Monday, 28 July 2014

Striping Tigger

(Another edited version of an old post.)



Veronica!

For over thirty odd years now I have wondered what her name was. To my friends and I she was only ever known as Tigger. Not that she ever knew that 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 maybe even early nineteen seventy eight, what I do recall was that I was about seventeen. Seventeen or so and drinking underage in The Mount, we would always go there early each 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 maybe. 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.

Once that track finished, she would either sit back down, or go to the bar for another round of drinks. One particular Thursday I decided I would join her on the dance floor. A brave thing to do, for if she turned her back upon 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 also, 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 very much 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 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 taken 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 are 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, my 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 thought of the super confident, sexy Tigger going home after a Thursday night out to face a spanking, was causing me to have 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 a 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 that this was all a wind up on her part.

"Yes. It gave me a sort of a 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 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 startled by statement, not in shock though, more sort of with a desperate hope in her eyes. "How?" She asked me.

Quickly, probably too quickly. I formulated a plan, a disciplinary regime that she would have to live by, all ideals or 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 happier 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 seem to have received Sunday's email.

Yours Thomas.

---------------------

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 altogether 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 was 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 that maybe 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 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 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 action 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.

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 a 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 being 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 a change cheeks on four and repeat.

After, about three minutes or so of this, her bottom was indeed changing colour, but still though the lipstick mark stood proudly 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 former 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 wheal. I nodded to myself that seemed to be the happy medium that I was looking for I kept more or less that the 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, "A nicely striped Tigger!"

THE END

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