Friday, 29 July 2011

New arrivals Easter break-part 1

Paul decided that it was now indeed time to get up, time to get up and start the day he had been looking forward to for weeks now. Today, was the the day, that for the first time in Deerfoot Boy's School's long history girls were going to be admitted. Well not really girls as such, but young women. The school had been struggling of late, public schools just didn't seem to be in fashion these days what with all the talk of new state schools introducing the revolutionary comprehensive system, much championed by Anthony Crosland the current head of the governments department of education. The fuddy-duddy and almost archaic traditions of old fashioned boarding schools were now looked down upon in many circles. Even Paul's position as head boy, over the years the honour of this post had been diluted as had the power of the prefects. All things were changing even in the privacy of the Public Schools. So in these days of ever shifting sands something radical was called for to boost Deerfoot's ever dwindling income. The radical idea came from Sir Brian Starkey, a Deerfoot old boy and a well known local businessman, he was a man with a finger in many pies and also a member of Deerfoot's board of governors. Sir Brian had noticed an anomaly in his staff at his petro-chemicals unit in Teeside, though the majority of his employees were female, all his supervisory staff and management were male.
Sir Brian always thought of himself as a proactive rather than an reactive thinker, he could see that with ever new rules on sexual discrimination being mooted in the House Of Commons, it would soon come to a point where such an anomaly would be frowned upon, or even legislated against.
So he came up with an idea, he got in contact with other like minded businessmen from around the area, the idea was to fast track some females into management.
He and each other of his like minded friends, would pick out three or four young ladies from their workforce, young ladies that in their opinion would prove to make good members of their respective management teams. The young ladies would then be promoted at an accelerated rate, so as to give the companies at least the look of being forward thinking and non-discriminatory. Sir Brian, never one to miss an opportunity, also saw this as being a way to boost his old school's coffers. He pointed out to his colleagues in this new venture, that all the proposed candidates, would benefit greatly from the camaraderie and discipline that a public school education could provide.
Of course, with girls whose ages would be from eighteen to twenty four, such an education would prove to be impossible to now provide. A workable alternative could be, a six week taste of such a life. Six weeks of intensive lessons, not English or Maths, as all the likely candidates would have had reasonable education and be more than adept in these subjects.
No what Sir Brian envisaged was more teaching of the arts and the classics, perhaps even improving on language skills which could prove valuable in an ever more international market.
Sports and teamwork would feature high upon the agenda, as would discipline as you could not expect someone who is lacking in self discipline in their own life to inspire it in a workforce.
All his colleagues had agreed with Sir Brian that this could prove to be a good springboard to start the girls off on their path to management.
So during the Easter holidays of nineteen sixty six, the first group of eight young women would be attending Deerfoot Boy's School for their six week training and appraisal course.
So what does all this have to do with Paul our eighteen year old head boy?
Paul was asked if he could help the girls settle in, it was decided that a pupil's perspective, could perhaps be good thing in aiding the girls to find their feet. Of course it would mean that he would be giving up his own Easter holidays, but Paul looked upon that as being a sacrifice worth making. He hoped, probably foolishly after reading the conditions of the girls stay, that he could use some of his Head Boy privileges in the disciplining of the girls should they find themselves foul of the schools many rules. Or perhaps even use his position to strike up a little romance. Deep down he felt these to be most unlikely scenarios, but a possible ones, even just as a long shot it had to be worth the gamble of giving up his break. Paul spent the hour after breakfast wandering aimlessly around the school, the girls weren't due till ten and he was to be their one man welcoming committee. He had eight little information packs, containing the school rules and special considerations relating only to the young ladies. One of the moot points, was what the girls would wear when attending the school, the Headmaster was adamant that there should be some sort of dress code. One or two of the employers had ideas about a St. Trinians style of dress, these ideas were never put forward, but they did harbour them, so they welcomed the Heads input upon attire without any argument.
It was decided upon, plain black flat shoes, black knee length skirt and white blouse, another thing the head insisted upon was no makeup.
"I have seen some of the young girls these days, out and about around town all panda eyes and fake lashes," He told the meeting. "I will not have the school looking like a Kabuki theatre." Those around the table nodded in agreement -even the ones who didn't have a clue what Kabuki was - knowing that it would not go down well with the girls, but they had to learn that sacrifices would have to be made by them as they climbed the management ladder. The other thing the Head had insisted upon, was that the girls were made aware that any rule breaking would result in disciplinary sanctions. Again all around the table nodded, one or two wondering/fantasising even what shape these sanctions would take but again no one asked. Of course all the girls who were asked if they would like to join this pre-management training agreed. Agreed to all stipulations reference school rules and dress codes. As with their employers, they wondered about the sanctions. As with their employers, they never enquired. Finally the mini-bus arrived at the main entrance, Paul hung back as the girls got out of the bus and sorted out their bags. After all he didn't want to seem to keen upon meeting their acquaintance, didn't want to look like the excited little puppy that he felt himself to be, no he wanted to seem aloof, to seem cool even.
As he looked, it would seem that all apart from one had either chosen to forgo the dress code, or meant to get changed upon arrival. As they wrestled their bags from the back of the bus, he was treat to view of denim encased bottoms as each girl lent in to retrieve her luggage.
He could not fail to notice that each of the "chosen" employees were all very shapely and pretty, was that another of the criteria used by their respective employers?

As the bus pulled away Paul made his introduction. "Good morning ladies," He said as he approached the new arrivals. "I'm Thomas the head boy and your guide for this morning."

"Morning, Tommy!" A bright eyed willowy brunette said, a large smile on her pale heart shaped face.

"Sorry, it's Thomas not Tommy." Paul said correcting the girl. "It is a school tradition that surnames rather than christian names are used." Paul noticed that a couple of the girls exchanged odd looks with each other at this statement. "Don't worry, all will be explained in the information packs." He added.

"Isn't that confusing if you have more than one person with the same name?" The brunette asked.

"Well no more than people sharing the same first name." He said thinking this one is not backward in coming forward. "I would wager that we may have more than one Joan or Mary here today?"

At that moment it sank in with the girls, that they didn't even know each others names, of course Paul had the advantage of having read their names in advance.

"Er, I'm a Joan." The mouthy brunette said, almost giggling.

Two others nodded, and said they were Joan's too.

"So," Paul said with a beaming smile. "no confusion there then is there?" Having won this argument he gave out the folders, one to each of girls, then said. "If you would like to follow me I'll take you along to your dormitory, you can settle in, and get changed into your... er.. school wear I suppose we should call it, then I'll show you around the buildings and the grounds in say an hours time?"

"Surely we don't have to wear our schoolie things this week, the school isn't even open?" The mouthy brunette asked.

"Perhaps the school as such isn't open, but we have people visiting at all times, even when the main body of the school is closed. It does not reflect well on the establishment if we have a group of denim clad young ladies flouncing around the place."Paul answered tersely. "So yes you are required to wear you schoolie things as you so quaintly put it."

As Paul led the way, the brunette poked out her tongue to his back.

Upon arrival in the dormitory the girls were less than impressed by what they saw to be rather Spartan surroundings, Paul on the other hand saw the room as being almost luxurious compared to the male dorms, nice curtains and a couple of very comfortable looking sofas and a small area for tea/coffee making. For night time entertainment there had been a radiogram and even a small TV provided.

Having left the girls to adjust to their new home, Paul quickly set about memorising their names, the mouthy little brunette was called Joan Watts, a name he knew he would probably get sick of saying over the next two weeks. After exactly one hour, Paul knocked upon the dormitory door and waited to be called in, to his surprise there was no answer, so he knocked again.

"OK no need to get your knickers in a twist!" He heard Watts call out, then she opened the door. "Just who we need to see!" She said as she saw Paul standing in the doorway. "Come on in we are all decent, granted some more than others." She said almost hauling Paul through the doorway.

Dressed the same and washed clean of all their makeup the girls looked so different to Paul, somehow that little bit less intimidating, more controllable, then of course Watts spoke.

"Hey what's with all these rules, no leaving the school premises on a week night, no alcohol allowed on school premises, they are bad enough. No smoking! Now you have got to be joking, what are we supposed to do about ciggies? You can't expect us to just stop."

Paul tried hard to stifle his laughter. "Well you young ladies, will just have to do what the boys here do."

"Oh Yeah and whats that?" The fuming Watts asked.

"Try not to get caught." Paul said, now not even trying to hide his smirk."

"I suppose if we do get caught, we get a smacked bum?" Watts asked annoyed by Paul's obvious amusement at the situation.

"More than likely I would say if it's a prefect or matron who catches you, if it's a teacher and it is reported to the head then it will be a caned bum."

"Prefects smack people?"

"It is at their discretion in certain cases yes." Paul said revelling in this feisty exchange. "Mostly pupils prefer it that way than things being taken higher up the food chain."

"Humpph!" Watts grunted in frustration.

"If you would like to follow me ladies." Paul said as he led his charges odd around the school.

The rest of the day was uneventful, they were shown around all the grounds, had lunch, then shown around the rest of the school buildings. They were taken back to their dorm where Paul announced that they would have to stay "in uniform" till after dinner at eight, then the rest of the evening was their own free time.

"Time to do what though?" Watts asked, but received no reply.
After dinner the girls retired to the dorm, and put the radio on, each one wishing that they had thought to bring some records with them. Watts as always was restless, the smokers in the group had realised that the bathroom at the the end of the dorm was an ideal little hideout. If anyone should happen to come to the dorm, namely Paul Thomas, they would have to knock for the sake of decency, so giving the girls plenty time to flush away the ciggie ends and return to the main dorm.

Somehow though that didn't quite fit in with Watts' reckless nature, if she was going to rule break she wanted the excitement, the thrill of maybe being caught.

"Anyone fancy going for a moonlit stroll, some auntie Mary and a tab or two?" She asked her assembled fellow inmates, that was how she saw herself, an inmate.

"Auntie Mary?" One of the girls asked.

"Tia Maria!" Watts said holding up a sliver hip flask triumphantly.

They all shook their heads, all accept to Watts' surprise Powell who nodded to her.

"I don't drink, but I would like a little walk around." She said almost sheepishly.

Watts made a motion with her head towards the door, and Powell followed her. They made an odd couple as they descended the stairs, Watts back in her figure hugging jeans, Powell still wearing the ad-hoc uniform that she had arrived in. The two of them were polar opposites. Watts, brash and mouthy, Powell quite and almost mousy.

At school, though they had gone to different schools, Watts was always a bit of a bad girl, any trouble and she would somehow be involved in it.

Powell, on the other hand had been the class swat, it was only family commitments that had prevented her from going onto university, they needed the extra wage, so Powell had gone straight to work at one of the local factories when she left school with her six O-levels instead of staying on till the sixth form as all her teachers had told her she should have done. The one thing both girls had in common, well two actually, was that they recognised the opportunity that this course could bring them career wise, and they both liked to smoke.

Paul Thomas was sat in the prefect's lounge alone, sitting on the window ledge cup of coffee in hand, idly wondering what tomorrow might bring. Paul noticed a light across the quadrangle, as the door to the girls stairwell opened, he smiled as he watched the two guilty looking young ladies creep out of the door.

"Bingo, young mister Thomas!" He said to himself as he slipped on his loafers and went to his room next to the prefect's lounge to retrieve his torch. " A hunting we will go!"

The two girls made for the tennis courts, Watts had noticed there was a small hut by the side of the courts an ideal smoking and drinking den she had thought that afternoon.

She would have preferred different company to the goody two shoes Powell, still though all the more Tia Maria for herself, even if it meant listening to more of her wittering on about what a great opportunity this could be for all of them. Watts was more interested in how she could nab the dishy head boy for a bit of non-curricular fun. Having just split up with her boyfriend she was missing male attention.

"You know what I fancy at the moment Powell?" She asked her smoking partner, (the girls had quickly fell into the habit of the surname only rule) after taking a deep draught from her hip flask.

"A warm coat maybe, it's freezing tonight." Powell replied her teeth chattering.

"God no! I could really fancy some cock, that would soon warm us up eh?"

"Er....well I wouldn't know." Powell replied, feeling her face warm in the cold wind as the blood rushed to her cheeks.

"What? Virgo intacto are you, please tell me you are having me on." Watts said as she handed Powell a cigarette.

Before Powell had a chance to reply, they were both bathed in bright torchlight.

"Good evening ladies." Paul Thomas said. "I thought I would go lamping tonight, and look I've caught two delectable bunnies up to no good."

Powell quickly threw her just lit cigarette onto the floor in a vain attempt to try and hide her guilt. Watts just put hers to her mouth and drew deeply on it.

"Ah it's a fair cop guv." She said, lifting the flask to her lips to have one final swig of the warming coffee liqueur.

"You know what this means don't you ladies?" Paul asked stalling for time, not really knowing what he was going to about the two of them.

"Are you going to spank our naughty bottoms, sir?" Watts asked, slowly drawling out and emphasising the last three words.

Paul could hardly believe what he had heard, or more to the point the way it was said, it was a blatant invitation from Watts, though Powell looked mortified upon hearing her words.

"Come with me then girls, a spanking for smoking, and a couple of tickles with the cane for the alcohol." Paul said as he led the two girls to the prefect's lounge.

"I wasn't drinking!" Powell protested.

"It's true, Thomas, she wasn't drinking, just smoking. She is a one vice only girl." Watts said sarcastically.

When they reached the lounge Powell looked to be on the verge of tears already.

"I think we will have Watts over my knee first, then Powell you can take your punishment and go while I see if Watts still finds life so amusing with a four cane weals across her arse."

Both girls nodded, though Powell lacked Watts' enthusiasm for the coming procedure.

Paul pulled a chair clear of the table in the centre of the room and sat down, then beckoned Watts across to him.

To both Paul and Powell's amazement, as Watts approached Paul she started undoing her jeans and pulled them down to her knees.

Then pointing at her pale blue knickers, and winking at Paul she said. "Do these have to come down as well, Sir?"

At a loss for what to say, Paul replied. "Well what do you think girl?"

Watts then slowly lowered her knickers revealing to Paul her thickly haired fanny, Paul could feel his fingers start to tremble as she drew closer to him. As she slowly draped herself across his lap he could feel his manhood start to swell. Paul looked down on the creamy white mounds below him, "Soon add a little colour", he thought to himself as he brought his hand down firmly on her soft pillowy flesh. After a few exploratory slaps he increased the tempo, no particular alternating pattern, just random slaps on each cheek for it was the colour he was interested in, also spanking like this left that element of surprise to the spankee. As the pace increased, Watts became ever more theatrical with her screeching and squirming. These theatrical antics had effect on both Paul and Powell. If Powell had been distraught earlier, at just the idea of being spanked. Seeing now that it was going to be bare bottomed and that it would be her turn soon, brought her close to tears. By the time Watts had started kicking and writhing around the first tears were already tracking down Powell's sheet white face. Watts' antics were having an altogether different effect upon Paul, the closeness of her naked groin to his clothed and now aching groin, her erratic movements against his straining cock, Paul knew he would have to soon curtail her punishment or risk cumming in his pants. So after what was only really a cursory spanking, hardly worthy of being called a punishment, he halted and helped her back to her feet. After all he thought, she still has the cane coming her way.

"Over there please Watts," Paul said pointing to the floor next to Powell. "right then, Powell isn't it? Your turn now."

Powell felt like she was going to be physically sick, as she slowly lifted her knee length skirt high up her waist. Paul looked on in expectation, "would she or wouldn't she", he thought to himself. Then Powell now sobbing at her humiliation, put her fingertips into the waistband of her full cut white knickers and started to pull them down to her knees. Paul was mesmerised as her light brown bush came into view, then she almost threw herself across the younger males lap, in a desperate attempt to get this shameful ordeal over with.

As before, Paul started out slowly but firmly, gathering pace as he went along. He happened to glance across at Watts, who now had a beaming smile on her face, their eyes locked together over the noise of Powell's sobbing. Then Watts slowly ran her tongue invitingly around her lips, and winked again at Paul. This blatant come on from Watts brought Powell's punishment to an early close, Paul wanted some quality time alone with the mouthy Watts, also Powell had been punished at just the thought of the spanking. The shame that she went through would always far outweigh the pain. So Paul abruptly stopped the raining down of his hand, and helped the overwrought girl back to her shaking feet.

"Right pull your knickers up, and get back to your dorm." Paul told her, and she didn't have to be told twice, she scrambled her knickers back up and practically ran out of the room.

"Oh dear," Watts said in pantomime shock. "I'm here alone with a strange boy with my knickers around my knees, what ever will happen next I wonder?"

Paul felt used, he oddly felt that Watts had orchestrated all the previous events for her own amusement and Powell's humiliation. He was a pawn on a chess board to Watts' queen, this was a feeling he didn't like and one he meant to redress.

"You will bend over that desk for four strokes of the cane," Paul said firmly, as he got a cane from a wardrobe style cupboard. "that's what will happen next."

Watts shrugged her shoulders and smiled at him. "Okie-dokie, Sir!" She said as she put her elbows on the table in the centre of the room, pushing out her bottom and swaying it provocatively at the now enraged Paul.

Paul slashed the cane across Watts' still pink bottom cheeks.

She jumped up like a scalded cat as she felt the impact on her naked bottom. "You bastard, that hurt!" She shouted as she span around to glare at him. "I like the odd bit of slap and tickle.... but that really hurt!"

Watts stamped her foot in temper causing the clothing around her knees to slip further down her legs. She bent back over sniffing back a tear. The second stroke was just as painful, but she was better prepared, now clasping at the far side of the table with her fingers rather than merely resting on her elbows, but that didn't mean it hurt any less.

"Surely you can think of something else to do.. with me like this," Watts said through gritted teeth. "do I have to spell it out to you that I fancy you?"

This stopped Paul in his tracks just as he was about to deliver the third stinger.

"I know you were turned on as you had me over your lap, you were practically stabbing me in the belly with your cock. Powell probably thought you had a banana in your pocket." Watts said giggling through her tears.

Finally the penny dropped with Paul, he placed the cane on the table next to Watts face, and he started to undo his trousers. Watts sighed in relief, and moved back a little, again resting her upper body on her elbows. Though she didn't know for sure - though she had suspected it - Powell was not the only virgin in the room. Paul's only experience with girls had been a bit clumsy fumbling at the odd party, and now it showed. He tried without success to line himself up with Watts' open and expectant labia, Watts reached back with her right hand to guide him into place. Somewhat to Paul's surprise his cock glided in till his pubic bone was tight against her freshly cane marked bottom, Watts left her hand touching the shaft of his penis with her finger tips whilst he thumb worked at her hard little rosebud. To the surprise of neither of them, Paul came after only a handful of pumping strokes, but Watts didn't mind, the spanking and watching Powell's punishment had primed her well and she had also came just seconds before Paul. Also Watts thought a strapping fit eighteen year old would soon get his breath back for a repeat performance, as with everything else that evening, she was correct.

Tuesday, 26 July 2011

Birthday boy!

I just want to wish my good friend and co-author Tomas a very "Happy Birthday", I hope you have a really great day!!

With love and hugs from Lori x0x0x0x

Tuesday, 19 July 2011

Striping Tigger


For over thirty odd years now I have wondered what her name was. To my friends and I she was only known as Tigger. Not that she ever knew we called her that, she got the name from us by the fact that she more often or not wore a t-shirt with a tiger's face on it. It was nineteen seventy seven, or perhaps even early nineteen seventy eight, what I do know was that I was about sixteen or seventeen. Sixteen or so and drinking underage in The Mount, we would always go there early on a Thursday night just as the disco was starting. When you went early on the staff were perhaps a little more relaxed about the drinking laws, glad of the custom perhaps. Later in the night, as the room started to fill they were more picky about peoples ages. Of course if you had been there necking back pints of lager since seven o'clock, they could hardly ask your age at nine o'clock. It was an odd strategy on our part, but a strategy none the less that did seem to work. As you can imagine the room at seven was fairly thin on the ground with people, fifteen, or twenty at the most on most weeks. Veronica, as I now know her to be called, and her two friends were always there. She looked older than us, somewhere between nineteen and twenty three ( I was later to find out she was our age), so really out of our league. Not that she was stunningly beautiful, but she had something about her, a kind of sexiness borne from confidence. Whatever it was I know we all lusted after her, more so when she danced, of course none of us did anything about this lust. Well not until I got up the nerve to dance with her.

The disc jockey seemed to play a tape every week, probably songs that he liked, as he sorted out all his vinyl records. I assume it was a tape as it was always the same songs in the same order. As soon as the opening bars of David Bowie's Sound and Vision came on, Tigger would be up on the floor, dancing quite happily on her own as Bowie's voice filled the room. As soon as that track finished, she would either sit back down, or go to the bar for another round of drinks. This particular night I decided I would join her on the dance floor, a brave thing to do, for if she turned her back on my clumsy gyrations I would be left standing there in abject humiliation in front of my sneering friends. She didn't turn her back. She smiled, she didn't sit back down as the song finished, we danced to a further three more tracks before the DJ reverted to the staple diet of disco music. It became a bit of a ritual from then on, each week I would dance with Tigger! Each week we would smile at each other, but each week we would return to our respective friends without a word passing between us! Shyness masked by bravado was always a problem with me in my teens, that and the fact that I could never make up my mind if the signals being sent out were genuine or a mickey take. So I danced with Tigger but nothing more.

Now though here she was, sitting opposite me in my office, when I read the name it meant nothing to me, but as soon as she walked in I recognised her. Not that she would remember me, or if she did, she would certainly not recognise me. The lanky boy with the long blond hair, had now been replaced by a bald middle aged man looking like an ex nightclub doorman.

"So how can I help, Veronica, you don't mind me calling you Veronica do you?" I asked trying my best to sound professionally detached.

"No of course not, after all it is my name." She replied, and I nodded as we sat on our opposite facing chairs. "I'm not even sure that you can help, to be honest I don't even know what is wrong with me. As a matter of fact I think I'm probably wasting your time.

"At some point though, you decided that counselling would be a good idea?" I ask, trying to keep eye contact with her evermore nervous wandering gaze. "Or you wouldn't have took the step to make an appointment in the first place."

"It was one of my friends who said counselling might help," She said, with an uncertain, weak smile. "it's since my daughter moved out, now I'm living at home alone my life seems to lack any focus or purpose. Maybe it's a late midlife crisis, but whatever it is it's affecting my work as well as my private life."

"It's affecting your work, in what way?" I ask still trying to catch her elusive eyes.

"I'm not meeting deadlines," She says, and I notice her blushing slightly. "and I'm finding myself distracted easily."

"Deadlines? Do you work in sales?" I ask her, finally drawing her gaze.

"No I'm a writer." She said almost apologetically.

"Really! What is it that you write?"

"Historical romance," Now she is really blushing. "bodice rippers is the colloquial term for them. Not bestsellers but they pay the bills."

"So you are finding it hard to find the time to write, is that the problem?"

"No," She said almost laughing. "I have more time on my hands now than I've ever had. I just basically don't do it. I get side tracked, sidetracked very easily."

"In what way do you get sidetracked?"

"I have to do a lot of research on the internet, once I get online I wander all over the place." Now her face is beetroot as she tells me this.

"So you are looking for some kind of....remedy.... for your distractions?" I ask struggling a little for the right phrase.

She nods glumly, then I notice she seems to drift off into some dream world, then gives a little hollow laugh.

"What's funny?"

"Oh nothing really, I was just thinking back to when I was at university." She said, the redness reappearing on her neck and face.

"Yes go on... when you were at university?"

"Well... it was just... well," Veronica struggled to find the right words. "you know, parents... sort of motivated me."

"Yes, they motivated you." I nodded for her to continue.

"Well my mam, even though I had left school... she sort of kept up... you know," Her face bright red now. "let's just say she was old fashioned about behaviour and studying... come on I don't have to spell it out do I!"

"Do you mean she spanked you?" I asked, half in disbelief. Just the idea of the super confident, sexy Tigger going home on a Thursday night to face a spanking was causing in me an unprofessional physical reaction.

Veronica nodded glumly, then said. "Sometimes... she would cane me too... if she thought I had really overstepped the mark."

"This was when you were at uni?" I asked still getting harder at the extraordinary idea of it.

"Well yeah, I went to Durham so I just used to bus in I stayed at home.... no staying in the castle or halls of residence for me."

"So you found at the time this discipline helped you with your work?" I asked, still half thinking it was all a wind up on her part.

"Yes. It gave me a sort of solid base... do you know what I mean, I had set guidelines and rules that I had to either follow or face the consequences. Now my life is anarchy, no one to answer to in any way may sound great, but it leads to bad lifestyle choices. I saw a comedian talking about living alone, saying he could get up at ten o'clock in the morning then watch early morning TV drinking wine, all the audience laughed at the thought of it, I didn't laugh as I've done that..." Veronica said almost now on the verge of tears.

Then a mad, mad, thought crossed my mind, before I could really think it through I articulated it to her. "So some sort of a return to a similar regime you think could be of help to you?"

She looked started by statement, not in shock though, more sort of desperate hope in her eyes. "How?" She asked me simply.

Quickly, probably too quickly. I formulated a plan, a disciplinary regime that she would have to live by, all ideas of professional ethics on my part had long since flown out the window, as would my career if this became public. She agreed to emailing me a minimum of one thousand words per day of the book she was currently working on, any back sliding on this could incur a punishment. She left me looking a lot more happy than when she came in. For my part I just sat there thinking, "God what have let your self in for this time Tom?"

The first two weeks went by great, the book wasn't to my taste but she certainly knew how to write a tale, to be honest I more than half hoped that she would fail in some way, as I always had more than a mild curiosity toward spanking and CP. Then on the second Sunday I received no email from her. So on the Monday morning I sent her an email.


Hi Veronica.

I hope all is well with you, as I don't seemed to have received Sunday's email.

Yours Thomas.


On the Monday night I received an apology, and a very badly written three thousand words littered with grammar and historical plot errors.

Tuesday morning I sent her another email.


Hi Veronica.

I'm sorry to see that you are not taking this seriously, you have just earned yourself a spanking for this coming Saturday.

Yours Thomas.


To my surprise, the reply I received was a heartfelt apology wherein Veronica accepted her fate. I had never really given this whole idea a realistic chance of actually taking place, I looked upon it as at best being a notional deterrent, it would seem Veronica saw it differently. For all her well meant apologies, and promises of doubling up both the quality and the required amount of words she failed badly. Wednesday came and went without any email, Thursday's input was again lacking in her previous quality. I had no choice but to nominally at least up the ante. Late Thursday early Friday, I sent her this email.


Hi Veronica.

I'm sorry to say that I am not in the least bit impressed by your output or should I say lack of output this week. So to add to your already allotted punishment on Saturday, you shall also receive four strokes of the cane.

Yours Thomas.


This email I thought would be the one that brought her crashing back into reality, the idea of such punishments for a fifty year old woman, would make her see sense and buckle down to some real work. Her answer both thrilled and shocked me. Instead of looking upon my suggestion as the nonsense that I perceived it to be, she again apologised and agreed to my proposed chastisement. This left me with a bit of a problem, it is one thing to threaten someone with a caning. It is another thing to carry it out, more so when you aren't in possession of a cane! I had only one day to correct this. The way I saw it was either a journey into one of the Newcastle sex shops to try and purchase a suitable instrument, with all the embarrassment of going into such a shop. Or I had the DIY option of buying a selection of bamboo rods from the gardening section of Focus. I chose the coward's way, so instead of a fine looking crook handled cane of comic book fame, I ended up with half a dozen thin yellow rods. I admit not as aesthetic as the first option, but no doubt just as painful across the rear! I weeded out the most knobbly ones as unsuitable and kept the two smoothest, then got to work on practising my swishing skills on an old pillow. I also had what was supposed to be a quick bit of research on the internet into domestic discipline, the minutes soon turned to hours, as I waded my way through a plethora of articles, stories and even videos. Was this perhaps what she was referring to when she said she was easily distracted? Her books, though never explicit held an undercurrent of suggested corporal punishment. Her current work, and also some of her earlier stuff was littered with phrases such as, "the house was ruled by the rod", "the butler was feared throughout the house by all the maids" and "he was a fair but firm employer". Of course it could be me reading too much into her writing, or maybe there is an underlying need within her?

Veronica was due at my house at one thirty pm, I arose at six o'clock in the morning and the whole morning was spent watching the clock in a mixture of both anticipation and disbelief that this was actually happening. Just before one fifteen the doorbell rang, I quickly pressed play on my CD player remote, as a kind of homage to our more youthful meetings I had put on David Bowie's album Low. I opened the door and Veronica stood there in a long summer dress that came to her knees, a mixture of purple and blue splashes with a broad black belt across her still slim waist. I thought to myself, that the length of the dress must have an attempt by her to save her blushes as she bent herself over my knee. As she walked into the room and heard the sounds of Speed Of Life she laughed and said. "This used to be my favourite album to do my homework to, and my college work!" I said nothing, I wanted to talk of tiger t-shirts but I held my tongue.

"Well, Tom. We might as well get this over with... I suppose."

I shrugged my shoulders and tried to act cool, though my heart felt like it was about to burst from my chest, like Ridley Scott's Alien. I led Veronica up to my back bedroom, this room had no adjoining walls to my neighbour's house. Even though I had half expected Veronica to be a no show, I had prepared the room just in case. A chair from the dining room by side of the bed, three pillows on top of each other at the foot of the bed, blinds drawn and windows closed. Veronica's eyes darted around the room, she looked like the condemned from a B movie.

I sat myself down on the chair, she put her shoulder bag on the bed next to me. Then to my uttermost surprise, she started to pull up the hem of her dress, almost as if in a trance, her eyes closed tightly as she tucked the hem into the belt around her waist, exposing to me her pale blue knickers. As she carried out this almost ritualistic act I could see that not only were her fingers shaking, but her whole body seemed to be almost shivering in either shame or excitement. Then once her dress was securely trapped beneath her belt she went to her bag and started to fumble through it, eventually retrieving a lipstick which she handed to me, then broke her silence.

"Mam always used to put a line across both cheeks... then would spank me till my bottom was that colour." She said to me, though her eyes were pointed towards the ceiling.

"But you're... wearing... er.." I fumbled for words trying not to state the obvious.

"Mam always used to pull them down herself... it sort of adds to the.. you know... shame and stuff." Veronica stumbled out her words, both of us finding the situation a little dumbfounding.

This was an invitation that I did not have to receive twice. As my fingers went to the waist band of her knickers, I could both hear and feel her gasp as her tummy contracted at my fingers touch. Slowly I pulled down her gossamer thin underwear that in truth would have offered her no protection whatsoever. As it was in direct line with my eye level I couldn't help but notice her full natural, but surprisingly wispy bush, and the hint of the fleshy folds below it. She quickly scrambled over my lap once her underwear was at her knees. I cast my mind back to our youth, the idea of a half naked Tigger over my knee for a spanking, god I wouldn't have slept for a month at the thought of it! I then drew a line across her full but still quite firm buttocks. I'm not really a person for knowing different colour shades, this was not pink, and it was not really red either, but I knew I had quite a bit of hue changing to do to make these pale orbs the same colour. So I set about doing just that, firmly not harshly though. I developed a sort of four beats pattern to put it into musical terms, it was sort of one, two, three, then change cheeks on four and repeat!

After about three minutes or so of this her bottom was changing colour, but still though the lipstick mark stood proud against the now hot skin around it. By now Veronica was squealing and squirming around on my lap, her legs kicking up such a fuss, so I hooked my right leg over the back of her knees pinioning her in place as I tried to finish of her request. All this movement of her naked pubis upon my groin was having a reaction that must have been just as evident to Veronica as it was to me. She surely could not have failed to notice my sexual excitement, though she wouldn't know that is was born of over thirty years of forlorn, unrequited lust. Here I was now, with the target of so many nights of my teenage dreaming half naked across my knee. The focal point of all those adolescent musings here almost at my fingertips, all it would take was a slight lowering of my hand, to move from her bottom to those inflamed lips below. However the two of us struggled through our mutual torment till Veronica's cheeks reached the required colour, and the lipstick stripes blended in fully with the adjacent skin. I then helped her back to her feet and said. "I think five minutes reflection in that corner, then you can take your caning." I could hear the sound of David Bowie drifting up the stairs imploring someone to be his wife.

"Please can I come back tomorrow... I'm sore." Veronica said, rubbing vigorously at her bottom, each rubbing movement forcing her hips and her pussy toward my face, all her previous coyness replaced by the wish to drive the heat from her stinging hot bottom, I held back from the temptation to lean forward and kiss, and said.

"Would your mam have put it off for a day?" She didn't answer, only shook her head sadly as she made her way to the allotted corner of shame.

Those five minutes! They seemed so long to me, but no doubt so short to her. It was so odd really once I told her the time was up, without any argument she came to the foot of the bed and placed herself over the pillows. Her bottom now hoisted high, her anus and glistening pink full sexual folds on display, caning her was not what sprang to my mind as she lay there so temptingly presented, but I had a task to do and had to be professional about it. I didn't want to hurt her, but also I didn't want her to think she was getting off lightly either, I had to somehow strike a happy medium. The first stroke landed and seemed to cause the correct level of discomfort, I watched as it made a white line on her now quite rosy cheeks, then waited to see that white line turn to an almost purple weal. I nodded to myself, that seemed to be the happy medium that I was looking for! I kept more or less that same power for the next three strokes, blocking out her sobs and pleas till she had received all four strokes. I then helped her once more to her feet and led her back to the corner for a further ten minutes corner time.

As she stood there her back towards me, her fingers tentatively feeling at the cane marks, I couldn't help but have a little wry smile as I thought to myself, "A nicely striped Tigger!"

Sunday, 3 July 2011

Missed Assembly!

Missed Assembly

Standing listening at the door,
Grimacing I hear that sound once more,
The whistling-whack of the falling cane,
Then poor Julie's cry of pain,
My lip is quivering, my knees start to shake,
Wondering how many we'll have to take.

I picture the room behind that door,
As I hear the cane fall once more,
Poor Julie waiting bent over the chair,
Her skirt is raised her bottom bare,
Four red lines upon her pale bum,
Wondering how many more's to come.

So what had we done to deserve this fate?
Missed assembly again fifteen minutes late,
Two times this week would mean detention,
Unless we avoid the heads attention,
Sneak into school and go straight to class,
No one would know that we missed mass.

So there it was our cunning plan,
Round the back of the building we ran,
All we had to do was hide out in the gym,
No teacher would know, or suspect a thing,
Laughing and joking we made our way,
So clever were we, on this sunny spring day.

Climbing over the boundary wall,
When we heard the prefect's call,
"You two are caught, don't try to run,
today for you, will not be fun,
the heads not in for he is ill,
so of you two go, to Mrs. Hill!"

Our faces lost colour at this information,
Mrs. Hill was consistent in her castigation,
She only believed in one panacea,
For all rule breaks committed here,
The cane was her choice for every sin,
Vigorously applied to bare skin.

Led down to the room by our ex-friend Jane,
Who on becoming a prefect, has just been a pain,
Reporting anyone for detention or lines,
Upon our fate she happily opines,
"With six-formers you know she is always severe,
So the price for you two will be very dear."

So happy in her chatting as we make our way there,
Smiling broadly with a jovial air,
She tells us something that we did not know,
Her eyes a' twinkling, her face aglow,
"As I caught you, your punishments I'll witness,
Both of you bent over, bare and knickerless!"

My eyes start to water, as I hear this statement,
Knowing that she would see our abasement,
Her watching as we get every whack,
Her smiling at the land of each smack,
Then she will tell our friends what she has seen,
No detail spared, every embarrassing scene.

We reach the office, she goes inside,
Oh how I wish there was somewhere to hide!
Then the door re-opens, and Jane is smiling,
The times now here for our hiding!
"Julie first!", she say's with a smile,
"You wait here, we could be a while."

So this brings us back to the start,
Me standing listening with a pounding heart,
By now we have reached to number seven,
I'm in hell, while Jane is in heaven,
Then another, that makes eight,
All of this, for just being late!

The door opens, a teary Julie appears,
Behind her Jane stands and leers,
"Your turn now, come on make haste,
We really have no time to waste."
I enter the office, I see the chair,
I see Mrs. Hill standing there.

The yellow cane in her hand,
I'm shaking waiting for her command,
"Come on girl you know the score,
You've been in here plenty times before!"
I lift my skirt then bend and wait,
Oh God I wished we hadn't been late!

The End.

Letter to the editor!

I would like to share something with you and your readers, something that shows even the worlds most liberal parents can sometimes be pushed to far. This happened, not so long ago as to be off in the distant fog of the past, in fact it was only in nineteen eighty eight, OK it was the last century but the memory of it is still vivid in my mind.

So here is my little story, make of it what you will, believe or disbelieve it's up to you.
It's a few months past my eighteenth birthday, a muggy Saturday morning and two of my friends have come around, for the three of us to go off to the mall for the afternoon.

As always I like to show off a bit, showing them just how far I - unlike them, with their parents - can push my Mom without any serious comeback. What I didn't know was, that Mom was in a really foul mood and had enough of my behaviour, which I must admit was not improving with age but actually if anything getting worse, as I was now considering myself immune to her sanctions.

This Saturday's bratting proved to be the final straw that breaks the camel's back, after a short shouting match with Mom about how untidy my room was, and my total refusal to tidy it before going out, Mom skulked out towards the kitchen her tail between her legs.

Or at least so I thought.

Sitting on the sofa, grinning smugly at my two stunned pals feeling that I had won yet one more battle of the wills. Knowing that both of them were so envious of me, and the lax discipline in our household.

Before we could get up to leave though for our afternoon of idleness, the door opens and Mom walks back into the room, in her hand a large flat backed wooden clothes brush.

Both of my friends pass each other a knowing glance and try to stifle their giggles as they see the brush and the resolute look on Mom's face.

"Sorry girls," She say to my now sniggering friends. "I'm going to have to borrow Annie from you for five minutes or so!"

The two of them nod, biting at their lower lips so as not to laugh, me, I just stare at her in disbelief, she can't be serious.

"Annie get in that kitchen now!" Mom shouts at me.

Almost in a daze I try to stand, knees feeling like jelly as I struggle to my feet, I know she can't really mean it though, can she?

Can she really mean to spank me with that brush?

Not with my friends sitting in the next room, hearing every word, hearing every slap of that brush against my denim clad bottom?

No she couldn't mean it!

Though she has threatened it before, threatened it on more than one occasion, that's all it has ever been though empty threats.

Until today.

"Hurry up Annie, I haven't got all day." She scolds me.

With leaden feet I walk across the floor, avoiding looking at my so called friends, who now seem to be enjoying every moment of my predicament, I can feel my cheeks burning in embarrassment as I slowly tread towards the kitchen. Mom gives me a sharp slap with her hand across my bottom to hurry me along, adding further to my shame.

As I enter the kitchen I see that Mom has already pulled a chair out into the centre of the floor, as she takes up her seat, I notice that she has deliberately left the door open behind her, they will definitely hear everything! I sniff back a tear, and move to go across her lap.

"Don't be stupid girl, get back up and get those jeans down!" She orders.

My fingers shake as I fiddle first with the button then with the zipper.

Eventually I manage to loosen them and pull my jeans down to my knees.

"Drawers down as well, this going to be bare-ass so you can remember it!"

As my fingers go to the waistband of my thin t-cut panties, that would have offered no real protection anyway, I feel the first tear run down my cheek. As I pull down my panties to join my jeans, I taste that tear's saltiness on my lips.

I rush to drape myself over her lap, not eagerness to be punished, just trying to hide the shame of my frontal nakedness.

Then I feel it!

The first slap of the broad hard wood backing, the initial pain soon replaced by a deep burning sensation.

Before I can accustom myself to this heat, the second blow arrives, then the third. I wiggle about on her lap, trying to avoid the blows as Mom works up to a quick tempo, a tempo causing a tortuous blaze across my naked behind.

For all my best intentions of not crying out or sobbing, I'm soon begging for Mom to stop, soon writhing and kicking on her lap.

I know only to well that I'm now truly providing my friends with an entertaining diversion on what had been a boring weekend morning. I also know that all they have to do is stand up, and they will be able to see, as well as hear my unjust chastisement.

After what seems like an age, she finally stops her relentless punishment.

"Now get up, and get back into the living room." Mom says to my tearful relief. "I want you standing in the corner by the TV for ten minutes, hands on top of your head while you think about your future behaviour."

Sobbing and nodding I make to pull up my panties and jeans.

"Leave your clothing where it is, this is going to be real corner time, bare bottomed!"

I hobble back to my waiting friends, each step making my jeans and panties slip further down my calves. As I re-enter the living room, I can tell by my friends glowing faces that on Monday, this morning's events will be the talk of the whole school!

Annie, Salt Lake City.