your addiction. Some of you are here reluctantly. One or two, out of curiosity. But all of you would like to give up that filthy, anti-social habit. Our methods here are somewhat old-fashioned, some might even say brutal. But they have been proven to work. However, if any of you are having second thoughts about proceeding with this course of correction, now is the time to speak. If you are not women enough for the punishment I am about to give you, Brigitte will be happy to arrange an alternative, in private.’

The women exchanged furtive glances. Marcella was tempted by the latter option, but remained silent. After all, there was no guarantee she would not enjoy whatever Max had in store, even though the cane did look terrifying.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘You have all decided to be brave girls, so let’s begin. You will be selected for punishment in alphabetical order. Angela, you’re first. Hand over your cigarette packet to Brigitte.’

The thin, bespectacled woman standing next to Marcella squirmed anxiously, as she handed over her Silk Cut packet. Brigitte opened it and counted the contents.

‘Six,’ she announced.

Max nodded, flexing his cane.

‘Angela, take off your jeans and stand face forward on the ladder,’ he commanded. ‘Come on now, no need to be shy. The other ladies will not get off lighter.’

The scarlet faced young woman stared fixedly at the wall, as she unbuttoned her tight blue jeans and tugged them down to her ankles.

‘Knickers down as well,’ Max added. ‘We don’t want anything getting in the way. Good, now up onto the ladder. Second step is fine. Lean forward and hold on tight. This is going to hurt.’

The cane whistled through the air and struck the woman’s clenched buttocks, with a resounding THWACK! She shrieked in response. A further five strokes followed, leaving half a dozen fiery furrows streaked neatly across her cheeks.


‘You may step down,’ Max told her, lowering the cane. ‘Don’t cover up, just get back into line. Shame is an important aspect of your therapy. Right, who’s next? Ah yes, Cassandra. Let’s see how many cigarettes are in your packet.’

Marcella cringed, as she watched each woman in turn bare her backside and mount the ladder to be caned. She was last in line, a fact that did not greatly please her. Though there was an undeniable pleasure to be derived from seeing and hearing the others receive the cane, she would have preferred to have her own punishment over and done with. Waiting only increased the apprehension. An additional torment was her inability to remember how many cigarettes remained in her packet. She only knew for certain that it contained enough to earn her an extremely sore arse.

At last, it was her turn. The five women beside her stood with heads bowed and rear cheeks scorched. Brigitte counted the cigarettes in her packet twice, then sighed heavily.

‘Oh dear, seventeen! I wouldn’t care to be in your shoes, Marcella.’

‘You had better keep your knickers on,’ Max suggested after she had stepped out of her skirt. ‘Otherwise, you won’t be able to sit down for a week.’

‘I’ll take my punishment like all the others,’ Marcella defiantly declared, rolling her panties down over her hips.

Max shrugged. ‘As you wish.’

She stepped onto the ladder, leaned forward and hugged the cold steel with both arms. Brigitte held up the hem of her blouse, so that her round bottom was completely exposed. The instant she felt the first bite of the cane, she regretted her reckless bravado. The breathtaking whack stung like a thousand wasps. But now that she had submitted to her punishment, there was no turning back.

Swish! Whack! Marcella greeted each stroke with a sharp cry, the five other women wincing in sympathy. Max spared her no mercy, laying each stroke of the cane on a fresh piece of skin, printing criss-crossed lines of fire on her buttocks and the backs of her thighs.

The caning seemed to last forever. When she finally stepped down from the ladder, her bottom was throbbing violently.

‘You have an hour before dinner,’ Brigitte told her women. ‘You may spend it as you wish. A word of warning, however. Your cigarettes will be counted again, so unless you have an unnatural fondness for the cane, you would be ill advised to light up.’

Marcella elected to cool off under the shower. Afterwards, she intended to treat her burning cheeks to a soothing dose of moisturiser. The fleeting desire for a cigarette was accompanied by an increased sharpness to the throbbing in her rear. Unfortunately, this had the exact opposite of the deterrent effect. Though on the severe side, the caning had given her a perverse pleasure. As a result, it was not only her backside that was on fire.

With the cool water from the shower streaming down over her naked body, she slid her right hand between her thighs, to cup the furry mound of her sex. Shutting her eyes, she visualised Max, this time punishing her with the hard staff inside his trousers. She inserted a finger between the slick fields of her labia, yearning to be filled by something more substantial. It took her only moments to reach orgasm that was as satisfying as an all over massage.

As the afterglow faded, it was replaced by the familiar post coital craving so despised by her husband. A cigarette was suddenly the most desirable thing on earth. It might even be worth a second caning, she mused, as she towelled herself dry. The instant she touched her bottom, she thought otherwise. That particular end had been subjected to more than enough punishment for one day.

The more she tried to ignore it, the greater her nicotine craving became. If only she had brought a spare packet. It would surely be possible to have a quick puff in the toilet, without being detected.

On her way back to her room, she passed by an open door. A glance inside the empty room brought her up short. A horribly tempting Silk Cut packet lay seductively on the bed.

Like a prowler, Marcella looked furtively around. The allure of the cigarette packet was irresistible. Without really thinking, she found herself inside the room and snatching it from the bed. It contained only six cigarettes, which eased her conscience somewhat. A bottom that had received only six strokes of the cane would be well able to soak up a few more.

As she was replacing the packet on the bed, she heard a door shut further down the corridor. The shock caused her to drop her precious stolen cigarette. Bending over to pick it up, she heard a startling exclamation.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

A red faced Angela stood in the doorway of the room, trembling with indignation. Marcella straightened up, her heart sinking.

‘Well?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I was pilfering one of your cigarettes. I hadn’t meant to. I was just passing your room, when I saw them on the bed and…’

‘You thought you’d drop me in the shit,’ the irate woman concluded.

‘No!’ Marcella protested. ‘I was just dying for a cigarette. I didn’t mean to get you into trouble.’

‘Did you not hear what Brigitte said?’ she demanded. ‘Anyone found with a cigarette missing is in for another caning. You wouldn’t dare smoke one of your own, but you were ready to see me get another thrashing. You bitch!’

‘I’m really sorry,’ Marcella whispered.

‘You will be when I tell Max about this,’ Angela promised.

‘Please don’t do that,’ Marcella begged. ‘Look, here’s your cigarette back. There’s no harm done.’

Angela snatched it from her. ‘That’s not good enough. I shall have to tell the others what you’ve done, just in case they’re stupid enough to trust you. I felt sorry for you when I saw Max giving you such a caning. Now, I think you didn’t get half enough.’

Marcella sighed. ‘So you’re going to tell him?’

Angela thought for a minute, before answering. ‘Maybe not. It might be more fun if I were to punish you myself.’

‘How?’

‘I don’t know yet. At any rate, there isn’t enough time now. We’ll deal with you later tonight, when Max and Brigitte aren’t around to interrupt.’

‘We?’

Angela smiled. ‘I’m sure the others will want a hand in your punishment, once I tell them what you’ve done.’

Dinner was a tribute to Brigitte’s culinary skills, but Marcella was in no mood to enjoy it. She could think of nothing but the forthcoming humiliation, at the hands of her five fellow guests. Glances in their direction confirmed that Angela had already told at least two about her act of betrayal.

After the meal, Brigitte again took stock of each woman’s cigarette packet. Max was especially pleased that all were accounted for and announced that the women were to be rewarded for their good behaviour.

They were led into a softly lit room, containing half a dozen white sheeted beds, arranged side by side. Baroque music drifted from a pair of large wall speakers. Max told the women to strip.

‘Don’t worry,’ he reassured them. ‘This time, I want your bottoms bared for pleasure.’

The six women stripped and each lay face down on one of the beds. Max and Brigitte surveyed the row of bare and blushing bottoms. Marcella looked over her shoulder, as they moved to the foot of her bed.

Brigitte uncapped a glass bottle and poured a delightfully chill and exotically scented lotion over both cane-scorched buns. Max then began massaging it over her supple globes, with delicate palms and fingers. Every trace of burning seemed to instantly evaporate, to be replaced by a sensual tingling. Max was as skilled a masseur as he was a disciplinarian. As his hands glided lovingly over Marcella’s bottom, fingers brushing inside her cleft and the tops of her thighs, her sex drooled hotter than a sauna. She ached for his fingers to touch her there, if only accidentally. But if the handsome master sensed her desire, he chose to ignore it. Once her hindquarters had been thoroughly oiled, he casually turned his attentions to the woman on the next bed.


For the next few hours, the therapist taught the six naked and aroused women basic relaxation and visualisation techniques, to help combat their nicotine addiction. They were then advised to get a good night’s sleep. Sunday promised to be a day of vigorous exercise and probable further punishment. Naturally, their cigarette packets would be checked again.

The women departed to their individual rooms, without a word to Marcella. When a further hour elapsed, without them coming to her, she decided she had either been forgiven or forgotten. With as much disappointment as relief, she switched off her light and climbed into bed.

Five minutes later, she heard the handle of her door being softly turned. As the light came on, she sat up, drawing the sheets up to her chin.

Angela entered the room, followed closely by the other four women. All were in their night-dresses and each carried a different object, the purposes of which was crystal clear. The last one in shut the door behind her.

‘Punishment time,’ Angela announced, smacking her thigh with the thick leather belt in her right fist. ‘Up you get.’

With a heavy sigh, Marcella threw back the sheets and swung her feet onto the floor. If she was going to be punished, and there was no doubt about that, she might as well take it with dignity.

‘I’ve been looking forward to this all evening,’ said Angela. ‘Take that nightie off and show us your bottom.’

Marcella complied without argument, her black silk nightdress pooling around her ankles. Underneath, she was completely naked.

‘Isn’t her bottom a lovely shade of pink!’ Angela purred, licking her lips.

‘Red suits her far better,’ one of the other women replied.

‘Let’s get on with it,’ urged another.

Angela instructed Marcella to crouch doggy style on the bed, legs apart and bottom raised. When she was in position, Angela raised the belt above her head and brought it down on her upthrust cheeks, with a pistol-like crack.

‘Ow!’ Marcella shrieked.

‘Keep quiet,’ the bespectacled woman hissed. ‘You don’t want Max walking in and finding you like this. God knows what he’d do.’

Marcella wasn’t really certain of what he could do and even more certain she would not object. A second whack cut short her fantasy. Four more brought the fire back to her cheeks, in all its breathtaking glory. Angela would have gladly thrashed her livid, but for four equally eager punishers awaiting their turn.

The next woman used a wooden handled hairbrush to vigorously smack Marcella’s inner thighs and the backs of her legs, until they throbbed bright red. As soon as she was finished, a plump blonde knelt beside Marcella on the bed and whacked her bottom with a slipper, deepening the hue of both cheeks. Marcella had begun to regret having even thought of stealing a cigarette.

The next object to strike her glowing backside was a thin leather thong, which the woman administering the punishment had removed from her basque. The waspish sting of each lash brought tears to Marcella’s eyes. Only the cane had possessed more bite than this.

Finally, when she was sure she could take no more, the plastic back of a hand-held mirror was used to paddle her buttocks, filling the room with a sharp smacking sound.

‘That will teach her to keep her thieving hands to herself,’ Angela mused, when the punishment was finally completed. ‘Let her have a look.’

The woman with the mirror held it behind Marcella’s bottom. She looked around and uttered a loud gasp. Her buttocks and thighs glowed a deep shade of sunburn. The streaks where the leather thong had struck her were even brighter.

Angela smiled wickedly. ‘That should do for now.’

After breakfast, the following morning, cigarettes were once more counted. That was when Marcella received a further nasty surprise.

‘Fourteen!’ Brigitte cried. ‘Max, this is appalling!’

‘Indeed it is,’ he agreed, rising from his chair at the head of the table. ‘She is obviously in need of further punishment.’

As she indignantly protested her innocence, Marcella caught Angela grinning slyly from across the table. The bitch had not been content with last night’s punishment. She had stolen three of her cigarettes as well, guaranteeing her yet further humiliation.

‘We’ll do this outside,’ Brigitte announced. ‘Come on, all of you.’

As they followed their hosts out to the garden. Marcella grabbed Angela’s arm.

‘I’ll get you for this,’ she whispered.

‘I hope so,’ the other woman replied. ‘I’ll give you my number before we leave.’

‘I shall deal with her this time,’ said Brigitte, seating herself on a thick tree stump at the bottom of the garden. She beckoned to Marcella. ‘You, across my knee. Now!’

Marcella bent over the blond woman’s lap, no longer embarrassed by the presence of an audience. Angela’s thinly veiled promise had stirred up a cauldron of conflicting emotions. Brigitte yanked her long skirt up around her waist. She was wearing no underwear and her buns remained rosy from her previous punishment.

‘You do seem to be enjoying your stay,’ Brigitte murmured. ‘No wonder you could hardly sit down for breakfast.’

So saying, she proceeded to smack her bottom without mercy. Her open palm was a near blur as it rose and fell. Marcella’s cries of ‘ouch!… ow!’ provided a perfect accompaniment to the symphony of flesh striking flesh.

The spanking lasted several minutes, until Brigitte’s palm was tingling and her arm ached. Almost casually, she allowed her right hand to fall between Marcella’s thigh. A finger penetrated her briefly, just long enough to trigger a truly delicious orgasm. The five watching women exchanged knowing glances. Angela sighed dreamily and licked her lips.

The remainder of Marcella’s day passed in a semi-euphoric blur. The combination of hours of vigorous exercise, visualisation therapy and a further caning from Max left all six women exhausted. All swore to practise the improvement program he gave them.

Marcella was almost sorry when it was time to leave. Her knickers were padded with wads of cotton wool, making sitting in the passenger seat of the Mercedes just about bearable.

‘So how did it go?’ Ben demanded.

‘Fine,’ she answered distractedly, shifting on the seat. ‘They’re very… uh… firm in their approach.’

‘As long as it works,’ he said.

She waved to Angela, who was climbing into her lemon Mini. The woman smiled and patted her own bottom.

‘It works,’ Marcella replied.

She was already looking forward to her next cigarette.

5 comments:

  1. Love the story believe or not I started chatting to a 19 girl fir last 3 months who is crazy on school Cp old fashioned punishments

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  2. Necessity is The Mother of Invention.

    How utterly delightful, Fleas. Such a wonderful, cute, nonchalant smack on the buttocks of the PC elephant in the room!
    A delicious riposte to the terror of wishy-washy woke nonsense, if you will. I love these stories.

    I have such fond, nostalgic memories of all the super-hero, strict, kind, hardworking Southern moms comparing notes outside Church in the 1960s & 70s & beyond - with their canes, straps & paddles neatly filed at home for their exasperating, naughty daughters' bare bottoms. Georgia USA was spanking central. Oh my! This was light years before this excellent, enlightened Behavioural Correction Centre gotten invented!
    Thanks a bunch, Fleas.
    Brenda xx

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  3. I've always loved these artworks, especially the last one, so it's great to have the story to go with them!

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    Replies
    1. Paula’s pictures are really first rate

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  4. Paula Meadow's artwork is legendary.

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