Our story began here.

A bird sang nearby, a sweet accompaniment to the hush of the trees as they swayed in a light dance in the wind. Not that Mary noticed. She sat under the tree pretending to read a book as she kicked her life around in her head. Nor did she see Alice’s approach along the side of the gravel path.

“Anything good?” the governess asked as she nodded at the book.

Mary shrugged and shook her head.

“Come on, let’s go for a walk,” Alice suggested.

Mary didn’t reply, but ungainly got to her feet and dusted off her patterned flared skirt. Then quickly falling into step besides Alice, she ducked her head as if complying from duty.

Alice chuckled quietly as she sized the girl up. Her attire was better than the night before and it was obvious the girl had washed her mass of red hair so that it shone for once. But her demeanour was a little sullen

“How do you feel things are going?” the older woman asked carefully.

Mary shrugged.

Only the night before they had had a chat about Mary’s shortcomings and the 21-year-old had shown the first glimpse of spirit since coming under Alice’s wing. Katherine too had fared little better after offering up some make-up tips and afterwards the two older women had compared notes.

Now there was another matter that needed to be addressed.

“Why are you here?” Alice said stopping suddenly.

Mary’s face became animated and pained as she looked away.

“You want more don’t you? You want…” Alice began tentatively.

“I want to be like you and Katherine,” Mary blurted. “I know what you said last night; I know you were right but… oh… I don’t know, I just don’t know…” she stamped her foot in frustration.

“Is that why you went through my things last night?” Alice said in a neutral voice.

“I… I didn’t…” Mary stuttered.

“Not my books?” Alice pressed her.

Mary blushed to her ears and dropped her chin to her chest.

“I was just…”

“So you don’t deny it?” Alice said lightly.

Mary shrugged and looked around at the garden as if she might be rescued by the grass or the flowers.

“What were you looking for?” Alice pressed her.

Mary felt a throb of blood in her head and her mouth went dry.

“A book… a book like the pamphlet I was sent,” Mary mumbled.

If Alice guessed Mary’s true meaning she didn’t reveal it. Instead she nodded and said, “So you think the answer is in a book?”

“I was just curious?” Mary said quietly.

“Do you think you should have gone in my room without permission? Do you think you should rifle through my books?” Alice asked as if addressing a class in geography or French, both equally alien to Mary.

“No,” Mary breathed.

“What do you think I should do about it now?” Alice asked pointedly.

Mary looked up, her face a picture of panic and her eyes dancing rapidly in her head.

“What do you think I would do to Jenny or Janet?” Alice said sternly.

The girl worked her mouth as she blanched.

“Is that one of the things you are curious about?” Alice barked.

Mary jumped and dipped her head. But she nodded.

“When I asked you if you went through my things, you lied,” Alice said more gently.

Mary sniffed, her eyes now a little moist and she shrugged.

“Should I go easy on you?” Alice asked in genuine curiosity.

The redhead squirmed and hugged into herself.

“No,” she said, seemingly more like a little girl than a 21-year-old.

“Public or private?” the governess asked sharply, “Private will be harsh, public will be like Janet.”

Alice was still working the young woman out and wanted to know her choices. Usually there would be none and shouldn’t be.

Mary responded with saucer eyes and mouthed the words ‘you can’t.’

Alice glared and made to take the girl’s arm.

“Private, please, private,” Mary gabbled hastily.

“I’ll think about it,” Alice snapped and taking Mary’s arm led her down the path towards the house.

*

The arm-towed Mary tottered behind Alice half-resisting as they approached the house. She wanted to beg for a private spanking, but she wasn’t even reconciled to the idea of any kind of spanking yet so the ‘please’ stuck to her tongue.

But just as the back door to the kitchen loomed they made a hard right and went another way towards some out buildings. They were of old brick with one or two broken window panes and a partly tumbled down roof.

“This has a kind of woodshed at one end,” Alice told her, “You know what woodsheds are for don’t you? It is a grand old American tradition.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Mary blurted.

“Good,” Alice sighed as they reached the open component of the buildings under a lean-to stacked high with wood.

“It is fairly quiet here, so we will leave your privacy in the lap of the gods. Take off you skirt, petticoat and panties.”

Mary gaped.

“Any procrastination and I’ll take you up to the house,” Alice snapped.

A red-faced Mary swallowed down a hefty dose of dismay and scrambled to obey.

Once naked below the waist Alice took her clothes and directed her to face the wall under the half roof in the only space available.

“I’ll come back in a while and if you are still here then we will begin. If not I will expect to find you in your room to await a trip to the bathroom,” Alice told.

Mary could feel the blood singing in her ears and the chill on her thighs and exposed bottom. It was too unreal and she could hardly get a breath. There was no question of not obeying and she knew well what would happen in the bathroom, or could.

“That’s it,” Alice said cheerfully as Mary reluctantly turned her bare bottom out as she faced the wall. “There are only girls to see and if they do then too bad. Otherwise this will be between us. But mark my words, don’t move a muscle or turn away from the wall. I want you to think about things and exactly what you have coming.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Mary gasped. “But Ma’am… how… how long do I…?”

But Alice didn’t answer and walked away leaving Mary in a state of consternation.

*

How long she had been standing there was lost in her shame as a race of confusion went through Mary’s brain. It was a totally alien experience, standing as she was half opened to the elements with no skirt or panties on. She only had Alice’s word that only she and the other girls could see and that was bad enough. But that wasn’t even the worst of it. She was going to get a spanking and she knew it. A spanking worse than Janet’s or Jenny’s that ran the risk of being even more embarrassing.

She could run of course. Go to her room maybe or leave altogether. But that did not bear thinking about and besides she was too much the coward to defy Alice.

Suddenly at a crack of a twig behind her she stole a look over shoulder. There was nothing but the afternoon shadows under overgrown shrubs and the woods. She imagined local boys spying on her and thrilled at the shame. She blushed. She would die if there really were anyone watching her. Her tummy tingled with butterflies and she was torn at every sound between peeking and the fear that it was Alice or one of the girls.

She could leave me here all day and then send Katherine to fetch me to be spanked in front of everyone. Her head nearly burst at the idea. Then she thought of the sneaking into Alice’s room and what she had been looking for.

She deserved this, she really did, and any watching boys. A nasty girl like her should be spanked in town where young men could see and know how bad she was. It was an odd train of thought and she buzzed as she ran with it. She hovered then between a netherworld of secret fantasies and the hard reality of the sounds in the woods and the hard knots and smell of pine just inches from her nose.

Mary grabbed at her bottom and imagined it spanked, glancing again backwards and picturing the scene from the trees like some narcissus. The rush of wind in the forest beyond the garden lulled her and she began to drift in sleepy submission, surrendering herself to the world.

Then a hard crunch on the path brought her back and Alice was at her shoulder.

“That’s a good girl,” Alice said with a grin that Mary risked turning to see. “You look so cute there I could almost let you off easy,” the governess continued.

Then Mary saw what Alice was holding a gulped. Her mentor rolled a long thin stick of hickory or the like between her fingers. It was robust enough and the older woman had taken the trouble to peel it carefully.

“Oh yes, it is for you,” Alice said in amusement. “Mark it well, as it will shortly mark you, next time you will find, cut and prepare your own, and sans culottes as you are now.”

“Sans-what?” Mary said absently, but her entire attention was on the switch.

“Without panties or skirt, or even naked like wood nymph,” Alice said sharply.

Mary worked her mouth and turned away again as if out of sight out of mind.

“I have decided to get creative with you,” Alice continued, warming to her task. “I am going to give you a switching old-style just to take the edge of your somewhat unhealthy appetite and then within three days you will come and see me and request a sound old-fashioned over the knee spanking on your bare bottom. If you don’t, on Sunday we will come right back here and you can demonstrate your switch-finding skills.”

“But…” Mary wailed.

“Oh you’re getting both, believe me, but the second, an encounter with a hairbrush, you will have to ask for. I am determined to shake you out of this shell of yours.”

Mary took a deep breath and willed the ground to do some proverbial swallowing, but it stubbornly refused to oblige.

“Now turn and face the saw-horse,” Alice continued, “And bend right over with your bottom uppermost.”

Mary blanched, still considering the near future shame when she saw the wood crossbar, mercifully polished with long use. Whether from cutting wood or bent over girls, Mary couldn’t decide. But the reality of imminent indignity and an encounter with the switch was now too close for sanity.

“Bend over,” Alice said with firm deliberation.

Mary nodded and took a step forward. The cool of the crosspiece was a hand-span down her thighs, too high to lower herself with any dignity, and she had to strain on to tip-toes to get right over.

Alice meanwhile was appraising Mary’s well-defined high-set bottom that jutted deeper in profile than it did to the sides. Not that the girl was narrow-hipped; just athletic. Once doubled over her bare bottom domed up firmly offering a good target that looked well able to take a good whipping.

“I ought to spank you first for mercy’s sake,” Alice murmured.

“Ooh, ooh,” Mary fluttered, “Please don’t.”

“Suit yourself,” Alice shrugged and with a light flick-snick she struck the girl across both bottom cheeks.

Mary hissed and rocked her bottom, one of her feet kicking back. Alice landed several more in quick succession exacting the same response. In moments the pale bottom was pinkened with a rash long bumps forming ridges.

“So you know, most girls think this worse than a spanking, I certainly do, but something about you suggest this is your level. Besides, we both know you have an unhealthy interest in a traditional spanking, which is why you are going to have to ask for the other first,” Alice explained. “Ask or face more of this,” the switch sliced crossways and then across the under-curves of Mary’s bottom where she sat, “Much more.”

Still doubled over with her head down, Mary glowered into the floor, mortified at both Alice’s suggestion and her proposed solution. But the lines of fire quickly overrode all and she began to gasp and give over to tight pained grunts as the switching continued.

By now the welts were fully formed and stood out as angry purple-red ridges fit to burst. While Mary rocked and pumped her legs as she squealed comically at each impact. Her distress was earnest enough but Alice could tell it was not soul-felt and for a first-timer the girl was amazingly stoical.

“Is it what you expected?” Alice asked; she remembered her first encounter and the shocked reality of it, which had been nothing like her imaginings.

As she spoke the snick-hiss-thwack of the switch continued until Mary became quite shrill.

“Omigod,” Mary yelped, bug-eyed into the floor.

“Is it?” Alice pressed her picking up the pace.

“Nooo,” Mary wailed, hardly knowing now what was said; “I’m sorry, so sorry…”

Despite her tearful regrets, no more than pools at her red-rimmed eyes, the girl wasn’t broken and there was no true sobbing, Alice marvelled, well some girls were tough and it was always the quiet ones.

“I will have your surrender one way or another,” Alice told her, “Or you will back here time and again.”

The governess might have continued for longer but if Mary was equal to the ordeal, her virgin bottom wasn’t and the mass of worm-tracks looked very raw indeed.

“That should do you for now,” Alice sighed, “You can go and cool your bottom back in the corner for a while.”

The sweat-bathed Mary got unsteadily to her feet, panting as if she had run a race. Her mouth hung open beneath a mess of red hair and she nodded. The little pain-dance was more subdued than many Alice had seen and Mary found the strength not to rub as her arms stayed defiantly at her sides with hands clenched.

“You know what you have to do. You have three days,” Alice said kindly.

Then she tossed the switch out into the grass and as soon as Mary was facing the wall she left.

Mary faced the wall gaping like landed fish for a moment, her hands clawing frantically at her ravage bottom. She had survived; she was not quite the weak ninny everyone thought she was. She was one of the girls after all. For a second she regretted that they might never know, but she wasn’t that ready, not yet.

Then unbidden, and taking her totally by surprise she burst into violent heaving sobs, which continued for long, long minutes.

To be continued.

Here is an 1898 excerpt from the London Gazette.

Landlady spanks wayward lady tenant
Metropolitan Police were called to a house in Putney following ‘reports of commotion.’ It seems that a landlady, one Mrs Edna Beverage, 36, took the law into her hands when dealing with a difficult tenant by spanking her soundly with a coal shovel.

The shamefaced tenant, Miss Irene Grey, 21, refused all offers of assistance reportedly stating that “The matter had been resolved” and that “Mrs Beverage and she remained on very good terms.”

Police were called shortly after 3 A.M. after shouts and screams were heard coming from a downstairs parlour. They were by all accounts quickly satisfied after suggesting that future disagreements be resolved in daylight hours.

It seems that Miss Grey had returned home in the early hours to this respectable neighbourhood and had entered into a dispute with her landlady after rousing her from her bed in order to gain entrance to the house.

Mrs Beverage is reported as saying that she looked upon Miss Grey as a daughter and added “I see nothing wrong with dealing with her in an effective and traditional manner.”

The Gazette hopes that she got to the seat of the problem.

Sent in by Stan B. Many thanks.

Our story began here.

None of the girls had missed that Mary had been soundly spanked. Given that she was older than them, Jenny and Janet could not help sniggering about it too. This despite, or perhaps because, they had both recently suffered at Alice’s hands also.

Only Katherine showed any sympathy at all, although even she had to stifle a small laugh at the comic scene at supper when a stiff and limping Mary had oh so gingerly lowered herself onto a pillow that she had had to place on the dining room chair. In the event her attempts failed and after only a few moments of squirming and facial animation she had regained her feet and opted to take her supper off the mantle instead. The poor girl was mortified and would not look anyone in the eyes for days.

Nevertheless, after her embarrassing sojourn at the mantle, Mary sheepishly waited for Katherine once the other two weren’t around.

“Katherine,” Mary offered up wanly, “I am sorry I was so… I’m sorry. Could you please tell me again… I mean, could you help me about my clothes?”

Katherine smiled and agreed readily.

“How was it anyway, your meeting with Alice I mean?” Katherine ventured once she was sure the others had skedaddled and weren’t lurking somewhere to eavesdrop.

“Oh it was just peachy, can’t you tell?” Mary replied ruefully.

“So I noticed, what did she do?” Katherine whispered conspiratorially.

“She introduced me to her friend Mr Switch,” Mary rolled her eyes.

“Ouch,” Katherine said with a wince, “She mentioned something about a stick. I gather you must have done more than just give her some impudence regarding her advice.”

Mary looked at her shoes and blushed. Just then the two women arrived at the stairs and Mary found that she had to ascend them grandmother style, with very careful steps.

“Come on,” Katherine prompted, “Confession time.”

Mary pulled a face and blushed again.

“I snuck into her room.” There was genuine shame in her voice.

“Find anything that was worth the tail blistering?” Katherine asked, not altogether without curiosity.

“What do you think?” Mary said sullenly.

But after a brief mutual glare they both giggled.

“So you are all square now I presume?” Katherine said at last.

“Ooh,” Mary wailed and pulled a face.

“Now you really do have to talk,” Katherine said decisively, “You go lie down on your bed and I’ll fix an ice-pack.”

Leaving Mary to it Katherine hastened away.

“But…” Mary called after.

Katherine had just disappeared out of sight at the end of the passage near the bathroom when she ducked back.

“Oh, I suggest you lay face down,” she said with a wink.

“You beast,” Mary growled.

*

The door to Alice’s room seemed like the gates to hell and Mary wondered if she might flee rather than face this trial. Lying face down on her bed while a girl she hardly knew put an ice pack on her blistered bare bottom had been embarrassing enough. Especially when Katherine had insisted on hearing all the details of both her recent correction and what she had to do next. But now she had to face the reality of going to Alice and actually asking for that very spanking.

The deadline set had been three days, but although she could just about sit down now, embarrassment aside Mary would have preferred three weeks before inviting any more attention to her behind.

But now her time was up and her hand hung reluctantly frozen in the act of knocking.

“Alice,” Mary ventured, tapping oh so lightly as if the wood might splinter.

After a few moments of similar reluctant taps the door swept open and Alice stood there regarding Mary in some amusement.

“I thought that mouse scratching might be you,” she said, “What do you want?”

Mary started at this and stood gaping.

“B-but… you said…” she wailed.

“Yes?” Alice asked bluntly.

Mary took a deep breath and looked furtively up the hall and listened. She had hoped to be invited in before she humbled herself.

“I have come for my… you know,” Mary said in a whisper.

“Yes I know,” Alice said wearily, “Well at least you came. Come in.”

Once the door was closed Alice pulled a chair away from the wall and on it she put a large flat-backed hairbrush.

“I know why you’re here but tell me anyway,” Alice said sharply, “No, ask me properly.”

Mary blushed and felt her head swim. Then heaving a sigh of death she muttered. “I have come for my spanking.”

Alice regarded her charge imperiously and waited.

“Please Alice, will you… sp-spank me?” Mary managed at last.

Alice considered this for a moment and then directed the girl to lower her panties and face the wall with her skirts and petticoats raised. Blushing for her country, Mary complied. A few moments later she was bare-bottomed in the corner displaying her purple and red rash-streaked behind to Alice’s gaze.

The governess made her stand at attention for a good 20 minutes before announcing that Mary’s bottom was too sore and that she could put things off to the weekend.

Mary sunk into herself with a sigh and staggered back. It was a small reprieve but she had never been more grateful to anyone.

“Mind you, I want a proper request on Sunday afternoon. You will ask explicitly and fulsomely for a bare bottom spanking and some corner time. I suggest you write out something and rehearse it like a speech. If I am not satisfied I will spank you anyway and then have you back again until you get it right. Do you understand me?”

“Oh yes Ma’am,” Mary gushed.

“Now cut along.

*

Mary had hoped that her reprieve would be a blessing. But instead she had been thrown into turmoil by the postponement, disappointed even. Now she found herself back where she began without the closure.

Worst still she felt her submission had been expanded and instead of just asking to be spanked, she now had to prostrate herself verbally in the worse way imaginable, or so it seemed.

Now she stood again outside Alice’s door plucking up the courage to knock.

“Mary Welling, if you don’t stop dithering I will send you out back to cut a switch,” Alice’s scolding voice came from inside.

Mary jumped and rapidly smoothed down the front of her skirt. But before she could wrap on the door it opened.

“Oh do come in,” Alice sighed.

Mary gulped and sneaked a couple of glances up the hall in search of unwelcome witnesses before obeying.

“Come along then,” Alice chided her, “You have something to ask me, don’t you?”

Mary stooped her head and could not fail to notice the hairbrush in Alice’s hand. Her hands felt awkward at her side and she could not meet her governess’s eyes as she gulped down several lumps in her throat.

“Yes Ma’am,” she managed, “I mean… that is… I am here… eh, to be sp-spanked,” she finally said.

“Yes I know that, what of it?” Alice folded her arms and regarded the girl sternly.

“On my… you know, b-bare bottom,” Mary said in a thick voice, still not meeting Alice’s eyes.

“Oh I do know, but you were to ask for it, not mumble,” Alice said impatiently.

Mary made tentative grabs at her behind, still feeling a hint of tenderness there.

“Yes Ma’am, I mean, please Ma’am… um, could you please… ah, s-sp-spank my… eh… b-bare eh… b-bottom. I d-deserve it, oh and…” she blushed, “The corner too.”

Alice rolled up her eyes in consternation and took Mary by the arm.

“Hopeless girl,” she sighed as she tumbled her across her lap. “Hopeless. I am afraid that is not good enough.”

“Oh but…” Mary wailed.

But in a moment the brush struck her across the seat of her skirt and drew a yelp. Alice struck twice more before hauling up Mary’s skirts and shucking down her panties.

“You had your chance and I mean to have you back as many times as it takes,” Alice scolded her charge.

“Ooh, ah… wait,” Mary squealed.

Alice ignored all further protests and set about spanking Mary until her bottom was strawberry red all over.

“All you had to do was what you were told,” Alice growled as she spanked on. “Politely ask for a fulsome spanking. I know it is embarrassing, but you have been too full of yourself and not at all entering into the needful spirit of things.”

Mary tried to splutter out excuses but the burn in her bottom was taking all her attention.

“Now I want you to come back and ask properly,” Alice said sharply, not pausing in her assault, “I want no mumbling and plenty of adjectives. By rights I should make you ask in front of the others. Mess it up again and maybe I will.”

“Ooh please,” Mary wailed, but the spanking was in earnest and totally beyond anything she had expected.

“Please nothing,” Alice sighed, “Go stand in the corner and keep your nose to the wall. I don’t want to look at you.”

A distressed Mary made a break for the other side of room while bawling like a kid.

“And keep that skirt held up in back,” Alice chided her.

Mary heaved great choking sobs as she quickly obeyed. Breathing was hard and took a while to ease back, but eventually Mary could hear the birds and a clock ticking somewhere. Despite her gruesome ordeal, as she saw it, the spanking wasn’t as bad as the switching she had gotten and somehow she felt closer to Alice; better in herself even.

“What am I going to do with you?” Alice said in a weary voice.

“I tried, really I did,” Mary sniffed, “It’s not fair.”

She sounded like a kid and she knew it.

“Fair is not exactly the name of the game here,” Alice replied. “We all have to go through it and you don’t know what you want do you?”

Mary shrugged and pouted sullenly and she risked taking a look over her shoulder at Alice.

“When I first went to stay with Muriel, Mrs Baxter to you, you’ll meet her one day; anyway, when I first went to her I was oh so grown-up. I had been in the military as you know and well anyway… I was full of myself. Despite me seeking out the Sinclair Method and its lessons I still managed to resist the idea of being taken in hand. In short I thought I was way too old for a good sound spanking. But a good sound spanking on my completely bare bottom and then a long stint in the corner was exactly what I got. See, it is not so hard to say is it?”

Alice launched into her story with a hint of a blush and a faraway smiled on her lips. She hadn’t scolded Mary about turning to look so she made a half turn and leaned on the wall to listen.

“Four times I was summoned to Mrs Baxter’s room and four times I was made to ask for a spanking,” Alice explained. “The first time I completely refused and boy did I get it.”

Mary giggled at the idea and Alice rolled her a sidelong conspiratorial smirk.

“The second time I rather sullenly mumbled out my request and got another spanking for my trouble, this time with a bath brush. I was spanked so hard and long that I thought I was never going to sit down again. I actually couldn’t for about a week,” Alice continued. “The third time I managed to say with certain amount of grudging humility something like, ‘please Mrs Baxter Ma’am, spank my bare bottom as I deserve and send me to the corner.’”

The governess was blushing as much as Mary ever had at the memory and Mary gasped in horror.

“Oh if I had managed that the first time it might have been enough to save my behind, but it was far too little too late. Instead I was hauled out to the woodshed and had the tar whaled out of me with a strop and several switches. When I was finally let out of a very humiliating stint in the corner… a very public one I might add, I was told to think very carefully about the next meeting and be ready to ask properly and very fulsomely with embellishments or I would think that my spankings so far were tickle pats.”

Mary gulped, especially when she saw Alice’s icy smile.

“One day I tell you what happened, but I suggest that you really do go above and beyond for our next encounter,” Alice added, “It is after all for your own good.”

As she finished she made a circle with her finger indicating that Mary should turn and face the wall again.

To be continued.

Rebecca sent these ‘real’ pictures in. They certainly look real enough. She doesn’t claim they are anything other than pulled off of Flickr and says her own sorority pictures are much more graphic, but private.

But she does provide a commentary by way of an insight into her own college life.

She says of the first one that it is typical horseplay between girls in private. Her own experience was ‘much more full-on’ but the bare bottom here is ‘more truthful’ than much you see on the web.

She says the second one is very much like her experience with her Big Sister. Right down to the preoccupation with study while she waited panties down on the bed. Although she said ‘this girl appears to be listening to music,a big no-no when I was in this position.’

The final picture is, she says, typical post paddling bravado. Although in her view ‘this girl got off easy.’

Many thanks Rebecca.

As promised here is a collection of snippets bundled under the label of Oriental Spanking. One is from Japan, one a Chinese-American perspective, and lastly an Anglo-Korean one.

I understand that in actuality there is as much cultural linkage between these countries as Malta and Sweden say, and that this a retro Victorian imperialist label. But then spanking could be said to be a retro imperialist activity and busyness sometimes leads to intellectual laziness. Besides, I have heard worst segues on the radio.

=

This is a partial translation (a joint effort by yours truly and Google Translate) from a Japanese spanking site about a woman who became a spanking model. For effect some of the odd phrasing has been left.

When I came to Tokyo I was spanked by auntie who I had to live with when working in the big city. Auntie very strict and when I come home late, don’t clean up or she think I not look for good work enough then I get punished.

This was very strange to me at first at it never happened at home since I was 18, but auntie very insistent and old time person.

If I a little bit naughty she would make me take down my things and bend over couch with my big bare bottom sticking up. Then she spanked me with hand, shoe or short wood paddle until I make noise and have very red bottom.

Then I have to go to my room and stay there for rest of day unless I go to work.

If I do very bad thing I have to take most of my things off and lay on floor with my bottom under a cushion. Then she spanked me much harder with big paddle or sometimes she use a whip or cane until I very sorry. This sometimes real bad and I cry for long time.

At these times I had to go to corner in TV room and wait there while I cry and for much longer. This was very shameful as sometimes auntie’s friends come and see me there.

But after a few months I know I need and deserve such punishment and so when I saw an advertisement in magazine for spanking actors I went for the job.

Most of the work was nude photographs and some bondage, but when I late or cheeky this one photographer spanks me and sometimes beat me with cane. This led me to some movie work for girls who can take it.

But nothing in movie or studio like auntie. Not like Europe or America.

I especially want to go London as in England girls get spanked very hard and go to corner. I need this type of shame. But Until then you can see my pictures here and I can still see auntie.

=

Another Auntie tale from Anna who commented on this blog with this contribution.

Until I moved to the US for my studies I had to live with family friend who I called my ‘auntie’, I thought only Chinese girls had corner time. At home it was just that, rarely beating and just like in picture.

Then I came to aunties and learned about good old American custom of spanking, which was a big shock for girl of 19 near 20. Also, I had to stand in corner now with pants and panties down before and after spanking. Only in front of family (not mine though) but so shameful.

Sometimes had to stand on a chair naked too and this was crazy time – very shaming.

I do not hate auntie though – she spent a lot of money on me she didn’t have to and also I had more freedom and fun with her than at home. In fact most of my spanking was very deserved. And other girls, her daughters and real nieces my age and older had same. So I wasn’t bullied about. She was just strict.

When I graduated and stayed in America she gave me room and later helped with an apartment. Instead of family room corner time she take me to her room and later mine and spank me. Sometimes using thin stick, which was very sore-making.

There was still corner time – but mostly just in front of her or close ‘cousins.’ But also I begin to find it exciting a little.

Auntie know and make it all harder and longer – but then she give up when I was 24, saying I was sick puppy. But she laugh and we still friends.

Now I have boyfriend who spanks me and send me to corner. Much better I think.

=

This is an odd little snippet about a Korean girl who moved to London.

At home when father or mother disapproved of us my sisters and I had to face the wall with our hands on our head. Just that. This went on until we left home well into being adults. I had this until 22 when I left college, but my older sister was much at home until nearly 30 and had the same.

It is very embarrassing and as we were fully clothed there was no restriction on who was there to see us.

Then I came to London on a scholarship to study English and the arts and met my English boyfriend. We quickly fell in love and I moved in with him at his flat in Clapham.

One day we had a big, big argument that was all my fault and so to make amends I went to face the wall like at home until I calmed down. He was stunned and asked me what I was doing?

Actually I didn’t know, even I thought it silly, but it had been a spur of the moment thing and suddenly I felt better.

Although he laughed when I told him about it, he said that in England girls were spanked before going to the corner. We both looked at each other and then I said ‘no way’ and ran.

But he caught me and after a tussle he had my panties down and my bottom bare for a good sound and I have to say very well deserved spanking. Then he made me go and face the wall – bottom still bare.

We have done this ever since, it now being six years later. The spankings are firm and sometimes I get tearful, but I totally deserve them and always feel better afterwards.

Sometimes I even go to face the wall and wait for him to punish me when I feel I deserve it.

When he is really mad, which is not often, he has even threatened to let friends see. It has never happened, but if he did then I am sure I would deserve it.

Sandy ran her hand through her long blonde hair as she pursed her lips and frowned. There was a small chip on the base of the ceramic statuette, the third she had found that morning. For a moment she considered putting the object at the back of the shelf and hoping Lilian wouldn’t notice, but that would have been a kind of lie and Sandy was done with lies; well almost.

The day before Josie had dropped a whole box of new figurines in her haste to leave for the beach. Three of the ceramic figures had been smashed at once, ending Lillian’s senior apprentice’s chances of a half day off down in the bay. But a furious Lilian had wanted to know if the rest could be salvaged.

It wasn’t that Sandy thought that Josie didn’t deserve her punishment and any she had still to come, but given the strict additional sanctions that would result from each ruined statue, Sandy was seriously concerned for her friend’s bottom.

Josie had already been very soundly spanked with a heavy nylon ceramic spatula, a task that had taken Lilian almost 40 minutes to carry out while the hapless 28-year-old had bawled like a kid so until she had been heard from the café terrace. It was a certainty that she wouldn’t be sitting for a few days as it was, not judging from the neat shiny dark red stain that marred the curves of both her bottom cheeks afterwards. Two pert polished domes that had been publically displayed in the courtyard corner for the rest of the afternoon. However, Lilian had ruled that for each additional damaged object, Josie would be soundly spanked again and then made to spend every half-day off in the corner until the equivalent time in hours had been served to pay for it.

Sandy suspected that there would be additional punishments too if she knew Lilian, a thought that set her own buttocks to involuntarily clench. She sighed. Together with this new find and the three smashed the day before that made nine too badly damaged to be sold.

Her pondering was interrupted as outside car had pulled up and the slightly junior of Lilian’s two apprentices put down the last broken statue and dusted her hands on her dungarees. Peering through the window she saw a middle-aged couple had pulled and were now eyeing the menu like desert starved vultures.

The man wore a golf shirt and a tweedy flat cap, while his wife, a hawk-nosed woman with a rather sour expression squinted into the shop window.

I bet they don’t buy any pottery, Sandy thought, but cream teas were another matter entirely. If she were quick then she might spare Josie some blushes. But as she reached the workshop door Josie had already emerged from the shop and turned to face the new customers.

“I’ll get these,” Sandy said hastily, embarrassed for her friend.

The dark-haired Josie smiled nervously and made to back away before pausing to ask, “How many?”

“Nine,” Sandy replied as she made a sympathetic face.

Josie winced.

“Two cream teas please,” said the man in the cap, interrupting them.

“Certainly sir, just take a seat,” Sandy said, indicating a shady spot out of the line-of-sight with the shop door. The woman ignored her and plumped for a table in the sun and the man shrugged.

Neither saw Josie slip back into the shop or the fact that her bare bottom was exposed behind on account of only be allowed an apron over her T-shirt. If they had have noticed they would have seen a russet sheen on her slightly dusky swollen rounds as she hastily ducked inside to take refuge behind the shop counter.

Sandy grimaced. If Lilian found out they had swapped jobs, she might find herself in the same condition. Memo to self, she thought ruefully, whatever happens, don’t lie about it.

Lying was Sandy’s bête noir. A habit that Lilian had been determined to break; so far with mixed results. At least I don’t lie to myself anymore, she told herself, believing it.

Meanwhile inside the shop Josie had clapped both hands to her mouth. Nine, she thought with horror, she had broken nine. She couldn’t believe it. That was at least a thousand pounds worth of pottery. And that was if Lilian allowed her the trade price. That was more than 20 half-days off.

She didn’t dwell on the round of spanking and long, long corner time that would accompany each little ‘talk’ on the matter. Maybe if she worked her weekend rotation, she thought miserably, knowing full well that Lilian was unlikely to entertain the idea. But even so, two months of being grounded was no fun prospect, not with summer looming.

Just then Sandy came into the shop and grinned.

“Swapsies, they have gone. The miserable old cow didn’t like something or other,” she said rolling her eyes. “Come on,” Sandy clapped her hands, “Lilian will be back in a minute. I for one am hoping she doesn’t ask about our impromptu division of labour.”

Josie stepped around the check-out and grabbed a broom. She was a past master at looking busy while keeping her tail-end turned away from customers. Well usually anyway. But Sandy was right, if Lilian thought she was ducking out of a punishment then the next customer would see her bare bottom in the corner of the yard like yesterday and there was no escaping that embarrassment.

Josie made a brave face and pushed open the door.

“Nine? You sure it was nine?” she asked, “I mean, do you think Lilian will forget to ask now that she has calmed down?”

Sandy’s mouth formed a tight line and she didn’t reply.

“No, I guess not,” Josie sighed.

*

Sandy had just finished going through the breakages again. It was almost as if Lilian doubted her thoroughness.

“I checked, honestly, it was nine,” Sandy had told Lilian on her return.

“Oh it is not that I doubt your honesty,” Lilian replied without a trace of irony, “It is more a confidence in your soft heart.”

Sandy pulled a face. “But it was an accident,” she whined.

Lilian gave her a look.

“It was carelessness and you know it. She knows better than to rush and behave like a bull in a china shop,” the redhead said sharply.

Sandy had shrugged and nodded. As it turned out she was correct, there were nine damaged items as she had said. Oh well, she thought, at least it isn’t my behind to pay.

By then the last customer had gone as she stepped into the yard and she was immediately confronted with Josie’s bare bottom again. She wondered idly if the girl had been sent there before or after the café had closed, but it didn’t matter really. Most custom was transitory in the little Cornish village and both women had been through it all before, casual customers and temporary humiliation. Sandy shrugged.

“Sandy,” Lilian said breezily as she locked the shop.

Sandy smiled nervously, by now she could read the signs.

“I thought I might take a walk down to the bay before supper,” she ventured and Lilian seemed to consider this for a moment.

She loved the bay, even before she had seen the grampus rising in the sea. She was bound to the place with magic now, or so she imagined. But she sensed that her visit might be postponed for a bit.

“Did Josie work the café all day?” the redheaded potter asked casually.

Sandy froze. Tell the truth, she cautioned herself, don’t lie.

“Eh… yes,” she said, her courage deserting her.

Lilian looked pained and shot a glance at Josie.

“I mean…” Sandy began hastily.

“Better… if you were about to say what I think you were, but too it’s late isn’t it?” Lilian sighed. “Come with me.”

“I only…” Sandy wailed, “Please.”

But Lilian took her by the arm took her arm and led her back into the pottery shed.

“You have a good heart, only exceeded by your talent for self-deception,” she sighed, “And if you will so readily lie to yourself… well anyway, I promised to take you in hand on that score didn’t I?”

Sandy dangled like a rag doll at the end of Lilian’s arm offering up puppy eyes until the latter woman snorted in amusement. It was a chuckle that expanded as Lilian noticed the imprint of her own buttocks in a large sack of cellophane-clad clay where she had sat to take Josie over her knee the day before. Next to it lay the same paddle-shaped foot-long heavy nylon spatula used for rough-shaping the clay. The master potter could almost imagine it was still warm from its previous use. However, in the event it was cool to the touch as she lifted it off the work bench.

Sandy’s eyes widened as she too saw it and she visibly gulped. A moment later she was hauled over the older woman’s lap until her bottom was large and round in her lap, the denim dungarees drum tight across her behind.

“Lilian I…” Sandy muttered, but she could think of no justifiable protest.

Ignoring the girl anyway, Lilian unbuttoned the shoulder straps at the waist and tugged the lower part of the garment over Sandy’s curves to reveal the white cotton pants beneath. Before they too went south leaving the warm-hearted fibber bared.

“Lilian, please don’t do this,” Sandy wailed, an obligatory rebellion to save face perhaps.

But the improvised paddle landed with a stinging splat that drew a startled howl from the blonde and then as the spanking began in earnest Sandy bucked up and down as she made hissing sounds through her teeth.

“Lilian;” it was a single shriek of protest.

“Now, now, we are only just getting started,” Lilian chided, “And then when I’m done you know you’re going to stand in the corner just like a good girl, right next to Josie.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Sandy sniffed, still harbouring the hope that she wouldn’t cry.

The paddle rose and fell scorching her bottom like a kiln.

“You so need this,” the sculptress growled.

“Yes Ma’am.” Sandy’s voice cracked.

Her bottom was a burgundy blue-red now and already the white marks of distress had formed on the skin in protest its treatment just where she had formerly sat.

“Such a lot of fuss for a little girl,” Lilian chuckled, “And we have such a long, long way to go.”

Finally Sandy broke, sobbing incoherently just as Josie had the day before. The fulsome howling poured out of her like clay-slip in the run-off drain, great barking wails that left her clean and drained. Not that Lilian let-up on the blasting spanks to her apprentice’s bottom.

“I will not have you lying, not now, not ever,” Lilian scolded, “That’s your old life.”

Sandy yelled between hiccoughing sobs, her legs kicking impotently like a girl drowning.

“I hope you can’t sit down for a month,” Lilian cried passionately as she continued to wallop a bottom so swollen and tender that it had begun to resemble too purple grapes on a cheeseboard.

“I’m sorry, so sorry,” Sandy bawled.

“I know, I know,” Lilian soothed, her soft words a deception next to a spanking that was so very far from ending.

*

The two women stood stock-still side-by-side at the plaster wall next to the mantle. Both were still bared with their dark-red bottoms jutting out like bookends as they cooled. It had taken a while, but Sandy was at last quieted as she supressed veiled nightmares of cushion-less chairs and hard work benches.

“I hope you can’t sit down for a month,” Lilian had said. No idle threat then, Sandy thought miserably; a phrase that formed part of the ongoing scolding as they stood there.

“I trust I have made my point?” Lilian sighed, intruding on the women’s woes.

“Yes Ma’am,” the two women facing the wall chimed in unison.

Josie felt sorry for her friend. After all, she had only tried to be kind. But at least she didn’t face another month in jug and at least two more prolonged spankings. It was a hell of a way to start the summer, she thought ruefully.

“You’ll both stand there for the rest of the evening and think yourselves lucky to be inside and not in the yard,” Lilian concluded.

“Yes Ma’am,” they meekly agreed.

*

The day was warm and Sandy had finally been allowed to walk down to the bay. It had taken her almost twice as long as normal; a consequence of an unrelenting throb in her bottom that flared at every step. Josie, she knew, would have suffered even worse should she have been allowed the attempt. Poor girl; it would be a month before she would be out of Lilian’s bad books again. By which time they might both be able to sit down, Sandy thought ruefully.

An exaggeration maybe, she chided herself, conscious that her thoughts were too close to lies for comfort. But it hadn’t stopped her dropping her overalls and sitting with her bared bottom in the soft wet clay that morning.

It wasn’t the first time she had used the trick. It was Lilian herself who had put her on to it. She had told Sandy that it had been a rare relief during her days studying under Helen De Court. Nevertheless it had been embarrassing the first time Lilian had caught her at it and it had amused the redhead to have her apprentice work for the rest of the morning with two ovals of drying clay as the only cloak for her still tender bottom.

But it had been worth it to hear stories of Lilian’s own spanking exploits at the hands of the legendary Helen.

“She used me far worse than ever I have you,” Lilian had told her.

“You don’t treat me badly,” Sandy had shyly admitted, “I deserve all I get I think.”

Lilian had laughed.

Sandy knew it was worth it. After all she was home and she had the bay. Then all such introspection was pushed aside by the smell and sound of the sea before she even cleared the trees above the cliffs.

She didn’t really expect to see another grampus, but then she didn’t need to. It was there under the waves and in her heart. It would always be there.

Our story began here.

Mary had run her little speech through mind over and over and each recall had caused a festival of blushing. But finally she had managed to work out her humbling request.

However, now that she stood outside Alice’s door her courage began to falter and words once set in her head wriggled form her grasp like her resolve. Nevertheless, she straightened her skirt and knocked firmly on the door.

The pause that followed could have encompassed eons and Mary almost fled. Then finally a feminine voice from inside called, “Come in.”

Mary heaved a sigh and then reached out for the door knob; a slick little beats that seemed to resist her grasp for a moment. Then she was in.

Alice was sitting in a comfortable chaise long smiling. Next to her on the upholstery was the hairbrush, a big heavy wooden beast with which Mary was now well-acquainted. For a moment neither spoke and the only sound was the ticking of an alarm clock on the bed stand.

“I eh… I have come for my spanking,” Mary managed at last.

Alice cocked an eyebrow and waited.

“I mean… please… eh; please would you give me a spanking. On my… um… on my b-bare b-bottom,” Mary’s voice was thick and she could not meet Alice’s eyes as she added, “And then…” she swallowed, “Please send me to the corner as I deserve.”

Alice rolled down her lower lip in disdain and then frowned.

“Is that the best you can do?” she sighed. “I mean it was alright and had you come to me with that humble request when I first asked you I might have been satisfied. But it is hardly a request to make the newspapers is it?”

Mary gaped aghast at the idea of such publicity.

Alice rolled her eyes to heaven as she realised that the girl had taken her literally.

“What did I tell you to do?” she asked.

Mary shrugged and squirmed like a worm on a hotplate, “But I asked,” she whined, “I did.”

“I said, fully and fulsome, like you meant it,” Alice said wearily, “Weren’t you listening?

Mary gaped like a fish. In her head it had sounded so much more comprehensive and she seemed to remember words like ‘soundly’ and as ‘I richly deserve’ which she had just now omitted in her shame.

“Oh, oh,” Mary wailed, “Let me… can’t I… try again.”

“No,” Alice barked as she seized the girl and upended her over knee.

This time the spanking was long hard and very drawn out until Mary kicked a bawled and begged that she was sorry. Not that it availed her anything and all through it she knew she had to come back.

In all the spanking lasted over half-an-hour and by the time Mary was sent to the corner she was a puddle of tears.

*

Janet stood back and admired the neat piles of clothes on the dresser shelf. All her new clothes were hung on rails, each seam razor straight. The old Janet would have sneered and she practiced one by way of trying one on for size. Her heart wasn’t in it.

It wasn’t just that an untidy room would get her a spanking from Alice, it was something else, a feeling she couldn’t place.

“Oh Jan, aren’t they wonderful,” Jenny gushed as she entered the room, “When Alice said we would get new clothes I thought…”

Janet remembered picturing wet drippy duds herself, not that she would admit it.

“They are okay I suppose,” she acknowledged grudgingly.

“Alice is such a brick,” Jenny continued enthusiastically, her friend’s clung-to cynicism largely unnoticed.

“You soon changed your tune,” Janet said in surprise.

Jenny blushed but stuck to her guns.

“Well…” she pursed her lips sullenly, “It is just that no one ever cared about me enough before to spank me.”

Me neither, Janet thought, but her response was a derisory snort.

“Don’t you like Alice?” Jenny asked seriously, an incredulous tone dominating her voice.

Janet looked off to the side, not meeting her friend’s eyes. How could she like someone who spanked her like that and who would continue to spank her? But did she? She answered with a shrug.

“She’s alright I suppose, better than some anyway,” she answered reluctantly.

“Oh it is going to be great here, I just know it,” Jenny was gushing again.

Janet returned a disbelieving smile and together with a withering look let her scepticism show.

“Yeah well… there is that, but we will just have to be good won’t we?” Jenny pouted.

“You poor dopy kid,” Janet joshed her with a gentle punch on the shoulder.

That was it, she thought, I have to show that I am not so easily cowed.

*

Mary swallowed hard and took a long look at herself in the mirror. Her behind still held a deep ache from her encounter with Alice three days before and she grabbed it hard, perversely enjoying the sharp flaring it caused.

She glanced at her writing desk and blushed as her eyes fell upon the scrappy notes she had made. Even from where she stood she could see the words ‘spanking,’ ‘corner time’ and ‘punish me,’ that were underlined.

What exactly was her problem? Was she too ashamed to say such things aloud, was she that much of a ninny? What was she scared of? She took a long slow deep breath and fixed her gaze on the eyes staring back at her.

She was going to get a spanking. A very long painful and very sound spanking on her bare bottom, nothing could alter that. She might even be taken to the woodshed for a taste of the switch. She gulped at this thought. She certainly would be if she didn’t buck her ideas up. Was that why she kept messing up? Did part of her long for that afternoon in the woods? It had certainly been the most intense and profound experience of her life. Maybe, she thought, but she was certain now that sooner or later such things would happen anyway.

No, the real matter in hand was respect. If she was going to please Alice, and that she knew now was important to her, then she had to progress. She gave herself an emphatic nod. She had one more chance before it all became impossible, she decided. She had to do this.

In her worst moments she considered how shameful what she had to do would be if she had to ask for a spanking in front of everyone. Perhaps one day she would have to, maybe that was what graduation would look like. The insight stopped her in her tracks. I am here to learn, to be punished, she thought, but I can barely admit that to myself, not yet, not even now… she shook herself and dismissed that train of thought. She wasn’t ready.

*

Alice’s door loomed up before her like the gates to purgatory and she drew herself up straight. Then she knocked on the door.

She wasn’t that surprised to see Katherine sitting in the corner. Her friend looked uncomfortable and despite her inherent poise, shifted uneasily in her chair.

“You have something to say Mary, do you not?” Alice asked from her place sitting on the chaise long.

Mary nodded and licked her lips. Katherine’s presence made this ten times worse, but she couldn’t fail again. She nodded.

A flicker of disappointment crossed Alice’s face, a look that threatened to crush Mary.

“Yes Ma’am,” she said firmly, claiming the moment back. “I wish to apologise for my behaviour. Going into your room and snooping was a betrayal of your trust. I am sorry. I know I have been a bit of a… a ninny about all of this and I am sorry for that too. I am here to ask you to spank me on my bare bottom. Or indeed discipline me in any way you see fit.” Mary blushed as she faltered and then steeled herself to continue. “If you spank me, you should spank me soundly and then send me to the corner with my… my naughty bare bottom on show so that everyone can see what a silly girl I have been. So to recap…”

“Thank you Mary, good girl,” Alice beamed.

Even Katherine looked impressed.

Mary let her mouth hung open as she breathed softly. Her heart pounded in anticipation, a feeling complicated by her open relief.

“I have spanked you quite often enough over this affair,” Alice told her, “So since you are now being adult about it I will give you an adult punishment. Please remove your skirt and the rest of your under things.”

Mary swallowed, blood pooling at her cheeks.

“When you are ready I want you to bend over with your hands flat on the chaise and your bare bottom sticking up and outwards for me,” the governess instructed.

Mary nodded and blushing like a rose, slowly obeyed. Not once did she look at Katherine.

*

Katherine’s heart and mind raced. Mary had surpassed her. Even now, almost nude below the waist with her bare bottom sticking out obscenely for correction she had found some dignity. Could she do as much?

The other disconcerting thing was Mary’s well-presented bottom and the way it made Katherine feel. Her pulse rate was definitely up and she was tight in places usually reserved for thoughts about girls

“The cane is a civilised method of correction, much used in England,” Alice was saying.

Mary didn’t move in her posture, although she chaffed at the indignity of it. But Alice had been right; this was far less childish than being across the knee. But somehow she missed the security of Alice’s lap.

Katherine shifted in her seat again and put a poised hand to her chin as if contemplating a painting. She was here to learn after all and ogle like some hairy oaf. But all the same she squeezed her thighs together a little and hoped no one would notice.

The caning was short and efficient. Almost as if Alice wanted to bring this chapter to a close without further ado. The first stroke was loud and hissy; a scratch in the air that ended in a taught sharp line across Mary’s bottom. The girl blinked hard at the impact and then gasped like a fish as the pain continued to grow.

The next six did nothing to assuage Mary’s growing distress and from four she emitted a little distressed ‘oh’ sound.

It took a while for Katherine to realise that Mary was gently crying, a penitent dampness with echoes elsewhere and nearer to home. Feelings fed by the sight of clean dark reddish line forming into tight ridges long ways across Mary’s curves.

From 12 or so the steady swish-thwack was accompanied by moaning sobs as Mary cried in earnest, this little more than a minute in. But not once did the girl move, not even after all 18 strokes had been administered.

“Alright, that’s enough. You can go with Katherine and she will put something on your behind,” Alice said at last.

“But Ma’am… don’t I…? I mean to say…” she glanced at the corner.

“Cut along,” Alice soothed gently.

To be continued.

Our story began here.

Like unseen fingers, the breeze from the window tickled Katherine’s flesh and reached into intimate areas unaccustomed to such exposure. It was a caressing shame that ended in hot pools of blood on her face and drew a soft whimpering sigh from her throat.

Once well-groomed hair now cascaded down onto the floor like a curtain over one eye. While the other peered ruefully back and up at elevated hips held aloft by the hard padded chair pressing into her disconcertingly and stimulating what should lie still.

From behind the curves of her cool smooth denuded bottom formed two almost perfect spheres as it domed up over the chair back. While behind her Alice stood brandishing the cane as she studied the target with a professional air and lingering excitement in her belly.

“You have been forgetting yourself haven’t you Katherine?” the governess said in a crisp voice as she licked her lips.

“Yes Ma’am,” Katherine answered in a rather wan but dignified voice.

Up to then things had been going so well. Katherine had learned fast and the other girls too now knew their place.

Mary reported to Alice regularly for what amounted trivial offences. Alice understood. The girl had found her level and now sought out replenishment from the well of pain and submission. It was time to explore maintenance spanking with the girl, Alice pondered. That way she could be truly shaped and then if she erred, even a small step, she could be very soundly spanked as prelude to a good caning or even a humiliating trip to the woodshed.

Jenny and Janet, although not perfect and given to girlish bickering, had long since offered less attitude and resistance to getting a spanking when a spanking was due. Unlike Mary though, who thought herself clever to court ‘accidental’ spankings, their submission was subconscious and they were yet sorry and ruefully when required to bare themselves for the hairbrush or were sent bare-bottomed to the corner for an hour or two in front of the rest of the girls.

Katherine had more pride, and however much she secretly or unknowingly required it, she walked a firm respectful line to avoid trouble. That was until that afternoon.

Alice had informed the girls that Muriel Baxter, her own mentor and lead exponent of the Sinclair Method was coming to inspect them. The excited apprehension that followed the announcement was to be expected but Katherine’s attitude had been a surprise.

She had at once put on airs and appointed herself as a kind of surrogate governess issuing orders and bossing the other girls around. So much so that Alice resolved that after the visit she would contrive to take the young woman down a peg or six. But for now, the girls eager marshalling was useful, especially when then others put up little resistance to it.

Alice was fearful enough about Muriel’s visit and however well her efforts were regarded, there was small doubt that sooner or later she too would find herself across a mentorial knee or even taken to task in the woodshed. For one thing she had not yet given up smoking, a vice Muriel detested and she was a woman who could see a sin at a hundred paces.

Then Katherine had overreached herself and had begun answering Alice back.

“Of course I have seen to the girls Alice, their rooms are clean, even Janet’s,” Katherine had answered wearily to a civil inquiry. She had even impatiently rolled back her eyes.

Such an exhibition in front of Muriel Baxter would see them both to the woodshed and a month of eating standing up. Alice might even find herself taken back for further training if Muriel deemed that she couldn’t cope.

As it was Katherine knew at once that she had gone too far.

“My room, after supper,” was all Alice had needed to say.

Now Katherine was naked between waist and stocking tops, bending over the back of the padded chair to present her very comely bare bottom to the cane.

“Anything to say?” Alice asked tartly.

“No Ma’am, I am truly sorry Ma’am. I… I… I only…” Katherine visibly gulped and then decisive, added, “No excuse Ma’am.” She sounded strained.

The cane landed with a whistling stroke that began a long way away and ended in a line of pain across her bottom. This first such experience for Katherine was soul-searing and stole her breath.

“Oh my God,” she managed finally, her voice now a tortured breathy sigh.

Alice admired the plum ridge that began to develop across the centre of Katherine’s tight curved bottom and she smiled. Then she made a decision.

“I think you will count them and then ask for the next stroke as we proceed,” Alice told the woman.

Katherine’s eyes darted in her head as she tried to get Alice’s measure.

“Wh-what? I mean…” she blurted through a laboured breath.

“Count: one, thank you Ma’am, may I please have another,” Alice told her sharply.

Katherine remembered Mary’s humiliation and blushed to her ears. It was just, she decided.

“Yes Ma’am,” she replied miserably.

The second stroke made Katherine yowl and she rocked back and forth so that her bottom bucked up and down.

“That didn’t count as you didn’t ask for it and now nor does the first,” Alice said sternly. “So this is your first, understand.”

Alice caned her again and Katherine made and a wordless angry retort as she clawed the air in frustration.

“Yes Ma’am,” she said miserably, tears pooling at her eyes and dripping of her words. The searing pain was overwhelming her already. Just in time she added, “One thank you Ma’am. Please may I have another?”

Alice obliged.

*

Ten bars of pain sawed into Katherine’s bottom, each an unsubtle combination of sting and ache that went on hurting long after the stroke was delivered. Unbidden tears tumbled over her sodden cheeks and her failed attempts to contain her crying had left her stretching and straining as she made mewling chuckling sounds in her throat.

She had to give it to Alice, she knew how to make a girl feel two feet tall and as sorry as hell.

“Eight, thank you Ma’am,” Katherine sobbed, “May I have another?”

The cane bit in hard and Katherine jerked further into woe.

“Your line is, please, may I have another,” Alice corrected her, “now that one doesn’t count.”

“Eight, please Ma’am, I mean… thank you Ma’am, please may I have another,” Katherine wailed.

Alice caned her again.

*

To Alice two dozen seemed a round enough number, although in truth Katherine had actually taken 29 for one reason or another. The eldest of her charges certainly seemed to think so and lay in a prone heap over the back of the chair sobbing her heart out while her well-scored bottom wagged in the air in a parody of a contented dog.

“Now you can spend the rest of the evening between now and bed time in the corner over there,” Alice ordered the girl.

“Yes Ma’am,” Katherine sniffed, completely cowed and grateful that her first caning was over.

Alice watched her cross the room, shimmying as she went in a vain attempt to shake out the pain. Then unbidden Katherine placed her hands on her head and tried to gather some dignity. At least she hadn’t been required to go down to the den where the others were watching TV.

Alice watched her for a moment and then settled in to contemplate Muriel Baxter’s visit. It was a cinch that she had missed something. Muriel was almost impossible to please on any score. Furthermore there was her stash of cigarettes. By this time tomorrow she could find herself exactly where Katherine was standing, she thought ruefully. Or worse still she might be cornered downstairs somewhere where the others could see.

To be continued.

Our story began here.

Muriel Baxter was a surprise. Katherine had expected a dour elderly lady with horn-rimmed spectacles and grey hair piled like ice cream on her head. She had had a teacher like that at school and boy did mama spank.

In the event Muriel was scarcely 40 and looked much younger. Although her chestnut brown hair was piled-up, it gave her an air of fashionable elegance. Her clothes too were well-cut and trimmed body-hugging style over her full but well-honed curves.

But most of all she had warm smiling eyes that crinkled only slightly at the corners, and only then when the smile reached all the way to her lips.

She had arrived without fanfare with two cream leather bags which she set down in the hall by the door before standing to take in any hint of change or trouble in what was after all still her house. When Katherine saw her she was running a finger along the ledge under the hall mirror and nodding in satisfaction.

It took a moment for Katherine to guess who it was, but before she could speak a challenge Muriel beat her to it.

“You must be Katherine,” Muriel smiled broadly and extended a hand.

“Mrs Baxter…?” Katherine tentatively replied. “I mean yes ma’am, please to meet you.”

Katherine bobbed nervously, bending at the waist as she leaned over to offer her hand, perhaps fearing to get any closer.

“Oh golly,” Jenny gushed from the top of the stairs and then without finding any poise scurried away like a spirited pony squealing, “She’s here, she’s here.”

Muriel’s gaze flicked upwards, disapproval for a moment touching her eyes, and then she returned her attention back to Katherine and smiled again.

“I have heard good things about you Katherine, good things,” she said enthusiastically.

“And a few bad things too no doubt,” Katherine blushed, her hand stealing to her bottom through her skirt.

Muriel followed her gaze and her smile broadened. “Sore bottoms, like thorns on roses, are a part of life for us aren’t they? Like pepper in the soup. We endure them and then move on to better things.”

Katherine was swept up in a surge of mixed emotion at the words. The direct reference to her spankings was embarrassing, but the sentiment cut to the heart of her feelings on the matter. Pepper in soup, she repeated in her head, how absolutely apt. Katherine could fail to notice also the mention of ‘us’ in her statement. Was she including herself in that? Did she get… it would be impertinent to ask, but Katherine was bursting with curiosity.

Just then a herd of tumbling elephants came crashing along the landing, only stopping to compose as they reached the top stair. Katherine winced, knowing without looking that Jenny and Janet would be standing there.

“Janet and Jenny,” Muriel said warmly, “Come down here girls, let me see you.”

Drawing on a deep well of Alice-borrowed dignity and poise, the two girls straightened up and descended the stairs like queens. They only blushed a little as they realised they had acted like kids.

“Mrs Baxter,” Jenny said shyly offering her hand.

Janet followed suit and within in moments Muriel had totally charmed them.

“And where are Miss Bowman and Mary?” Muriel asked at last.

With perfect timing and by way of an answer there came a resounding splat of hairbrush-wood on bare flesh. Katherine grimaced in embarrassment while blushing, Janet and Jenny giggled.

“Ah,” Muriel said breezily, “They seem to have some matters to discuss. Shall we have some tea then girls?”

Katherine shot Janet a look, but was greeted with a defiant shake as the latter girl impatiently mouthed the word no. Muriel missed nothing, but continued to smile indulgently.

Seeing that she was to get no cooperation Katherine said hastily, “Eh… yes, why not take Mrs Baxter into the parlour why I organise that for us?”

“Thank you Katherine,” Muriel smiled pleasantly.

*

A window must have been left open for the sound of spanking could be heard for some considerable time and didn’t end until well after Katherine had returned with the tea.

“Only five cups I see,” Muriel said casually.

The girls exchanged glances with Janet and Jenny’s gaze remaining firmly on Katherine.

“Eh…” Katherine began.

“Don’t mumble girl, diction must be crisp and clear. Say your words with confidence,” Muriel scolded her.

“Yes, sorry ma’am, I don’t think Mary will join us for a while, not after…” Katherine shot her eyes heavenward and made a face.

“Why? Is she permitted to sulk in her room after a spanking?” Muriel asked; her tone rather schoolroom-like.

“No ma’am, but she will be in the corner for a good while after,” Jenny gushed as if imparting important news.

Muriel nodded in satisfaction. She did not miss the fact that Katherine hid her discomfort by pouring the tea.

“And where do you girls serve corner time?” Muriel asked pleasantly.

“Oh… oh lots of places, I mean…” Jenny replied eagerly.

“It depends on the offence,” Katherine said casually. “And to some extent…” She didn’t continue to say the age of the girl. It shouldn’t matter, she knew, but Jenny and Janet routinely stood corner time in the common areas of the house compared to Katherine and Mary’s relatively private vigils.

“Mostly one of those corners,” Janet said waspishly, crinkling her nose in disapproval as she indicated the relevant areas of the room with an airy wave. “But Mary might just get corner time in Alice’s room.”

“I see,” Muriel replied as if pondering, “So either way she will not join us for a while. As it should be,” she added.

*

“Mrs Baxter,” Alice gave a start as she stopped in the doorway to smooth down the front of her dress. “I had no idea you had arrived.”

“No dear, I gather you were busy. Ah, this must be Mary,” Muriel replied suddenly looking past her former charge.

Mary froze just beyond where Alice stood trying to make herself as small as possible. She had obviously been crying and make-up streamed down her face. She was also moving awkwardly with her hands gripping at her hips.

“Mary, say hello to Mrs Baxter,” Alice said sharply.

Mary gulped and managed to heroically blush even more than she had been. It was obvious even from the front that her skirt was still bunched up behind and below the hemline her white panties could be clearly seen bunched up around her ankles.

“Hello Mrs Baxter,” she said miserably.

“I guess we will meet later,” Muriel said kindly.

Alice took the hint and pointed to the corner beyond where the other girls were gathered for tea.

Mary gaped for a moment and then ducking her head hobbled forward and shuffled into the corner. It was obvious then her bottom was indeed bare behind and had been more soundly spanked than anyone had seen for a while.

“Mary was somewhat at twos and eights over your visit as it happens and I felt she needed settling down,” Alice explained, “It is a pity that this is your first impression of the girl.”

“Oh pay it no mind, we have all been there haven’t we Alice?” Muriel said cheerfully.

It was Alice’s turn to blush.

“Now have some tea and this afternoon I will hear your reports about the progress here and then meet the girls formally,” Muriel continued.

“Yes Ma’am,” Alice acknowledged.

Katherine was agape. She was astounded at the change in Alice’s demeanour. This was going to be interesting.

To be continued.

Our story began here.

Muriel Baxter sat in the window seat, the garden behind her even as sunlight poured in to flood the room. Alice’s two youngest charges, Janet and Jenny sat cross-legged at her feet and stared up at her as if hanging on every word.

“Now tell me,” Muriel said conspiratorially, “Are you really sorry that you were assigned to the Sinclair Method rather than reform school?”

Jenny’s eyes were suddenly wide and she squirmed girlishly, “Ooh no Mrs Baxter, I suppose I was pretty much out of control before, and Alice and the others are swell,” she gushed.

Janet looked less certain and shifted uncomfortably as she scratched at her cheek.

“What about you Janet?” Muriel asked pleasantly.

“I guess, I mean, I suppose it is better than going to jail,” Janet answered.

“And you don’t mind getting a spanking now and again?” Muriel pushed them.

“I suppose we do have them coming and they are for our own good,” Jenny replied thoughtfully.

Janet blushed.

“Don’t you agree Janet?” Muriel asked her.

“I guess,” she said looking at her feet and squirming.

“You know I can get your status upgraded if you sign a two year voluntary agreement,” Muriel told them.

“Both of us,” said Jenny’s eager voice.

“Both of you, yes,” Muriel reassured her.

“Oh,” Jenny frowned, suddenly sounding unsure.

“Is it… is it because Alice’s is tired of us?” Janet asked sullenly, she was sure she must be. “I know I was a pain when we first came but no one ever cared about me enough before. You know, cared enough to… well you know.”

“No, not at all, Alice doesn’t even know yet, I wanted to know what you thought first,” Muriel assured her. “It is just that I want Alice to prepare Katherine and Mary for training to be governesses for the Sinclair Method and since she had done such an excellent job with you two I thought you would be ready to move on.”

“Do we have to be governesses too?” Jenny sounded worried.

“Would you like to be?” Muriel asked.

Jenny shook her head and gasped, “Oh no Ma’am, really I wouldn’t.”

“No, I didn’t think so, but I have another path for you. College perhaps,” Muriel confided.

“When you say move on, what do you mean exactly Ma’am?” Janet asked.

“To start with you could come back with me. It is a bigger house with many more girls. It will give you a chance to improve your social skills,” Muriel explained.

Both Jenny and Janet stared at her a little awestruck.

“Of course things are little stricter I would say. There is barely a time when a very sore bottom isn’t cooling in the corner and when I spank, I spank,” Muriel assured them. “I have to warn you switches, canes, paddles and many other things get employed too.”

Jenny’s eyes were wide in wonder but her enthusiasm seemed undimmed.

“I guess you’re saying we wouldn’t get away with much,” Janet said ruefully.

“Especially you Janet,” Muriel said pointedly.

“I guess that’s what I need though,” Janet winced.

Jenny was chewing her lip, the butterflies in her tummy even more excited than she was.

“Anyway think about it, it is in no way an easy option. But as volunteers you will be scot-free when you leave us and the world will be waiting,” Muriel told them.

*

Two hours later Alice and Muriel stood on the back porch watching the girls playing croquet in the garden. The girls were a way off and the conversation between the governess and her mentor would not be heard.

“I am not suggesting you actually train Katherine and Mary, merely break them down and polish them for me to train,” Muriel said, her tone clipped and authoritative. “After all they do need to be at a certain standard when they do come to me. I will want to use them as assistants as they progress.”

“Why me?” Alice asked carefully, “You don’t seem to trust me with Jenny and Janet.”

“Not at all, heavens above, you have done wonders with them. But these days I would rather our difficult cases be handled out of house for the first few months,” Muriel said sharply. “Now they are ready for my attention.”

“You mean my role was to break them in, like you want me to do with Katherine and Mary?” Alice said pointedly.

“Pretty much,” Muriel agreed, “After all I don’t think Mary would have thrived in a big house. We just don’t have time there for coaxing.”

Alice nodded thoughtfully, it was true, but this way Mary could be encouraged and developed as her confidence grew.

“Now young lady, we have another matter to discuss,” Muriel said in a severe tone.

Alice froze and shot a glance to where the girls were playing. Being called ‘young lady’ brought back such painful memories.

“It is about your smoking habit,” Muriel continued.

Alice’s eyes widened and she clenched her teeth a little. Then slowly, she allowed her gaze to meet Muriel’s now very determined expression.

*

Alice’s dress hung on the back of the door to her room leaving her in only her brassier and stocking-tops. She stood sheepishly shielding her pubic triangle with her hands as she faced Muriel sitting on the same backless chair that Alice used for the girls.

Muriel had allowed her the dignity of closing the window and she had been told that the next day the girls would be packed off to go to town under Katherine’s supervision so that Alice and Muriel could be alone in the house.

Alice knew what that meant. Tomorrow she would be taken to the woodshed for a more severe workout. This spanking was to be just a warm up.

“Don’t think I wouldn’t let them watch, but the girls are at a transition point I think,” Muriel had told Alice during the scolding. “So for now I am prepared to be discreet.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Alice replied, her voice thick.

“Don’t give me that look, you knew what would happen if I found out you were still smoking,” Muriel sighed. “And don’t think you are too old for this. No girl in my charge is ever too old for a good sound spanking.”

“No Ma’am,” Alice whispered. Her voice little more than a sigh as pools of hot blood gathered on her cheeks and around her ears.

“Your real punishment will come tomorrow. This is just to take you down a peg or two so you know what to expect,” Muriel said sharply.

“Yes Ma’am.” Alice gulped and bowed her head.

It had been a while for her but the sight of the hairbrush, her own, made her bottom tingle and set her mind racing.

“Come on then, over my knee,” Muriel said wearily.

Alice took half a step forward and then another until her thighs were level with the side of Muriel’s leg. Then gathering herself at a stoop, she leaned forward awkwardly.

Muriel responded by snorting impatiently and taking Alice’s arm to tip her forward across her lap. The girl weighed no more than any other she had placed there and like any other Alice shifted her nervous weight some as she squirmed.

“Ooh,” the prone girl gasped.

She was conscious that her long unspanked bare bottom was now round and exposed across Muriel’s knee and she blushed. She had forgotten; there was no feeling quite like it.

“Now my sophisticated young friend, how do you feel?” Muriel asked as she raised her arm.

The flat of the brush landed on bare flesh with a sharp crack and Alice responded by sucking air through her teeth. This was followed by a lip chewing pout as the imparted sting began to burn. The first spank was always like the first drop of rain on desert sand: keen and alien, and so very precious. Then it didn’t so much rain and begin to pour as the spanking came as an onslaught.

Out in the garden Katherine looked up and frowned. The other women were still engrossed in the game, but the eldest of them thought she had heard a shout followed by applause. But that was silly, wasn’t it? She looked over to the house for Alice and Muriel. They had sure been acting strangely earlier, like there was an atmosphere between them. Then Jenny giggled and said it was her turn again and Katherine looked away to forget about it. If she hadn’t of she might have noticed that the usually open window to Alice’s room was closed with the curtains drawn; a kindness Alice once or twice had afforded to Katherine.

If Alice had had any real concerns about the others knowing she had a spanking coming they were far from mind now. The spanking was like a raging fire, consuming all: Alice’s dignity, her alabaster skin, her thoughts and very shortly her ability even to sit down for a while.

From Muriel’s viewpoint Alice’s bottom was a goodly red verging on plum with mottles of dark over raw and little welty places where the unspanked flesh bordered the swelling soreness. Two oval pads had formed like donuts on the crowns of Alice’s bottom and little-by-little they were extending to take in her sit spots on the underside of her curves where most of the spanking was directed.

But for all that, Muriel was only just beginning, a situation that the often merciless Alice knew all too well. If she had had any sense she would have just surrendered and allowed herself to be distracted by howling out her sorry’s and riding it out. But she was a woman used to being in charge and pride was a bitch. So instead she gritted her teeth and grunted under the onslaught even as the burn consumed her tail end.

Not that such resistance could last. After 20 minutes or so, the laboured breathing and occasional angry growl gave way to withering grunts, and Alice began to mutter frantic apologies under breath.

“You may well be sorry Alice, but we are not done, not by a long way,” Muriel chided her, her pace and stamina showing no signs of giving out.

“I’m sorry,” Alice hooted, “I’m sorry,” and broke to great sobbing wails.

“Okay, okay,” Muriel soothed, not missing a spank, “You’re getting there, go easy. Boy you needed this didn’t you?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Alice wailed miserably, but by now she had folded in a dangling heap as she received spank after spank.

“That’s it, that’s it,” Muriel sighed, finally easing off. “Good girl, good girl, shush.”

Muriel gathered the sobbing Alice into her arms and rocked her kindly. The tenderness now completely at odds with the purple rawness that marred each bottom hind perfectly.

“I’m sorry,” Alice honked as she hugged her mentor.

“I know, I know and look at you taking a long hard spanking, shush now,” Muriel squeezed back.

Alice cried for a while until final she nodded and pulled away.

“Now Alice Bowman,” Muriel said sternly, “I want that seared hiney of yours in the corner for a good long while.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Alice agreed ruefully and taking short tight steps she crossed the room to obey.

To be continued.

Our story began here.

By the time the car pulled out of the drive Alice was ready as she had been instructed. After a long night of contemplation her mind was made up to it, she was going to be severely punished as she deserved. She had fallen short of the high standards she had set for her girls and now she too must pay the price.

The way to a girl’s soul is through her bottom, Alice thought ruefully.

She had arrived at her sanguine state of mind after a punitive ordeal that had begun with almost two and a half hours standing with her nose in the corner while the throbbing burn in her bottom halfway subsided. Halfway because after a night sleeping on her tummy it still ached somewhat and was jolly sore to the touch.

Alice had also been instructed to write out 400 times ‘well brought up young ladies who smoke will be soundly spanked on their bare bottoms.’ She had forgotten how humiliating and soul focussing such an exercise was.

“Alice, promise me you will give up smoking,” Muriel had urged her the night before when she had come to collect the set lines.

“I’ll try, I mean I will,” she had wailed, “Only…”

“Promise and know this, if you do give your word I will punish you as I have never punished anyone if you break it,” Muriel had continued sternly. “I mean it. You are my best student and one day… well, just remember we have standards girl.”

Alice knew then that she might only promise to try, but it was not her way.

“I promise,” she said earnestly. God she had missed this clarity.

“Good girl,” Muriel said eagerly, “But you know tomorrow…”

“I know,” Alice sighed, “And I know I deserve it Ma’am.”

After a fitful sleep the morning had come and so too had the true punishment. Now she was ready.

Alice took one more look in the mirror and took a deep breath. She was wearing only a tennis shirt over a brassiere and booby socks with newly whitened tennis pumps. It was a ridiculous ensemble devoid as it was of any coverage between her hips and ankles, and so very shaming.

Of course that was the point, she thought, now tugging at the front of her shirt to cover the neat dark triangle at the top of her thighs. God it had been so long since… The knock at the door was like a death knell and summoned her to her doom.

*

The worst part of her parade of contrition was that in the last week Alice, with Muriel’s help had finally engaged a cook. The woman had worked for Muriel’s people before and was well familiar with the Sinclair Method, but it was mortifying to Alice that a woman she hardly knew and an employee yet was about to witness part of her shame.

Still at least they had yet to engage a live in maid or a daily, both of whom would have been around at this time if they had.

Alice took a deep breath and descended the stairs to where Muriel was waiting to lead her out to the woodshed.

“Oh my, that is the sorest behind I have seen in many a year,” said the cook from somewhere behind Alice, she sounded awestruck and Alice blushed knowing that the behind in question was hers and very much on display under the hem of her shirt.

To tough it out Alice half turned and gave a shy smile.

“I had it coming Mrs Stevens,” she said and blushed a little more.

“I should hope you did,” the cook said earnestly and shook her head, “You girls, such a handful.”

Alice wanted to protest that she was the governess, but today she felt very far from it.

“Come along Alice,” Muriel chided her, “the woodshed is waiting.”

Alice responded with a long slow breath and then with a rueful pout followed Muriel out into the sunshine.

*

The birds tweeted incongruously while Alice gathered switches and as she laboured in the morning sunshine with an unfamiliar chill around her legs and bottom she felt a lightheaded disconnect with the world around her. It was a kind of liberation and for the first time Alice understood something of the naturist she had read about in a magazine once.

Then she saw the woodshed up ahead and the winding path that took them inexorably there.

“I was up early this morning,” Muriel told her, “To make some arrangements you understand. I wasn’t best pleased that you have neglected this important asset. I gather none of the girls except Mary have even made this trip.”

“No Ma’am,” Alice said solemnly, it was true. Had she been failing the girls then?

For a moment she was overridden with such things, a useful distraction from her impending fate, but one that did not last one step beyond the threshold.

The collecting of switches was a traditional American custom and not to observe it was something close to sacrilege, but next to what awaited her that punishment was positively gentle. For inside were three buckets, each holding half a dozen birch rods bundled as expertly as any European jailhouse. Here too at half a yard long and complete with drilled holes was a good old American paddle. Alice could only hope that the razor strop alongside it was just for future use on the girls because if they were all for her then she could kiss her bottom goodbye or at least count on eating her meals standing up for a year or two.

Alice was still blanching with shock when she saw what else had been assembled on the tool bench at the back. Next to an old Belfast enamel sink were a bucket, a funnel, a large hot water bottle and a long length of tubing. There was no doubt what they were for and her eyes were wide with apprehension.

Following her gaze Muriel nodded grimly.

“From young adulthood I was trained in such things and my mentor was rather keen on abrasives,” the older woman grimaced. “But no one can doubt their efficacy.”

“But…” Alice gaped and began shuffling nervously from foot to foot.

“Don’t worry, simple carbolic will suffice, stings a bit but quite cleansing and you do need a cleansing after putting those dirty things in your mouth,” Muriel sighed.

“My mouth,” Alice iterated.

“It’s a symbolic cleansing,” Muriel said in amusement. “The other end will serve as well.”

Alice let her mouth hang open in defeat and nodded. This was going to be worse than she thought.

She had just steeled herself for the ordeal when Muriel pulled her away and lead her to the sawhorse.

“Not so fast,” Muriel chuckled, “First we have to put those switches to work on your tender bottom so they don’t go to waste. Besides, the saw horse puts you in a good position for what comes next.”

The switch was a bitch but nothing she hadn’t encountered before and she was for once grateful for the distraction. So walking forward she bent over and lowered herself down onto the crosspiece of the horse. It was hard beneath her belly and with her head right down her bottom seemed too big and elevated.

It took a moment for Alice to get ‘comfortable’ and she had to steady herself by resting her elbows on her thighs under the crossbar of the sawhorse. She was just about to lament how self-conscious she felt when the first snick-flick of the switch descended. Like a series of electric shocks Alice jerked and squealed girlishly as Muriel expertly plied the switch across her exposed upturned bottom.

The burn was all the worse for tender bruises from the previous night’s spanking and Alice began to wonder how she had ever coped under Muriel’s tutorage.

“Oh Ma’am, omigod, jeez,” and the like spewed form her mouth as she bucked in place under the sting.

“There are four or five good switches here and it would be churlish not to give each one a dozen or two goes on target,” Muriel said casually.

In truth the Sinclair Method usually called for a lot more but Alice was beginning to suspect that the first part of her day was going to be largely symbolic to put her in her place. Some place, she thought ruefully, even this light punishment had tears pooling at her eyes and trickling down her cheeks.

*

Alice lay bent over and prone as she gently sobbed. The switching had well and truly rekindled the spanking of the night before and on top of that she could feel every welty line of fire as it continued to throb from the top of her cleft down to where her bottom curves met her thighs.

“That’s the way,” Muriel cooed, “Now for something interesting.”

Alice tried to look back over her shoulder as the sounds of water filling a bucket followed the scrape of metal at the sink. The metallic glug seemed to go on for ages and Muriel was actually humming to herself as she worked.

Alice always hated this kind of punishment, well hated it more than the rest anyway, but at least she consoled herself with the knowledge that this time it would be a private affair, which had not always been so during her training.

Then at last she felt the cold nozzle against her anus and her breathing became ragged with panic as she wriggled.

“I am just going to ease this in a little more, that’s it,” Muriel soothed.

Alice went wide around the eyes as she imagined she was accommodating a bull’s pizzle; a little more my… she screwed up her face and tensed up, quite literally my… the rest of the angry thought was literally washed away.

“Relax,” Muriel commanded her, “relax or I will spank you.”

The threat was enough and sudden she was open and something filled her to full. However, that was only the beginning, she realised, the real delivery was yet to come.

“Oh, oh, aaaaaah,” Alice groaned as the water poured into the funnel.

The tube was long but not long enough to delay the sudden burning flood that throbbed, pumped and moved in her innards.

“Muriel, M-m… ooh, Ma’am, that’s… that’s enough,” Alice gasped.

But Muriel continued until the carefully measured amount had been administered.

Alice responded by gripping the sawhorse and gasping herself cross-eyed as the deep filling burn began to take hold.

“Now you just stay like that a while, I’ll be back,” Muriel said wiping her hands and leaving her alone.

To Alice’s dismay the door was left wide open and she prayed no one would see her like this.

*

The cramps and spasmodic discomfort had made the 20 minutes of waiting for Muriel to return seem like days. Just about then she would have done absolutely anything she was told.

When finally she heard someone behind her she gave a little sob of relief.

“Now don’t you fret Miss Bowman,” Mrs Stevens said in a maternal tone.

“Mrs Stevens,” Alice gasped, “What…?”

“Hush now, Mrs Baxter sent me,” the cook said, “she’ll be along later.”

Alice wanted to crawl away and just die as Mrs Stevens helped her up. But that was only the beginning. The woman made no effort to move as Alice hopped from one foot to the other and finally dashed for the undergrowth.

“Feeling better?” Mrs Stevens asked when Alice returned.

Alice nodded, her face so red and hot she would have gratefully melted.

“Now Miss Bowman, are you ready for another?” the cook asked holding up the funnel and tube.

Alice gaped. “But…”

“Over my knee now and we’ll get started,” Mrs Stevens said, now sitting on a stool by the sink.

“If you think I am going to… why you are just staff here,” Alice snapped in a shrill voice.

“Oh dear, Mrs Baxter said you might take that attitude,” the cook sighed and as Alice watched she took up the paddle off the bench and beckoned Alice to her.

“You’re not going to…” Alice gulped, hastily looking around for an escape.

The cook shrugged and said, “Mrs Baxter said it was up you but if you didn’t cooperate she would postpone your punishment until tomorrow when Katherine was around to help. She said you would look cute standing in the corner downstairs in front of the other girls.”

“Tell me Mrs Stevens, you didn’t used to be a Sinclair girl did you?” a mortified Alice asked ruefully.

“Once a Sinclair girl always a Sinclair girl,” the cook grinned.

Alice winced and allowed herself to be tugged forward by the arm and deposited crosswise over Mrs Steven’s knee.

“Now for giving me some attitude you are going to get a nice long and good sound spanking,” the cook said cheerfully, “Hell, I have missed this.”

The word ‘this’ cumulated in the impact of a stiff paddle right where Alice sat and she shrieked. The woman was a devil, Alice thought in horror, but the spanking had begun in earnest and Mrs Steven’s wondered if they could hear the woman yelling all the way to town.

“Alright, alright, I’ll take your damn enema,” Alice wept.

“Oh I know you will, two or three before I am done,” Mrs Stevens chuckled, “But first you have that spanking coming and do please give me some attitude about it, please. It is all I ask.”

“Ooh,” Alice wailed through gritted teeth, her bottom really didn’t need the extra help, not today.

I’ll never smoke again, she promised the universe, but she knew that was the least of her sins. This was about standards, the bedrock of the Sinclair Method, and her failure to meet them.

To be continued.

Our story began here.

So far it had been an ordeal of fire and water and Alice Bowman had never felt so clean, neither inside nor out. Nevertheless, she strained to be as stoical as she could but it was a futile attitude to take, for the whole point of Muriel Baxter’s chastisement regime was to break Alice down utterly. So the longer she took to surrender the worse her punitive experience would be. But nonetheless it was expected, that was the nature of the Sinclair Method. If she did not strive to endure then she would not fully benefit from her experience and ultimately neither would her girls.

Alice had stood in the corner of the woodshed for longer than she could gauge. With each passing minute she felt herself shrinking even as her tight hot bottom seemed to grow. In fact the searing throb in her behind gave her a sense that the straining ravaged rounds would burst at any minute, a fact that left her as much in respectful awe as cowed. It had been so long since she had been under Muriel’s close supervision and she had forgotten what an expert she was.

“We are not such a big important girl now, are we?” Muriel asked in maternal tones.

As she spoke she ran a gentle fingernail over Alice’s textured welted flesh and drawing a hiss from the woman.

“No Ma’am,” Alice gasped.

“You know that this is for your own good don’t you Alice?” Muriel purred.

Alice gulped and blinked hard into the wall.

“Yes Ma’am,” she said at last, “But… Mrs Stevens…” Her voice was close to cracking and it was all she could do not to cry again when she thought of her humiliation at the hands’ of the cook.

“Mrs Stevens has been invaluable in helping me take you down a peg or two. Just think how very much worse it would have been had I had to employ Katherine to help me,” Muriel said in a vaguely disapproving voice.

“Oh no Ma’am, I mean yes, thank you Ma’am,” Alice said hastily, her eyes bugging at the very thought.

“Hush now,” Muriel soothed. “Now we come to the main event,” she continued. “Next comes a good old fashioned American spanking.”

Alice gaped into the wall and then frowned. She might have expressed her puzzlement at such a relatively mild operation when Muriel picked something up from the bench in the corner of the woodshed.

“For that correction I shall employ a good old fashioned American paddle,” Muriel said crisply as she hefted the object.

Alice worked her throat and wished she could merge with the wall in front of her face.

“This one is of the sturdier punitive sorority paddles,” Muriel added, “Not one of those merely decorative affairs.”

“No Ma’am,” Alice said nervously, “I mean…”

“I know what you mean Alice; I know you are a good girl and wouldn’t argue.”

“No Ma’am,” Alice greed firmly. Heaven forbid; the dread thought came unbidden.

“Now with you heels together and your bottom uppermost I want you to bend over the saw horses there,” Muriel told her charge.

“Ooh, yes Ma’am,” Alice said apprehensively.

*

It took a while for Muriel to be satisfied that Alice was holding the right posture. To that end she had made Alice bend right over with her knees tucked under the cross plank of the saw horse. This served both to elevate her bare bottom to the highest point and to make it form an almost perfect tight sphere.

The position was both undignified and uncomfortable as the stretched skin was reignited with its earlier sting. But worse still was the waiting. As she held position the only sound in the room was her gentle breathing and the light tickle of the breeze in the trees beyond the woodshed.

“Are you ready Alice?” Muriel asked for the third time.

Alice let out along slow breath and nodded.

“Alice?” Muriel chided.

“Yes Ma’am,” Alice acknowledged.

The blast of the paddle was sudden and breath-stealing. For a moment Alice’s world hung on end and then what had been an unbearable fiery sting really tore into her.

“Yahhh,” Alice hissed and pumped her thighs.

The second swat was loud and Alice realised that she hadn’t even heard the first. It landed like hot iron placing sting upon burn and that too began to cook as it grew worse.

“Ooh-huh-eh-huh-eh-huh,” Alice sang as she tried to control her breathing and regulate the pain.

The third defied logic. Alice was sure it couldn’t get worse and that the sting was at maximum but the paddle was proving her wrong.

“Ooooooooh-mmmmm,” Alice grunted as she blinked hard and squirmed vigorously.

“Good girl,” Muriel said breezily, “You’re taking this well.”

Alice’s bottom, which had already been red beyond red, was momentarily reshaped as edged white welts bordered her curves and a real purplish hue flooded the crowns. Bruising was inevitable, but in skilled hands like Muriel’s no skin would be broken, although in short order the governess’s bottom would look twice its usual size.

The next three were placed over less than a minutes and Alice made a strange croaking sound in her throat. It took a moment, but Muriel realised that she was crying again. As well she might, the older woman thought, I know I would be.

Then two minutes later Alice had taken 12 and from nine she trembled and then broke to real bawling.

“That’s it, let it all out,” Muriel soothed and patted the girl’s shoulder.

Alice nodded miserably, but was grateful for the comfort.

“H-how, how many more Ma’am?” she woefully asked.

Muriel considered this, tapping the flat of the paddle on her hand as she pondered.

“If you were me, what would you give you?” she asked.

Alice swallowed. “I guess I’m just about done,” she said in a thick wet voice, “so if it were one of the girls I’d give at least another dozen.”

It was a true but terrifying admission and Muriel was in awe of Alice’s courage and honesty, a true Sinclair girl through and through. The golden rule was that a spanking didn’t really begin until the girl was finished.

“And what if it was a hardened but wayward governess?” Muriel pressed the spanked woman.

Alice swallowed hard again and steeled herself.

“Please Muriel, Ma’am, please I…” she wailed.

“How many?”

“T-twice that, maybe… maybe more,” Alice sobbed.

“And we have a winner,” Muriel said cheerfully s she landed another swat.

This time Alice did not hold back with her song of pain.

To be continued.

We knew the Victorians were keen on spanking on the birch, it went hand in hand with keeping young women in their place but just how far did they go? Here we have a true account of a woman offering a discipline service for unruly adult daughters.

I came across this tale in the History of the Rod, but investigation online reveals several sources for this tale including from the contemporary source the Truth magazine.

It seems Mrs Walter operated from Oakfield Road, Clifton, in Bristol England and advertised her respectable chastising service for unruly daughters in the national papers. One advertisement read: ‘Bad temper, hysteria, idleness etc. cured by strict disciple and careful training’.

The Truth sent an undercover woman reporter along to find out. She explained she had an unruly daughter she wanted tamed. For the sum of £100 Mrs Walter offered to take the unruly girl under her wing for a whole year. She even offered references from the Dean of Lincoln, an admiral, a general and several aristocrats.

Mrs Walter was well equipped with a birch table, several birches and evidentially made the girls dress in a gown that was open at the back. She claimed never to birch or punish in anger, but to always punish soundly on the bare bottom when the young woman was ‘needful.’

“Taking the birch, I measure my distance and, standing at the side, I proceed to strike slowly but firmly” Mrs Walter explained. “By moving gently forward, each stroke is differently placed and six strokes may well be enough if given with full force. If the fault has been such as to need severe correction, then I begin on the other side and work back again.”

Mrs Walter did not like the girls to resist or even scream and for such behaviour she would add strokes or even repeat the punishment.

At its height Mrs Walter ran a respectable business advertising her services openly and contracting via the church magazine for a supply of birch rods from a reputable supplier.

Here is the The Truth article in full.

Some months ago I called attention to the advertisements on the part of the women, offering to flog unruly girls of any age on payment of a fee. It struck me that this sort of thing ought to be exposed, and I endeavour to enter into correspondence with the “operator.”

She probably, however, suspected the hook, for she did not rise to the fly. On October 5th the following advertisement appeared in the Daily Telegraph: — Bad temper, hysteria, idleness, &c, cured by strict discipline and careful trainer. Three girls received. — Address G., care of Mrs Clapp, St. John’s Wood, Clifton.

This was followed by this further advertisement in the Times of October 21st:— intractable girls trained and educated. Excellent references, “Hints on Management of Children,” “Training of Children,” and “The Rod,” Is each. Advice by letter, Is.— Address, Mrs Walter, Clifton. Since then several other advertisements of the same nature have appeared.

A friend of mine has thrown a fly, and the fish has risen to the bait. He got a lady of his acquaintance to write to say that she had an intractable daughter, whom she wished to be “broken in,” and requesting the advertiser to send pamphlets, and letter of advice. The books and the letter were sent. Here is the letter, together with a list of persons to whom references are kindly permitted:— Clifton, October 24. Dear madam, —Thank you for your latter of to-day. I am prepared to take another girl at any time, and offer her a comfortable and refined home, with educational advantages.

With much experience I am able to say that those girls who will not work at home, do so when they are taken individually. I have one girl here who had been troublesome for five years, yet who is most amenable to me and my wishes.

Her friends live near London, but I prefer not to refer to them unless I am obliged, because the daughter’s neglected education is a very sore subject with them. You will see from enclosed testimonials and lift of references that I can be recommended. Mr Christopher Heath knows the parents of one of my pupils, and will, I am sure, be happy to answer any questions you may like to ask him. My old friend, Admiral Strode, will be iu Town next week, but a man at, his club is not easily seen by a lady.

Mr proper name is Mrs Walter Smith, “Walter” being my nom-de-plume. My second daughter assists me with the girl and I have professors for music, painting, dancing, &c. I could take your niece for £100 per annum, entering at any time, if she is under twenty years of age. If more, I must have some little extra for holidays. My present arrangement is to be in Town about the 11th of November for a day, but I may be called there on Saturday for a few hours.

You will, perhaps, let me know as soon as you have come to a decision about your niece. My fees are usually paid three months in advance. Enclosed please find the explanation of my system. Believe me, dear madam, yours faithfully, E. Walter, MODUS OPERANDI WITH IXTRACTAULE CURLS.

Unwilling as I may be to say it, very often the fault of the girls is merely the natural result of careless training. Parents do not always realise the fact that unless the girls are well occupied and carefully trained at all times, much mischief will accrue. Some girls are idle constitutionally, this must be cured; others have a superfluous amount of energy, this needs to be well directed.

Whether at lessons or play, real interest should be taken so as to do it thoroughly. It is better if girls have got troublesome to make plans, and then completely change their system, beginning in a new groove. Change of scene is, of course, helpful but if for fresh habits are formed, and on the return improved comfort shows itself.

My first object when a girl is placed with me is to show her kindly, but firmly, that I must be implicitly obeyed It is always a good plan to rule by moral suasion if possible. When that has been fairly tried and fails, then it is positively necessary to use some other means of making the girl obey. First I warn her of the consequences of repeated faults; then, when a direct act of disobedience, a lie, or very serious fault shows itself, I tell her that presently I shall punish.

Never birch when angry. During the interval she thinks over the fault. I make preparations. These consist in having ready a strong narrow table, straps (waist band with sliding strap, anklets and wristlets), cushions, and a good, long, pliable rod, telling her to prepare by removing her dress, knickers, &c, and putting on the dressing-gown (hind part before). Then I talk seriously to her, show her the nature of the fault, and the need of punishment as a cure. Next I put on the waist band, after having told her that if she submits quietly no one need know; if she struggles I must call in help (girls generally prefer to be quiet).

Placing her at the end of the table (on which there are cushions to protect the person) I turn her body over the table and fasten the straps underneath it. Then I fasten the knees together, wrists the same, unless I anticipate a struggle— then I use anklets and wristlets, and fasten the limbs to the legs of the table. This really takes less time to do than to write about. Unfastening the dressing-gown, the orthodox surface is found at the right angle for punishing.

Taking the birch, I measure my distance, and, standing at the side, proceed to strike slowly but firmly. By moving gently forward each stroke is differently placed, and six strokes may be enough if well given with full force. If the fault has been such as to need severe correction, then I begin on the other side and work back again.

For screams increased strokes must be given. If a girl tries very hard indeed to bear it bravely, then, perhaps, I give 10 instead of 12.

Directly it is finished I cover up the part exposed, unfasten the girl, and, finding her probably more subdued, help to resolutions of amendment. If this birching has been judiciously and conscientiously administered, the girl will bear against the operation no resentment, but be ready to “kiss and be friends.”

After allowing the culprit a little time to compose herself and re-dress, I expect her to join the others, and no mention of any kind is made of the punishment unless future misconduct makes it necessary, and this is not often.

Birching is an extraordinary thing, not an every-day work, therefore care must be taken that the operator has the proper nerve and patience for the operation. Mothers are the proper persons to whip girls; but if they have not the necessary nerve, then it is better to appoint a deputy. After this serious business is over, much steady patience is needed, for a birching is no use whatever if a girl is to be petted again and allowed to do just as she likes. She must be under firm, kind discipline.

None of my girls have been more attached to me than those whom I have been obliged to discipline severely. They have a great respect for those who can master them, and who do not taunt them with past misdeeds. One good scolding is worth months of “nagging.” Efforts at amendment must be encouraged, and those having the charge of girls must not expect to reform them all at once. ” Rome vas not built in a day.” The old Adam will sometimes show itself, and for checking his work nothing is so useful as a birch rod judiciously used. E. W. [Here follow the names of gentlemen whose reference? are kindly permitted].

My friend then put himself in communication with the woman, saying that he had an intractable ward, aged sixteen. He had three interviews with her at a boarding-house in Porchester Gardens. Subsequently, as he was passing through Bristol, he called on her.

He describes her as a tall, strong woman, arrayed in the dress of some sort of order, and wearing a medallion with the effigy of a “Good Shepherd” stamped upon it. As an inducement to him to confide his ward to her tender mercies, she said she had girls of twenty in her house, to whom a week or two previous she had administered 15 cuts with a birch rod, and she explained that she had a considerable number of clients in London whose daughters she chastised. This appears probable, for when my friend called on her, it was difficult to get more than a few minutes’ conversation with her, there were so many waiting for an audience. Each interview costs half-a-guinea. She had before her a book, in which her flogging engagements were registered, and they appeared to be numerous.

I append two extracts from the pamphlet entitled “The Rod”: According to some writers and physicians, flagellation is a remedy for torpid condition and lack of muscular energy; it clears the brain, and braces the nerves; in short, there is nothing it will not do, when properly applied _ The rod has been found to cure all feigned diseases. For hypochondriacally cases it is an excellent remedy.

To be effectual the rods should be of the right sort. They can be bought at Clifton of Mrs Clapp, St. John’s road, from 5d upwards, trimmed if required. They can be sent post free for 3d each. They should be made from 2. to 3ft. Gin. long, and very thin and pliable. I get mine from a family who have made them for generations. And here are two extracts from the pamphlet entitled “Hints on the Management of Untractable Girls “Parents who have not the necessary patience or nerve should depute some person for this office, and, having done so, let them not be restricted in any way, for something must be left to the discretion of the operator. Anyone who would be deterred by screams or struggles from carrying out what has been begun should never attempt whipping, because, unless it is thoroughly done, ground is lost, and the girl will rejoice in her triumph.

Our story began here.

Before the girls returned that afternoon, Alice had been permitted to go to bed early with a ‘headache.’ This not only spared her blushes but spared her the ordeal of sitting down for supper. That is to say not sitting down and letting everyone know what had happened. Not that she had any energy or appetite to spare for something as prosaic as a meal. Instead she had limped gratefully to bed and slept the sleep of the just.

Nor did she rise for breakfast the next day, being too mortified as she was to face anyone much before noon. This normally wouldn’t have been tolerated but for once Muriel Baxter very much wanted Alice to be able to save face to preserve her authority.

Finally and just before luncheon Alice donned a loose fitting skirt and putting her best face on made her way downstairs. Even a day after her spanking and woodshed experience just walking was an ordeal. Each step flared in her bottom, which felt tighter than a jazz drum being struck three to the dozen in some relentless and reckless rhythm. Alice had to take slow careful steps with a practiced look of neutrality clinging to her face less she openly wince with each movement.

“Feeling better?” Jenny asked sympathetically on seeing the governess.

“Wh-what do you mean?” Alice said, as she startled.

“Mrs Baxter said that you had a headache?” Jenny put in uncertainly.

“Oh eh, oh yes,” Alice said quickly with a tight smile, “I-I’m feeling much better now, thank you Jenny.”

“Mrs Baxter says we might go back with her for a visit. To Sinclair Ladies’ College I mean.” Jenny still sounded uncertain.

“Yes I know,” Alice said pausing where she stood and desperately wanting to massage her bottom. “It is not exactly a school, more a house like this one but with a few more girls and some trainee governesses. But how do you feel about that?”

Jenny frowned.

“Is it because I have been bad?” she asked.

Alice laughed and shook her head. “No of course not,” she replied.

“I am not completely dumb,” Jenny said carefully, “I mean I do know that Mrs Baxter is the head honcho so to speak and I bet she is much stricter than you. I mean to say… well I know I behaved like a brat at first but isn’t Mrs Baxter’s place more like a reform school?”

“No, it isn’t like that, but you are right there will be higher standards. It is usually where the older girls go, the volunteers. Is that what is worrying you? Are you nervous that things will be stricter?” Alice was frowning now. Jenny didn’t have to go, but if she did she would effectively be a volunteer. Did that mean she could leave? Alice was suddenly nervous for the girl, she wasn’t ready to brave the world alone and if she went back to that aunt of hers she would fall into bad habits.

“No,” Jenny said slowly with some thought, “I’m not scared of worst punishments… well I am, but it is not that. I probably deserve stricter punishments. It is just… well I have a feeling that I belong for the first time and… and… no it’s not that either. I just don’t want to fail and I don’t want to fail you.”

“Oh you haven’t, really you haven’t,” Alice sighed, “If anything I have failed you.”

She remembered her own slip in standards and the previous day’s punishment. Also she didn’t want to say that Mrs Baxter wanted her to focus on Katherine and Mary. That would sound as if Jenny and Janet were less than they were.

“You haven’t failed me, or Janet, even I can see what we were like before,” Jenny gushed. “I couldn’t go back to how it was before I just couldn’t.”

“Then don’t. But all things change,” Alice said kindly as she took half a step forward, and the suppressing a wince she added, “Just think about it alright?”

“I will,” Jenny said brightly and smiled.

*

Alice was attempting to read with one leg tucked under her thigh so as to keep her bottom off the window seat. It was an uncomfortable enough posture, but not as unpleasant as allowing her behind take her full weight even with the soft padding on the bay window’s surface.

She was still wincing and squirming when she noticed Katherine approaching.

“Miss Bowman, can I have a word please?” Katherine asked politely.

Alice gave her a fixed grin and with a surreptitious stiffness adjusted her posture.

“Of course,” she said, the grin not leaving her face as she indicated the seat next to her.

Katherine sensed something was wrong but decided it was better to say nothing as she obeyed and sat in the opposite corner of the bay.

“Is there something I can do for you?” Alice asked seeing that Katherine wasn’t going to speak.

The younger woman sucked in a long slow breath and drew herself up to reply.

“I hear that Janet and Jenny are to return with Mrs Baxter,” Katherine said at last.

“That hasn’t been settled yet, but they may be,” Alice answered, “But Mrs Baxter has made the suggestion, yes.”

Katherine nodded.

“So what is troubling you about that?” Alice pressed the girl.

“Isn’t… isn’t that where Mrs Baxter trains governesses in the Sinclair Method?” Katherine was looking down into her lap.

“That’s right, it is where I was trained, but also a great many girls who are not following that path receive guidance there too,” Alice replied in a neutral voice.

“But I thought… that is… one day I thought I might too become a governess like you,” Katherine said, still not looking up.

“And so you shall and Mary too I think,” Alice said. There was a half-supressed urgency in her voice and now and a hint a puzzlement crossed her face.

Katherine looked up now, a wild expectant look dancing back and forth with her eyes.

“But…” she whispered.

“That is why Mrs Baxter wants Janet and Jenny to go with her, so I can further yours and Mary’s training somewhat. When you go to Mrs Baxter’s establishment it will be as a trainee governess I expect,” Alice told her.

“Oh,” Katherine squealed and launched herself forward to hug Alice.

Alice groaned as she was shoved back on to her bottom and had to grit her teeth.

“I won’t let you down, I am ever so grateful,” Katherine violently enthused, “I can’t tell you how… oh… oh, wait until I tell Mary.”

“Well yes, but do wait until it is settled won’t you?” Alice chuckled, “But Katherine, you do know what this means don’t you?”

Katherine nodded and smiled and then nodded some more before she giggled, “No, not really.”

“That with just Mary and you here I will have a free rein to bring you task,” Alice replied now suddenly serious.

Katherine flushed a little but the smile didn’t leave her face. “I know but… well I know… I think I do… you mean things will be stricter around here.”

Alice’s smile became a firm tight line and she nodded as if in regret.

Katherine shrugged.

“I guess I’ll cope,” she said ruefully. “But in for a penny…”

To be continued.

Part I

The winter got very much worse before it got better and by the end of January their food supplies were low and they were left with only the grimmest fare. It was a situation that did little to aid the humour of Sofia or Ivan and within the confines of the small house short sharp words left their mouths at the least provocation. As it was barely a week would pass without a confrontation and the diminutive princess would frequently find herself stood bare bottomed in the corner following the soundest of spankings.

Not that she resented such treatment, not once Ivan’s anger had passed anyway, as such rough handling tended to clear the air and even Sofia could not remember who had been in the right after the fact.

But on other occasions there was no doubt and the spoilt noblewoman of old would reassert herself to give in to rages about the food or the lack of home comforts. At these times Ivan would sigh heavily and take up a rod from the corner before beckoning to his winter guest with one stern finger.

“Oh come on, please Ivan I’m sorry,” she would wail as she backed away as far as the small room would allow.

But once the woodsman’s mind was made up all protests were futile.

If she were feeling brave and repentant then she would dip her gaze and meekly lower her breeches before bending across the table to present her bare bottom. The fiery bite of his lambasting rod was bad enough on such occasions and afterwards she could not sit down for days. But at other times she would refuse his correction and strike out at him with her small fists and call him a beast.

Then he would spank her soundly until she wept and then set her in the corner until she was ready to ask for her true punishment. This would follow with a will until she wailed and begged as she was truly mastered with a kiss to the rod. Then her raw buttocks would throb like hot coals in the corner again and she would rue the day that they had ever met.

But such emotions did not cling to her long and despite the fact that she was often left unable to sit until he had cause to spank her again, she could not truly blame him or hold a grudge.

So the days passed, each one a little longer, and as the long winter shadows shortened, each one became a little warmer. If Sofia had not been so distracted by the other heat in her bottom she might have noticed this change and perhaps regret it.

*

One day Ivan returned from one of his increasingly frequent sorties with a huge stag across both shoulders. Even Sofia could see that outside there were green shoots were breaking from the snow and finally she sensed a change in the air.

As Ivan stood framed by the doorway he seemed to regard her with something like sadness and Sofia gripped her throat as if it were her heart. The space between them was no more than 10 feet but suddenly it felt like a thousand miles.

Then Ivan shook himself and tossed the carcass onto the table and turned away. Nor did he meet her eyes as he said, “March is upon us so in a week or two, I think we can set off for Molotov lands.”

Sofia felt as if she had been struck. For weeks it had been all she had thought of, well almost all she had thought of, but now… home? She swallowed hard as if choking something down. The castle that had once seemed so large now shrank in her memory. She thought of high confining walls and the guarded gates. She thought of the narrow rules and the even narrower path that her life would now follow.

“Aren’t you happy?” Ivan asked in an even voice.

Sofia blinked hard and shook herself to a forced smile.

“Of course,” she said, but her words carried little conviction.

Ivan gave a small grunt like a bear and turned away. It was for the best, he thought, of course it was.

As it was the snow retreated almost as fast as the days that remained and when at last Ivan gathered some food and belongings for the journey the grass was more abundant than the ice and fierce buds covered every branch. Here and there even the first spring flowers forced their way from the hard ground as they stretched for the sky like yawning men awaking from a long sleep.

“It is a long walk without a fast pony and it will take most of a week to get to Castle Molotov,” Ivan told her, “But we will make good time now.”

Sofia nodded. Somehow she was happy that there were no horses and she thought of her rapid escape. Such reckless racing seemed so immature now.

“I have the last of the nuts and some dried venison,” he told her for something to say. “And we may find some game along the way.”

Sofia gave him a tight smile and a single nod.

“But we could…” he thought of fishing in the pool. It would be good eating and might delay their departure for several days, but it was a pointless agony. So instead he said, “Never mind, we will leave tomorrow.

*

They did indeed make good time and for a while it was if the world belonged to them. After weeks in the small shack the forest was coming alive with birdsong and dancing squirrels that darted hither and thither among the stout trees. Even Ivan’s mood was lifted and he would often stop to identify the chirping cheep of this bird or that or point out bear tracks on the damp ground.

On all sides of the path the cathedral-like woods stretched out under the wild green roof in a tapestry of light where dark pines stood with the birch in its new spring coat. Even when Ivan had got ahead of her, he was an ever present guardian relentlessly placing one certain foot before the other. The forest was wild but no wolf or bear would trouble her while she had such a man.

“I could live here forever,” Sofia breathed.

“What was that?” Ivan called back.

“I said the woods go on forever,” she replied.

“From the Urals to Siberia,” he answered, “We are a long way from Peter neh?

“I have never been,” she whispered with true regret.

“Bah, one day some young man will take you there,” Ivan snarled patting the air dismissively with one arm as he strode ahead.

But all she could think was that St Petersburg could not be as beautiful as this place here and now.

By the time they broke for the night Sofia had legs like lead. The endless tranquillity of the trees had long since surrendered their charms and she fell onto the blanket Ivan had set on the ground like timber felled.

“Missing your horse now I’ll bet,” Ivan chuckled.

But Sofia was already asleep and it was an hour before Ivan roused her with some food and a small fire. But it was a short reprieve from her slumber and by the time it was full dark Sofia again surrendered to her dreams.

*

On the afternoon of the fourth day they reach some high ground where the snow had not yet melted and the dense forest gave way to more open rocky ground that afforded the couple glimpses of far mountains and cultivated land beyond the valley. Here the slope was gentle and seemed to end at a granite ridge just ahead of them. Not that they were completely out of the woods. To the right and behind of them was a fence of denuded silver birch trees, their white paper trunks forming a haphazard border to the deeper timberland they had just travelled through.

“I know this place,” Sofia gasped.

Ivan frowned and waited for more but the tired princess was still.

Sofia was vaguely aware that she must have ridden this way at some time and the aspect of the hills looked rather like those viewed from her room at Castle Molotov. She was still pondering this idea when they gained the ridge. There across the sunlit valley like a fist of stone stood her father’s fortress. The curved walls and onion domes glowed in the dying spring sunshine like a glimpse of heaven in the wilderness so that her heart leapt and she could scarce draw a breath.

“I’m… I’m home,” she said wistfully.

“Yes,” Ivan growled.

“Oh shit,” Sofia said suddenly.

Ivan rounded on her with half an eye to the forest and raised one quizzical eyebrow.

“I just remembered,” she said ruefully, “I am in so much trouble.”

As she spoke her hand made an unconscious move to her behind. But this only drew a chuckle from the bear-like woodsman who merely muttered, “I bet you are,” he said with amusement.

*

At first her father had been pleased to see her. He had wept as he swept her into his arms.

“Where did you find her?” at last the Prince demanded of Ivan.

Ivan shrugged. “The forest, where else?” he said.

“And she has been with you this whole time?” the prince demanded suspiciously.

“Where was I to take her, to the Kelch perhaps, or the Kern?” Ivan shrugged again.

“Father Ivan has been…” Sofia began.

“Be silent girl,” her father roared.

The Prince eyed Ivan Ivanov carefully but the woodsman did not blink. He stood like a rock not quite meeting the nobleman’s eye but not quite avoiding his gaze either. He stood like one who had rendered service and now expected reward.

“You are a free man?” Prince Molotov asked him.

“I am by my lights, but Count Kern may have a different view,” Ivan said gruffly.

The Prince nodded and weighed this up. “I am not one to listen to such a bastard,” he said, “and you have done me a great service here. For that I am grateful, although through her reckless actions my daughter’s reputation is shot. But I see you are an honest man and I bear you no grudge for your part. I have good kulak lands south and east of here. It is rich bottom land in need of restoration. It is yours together with 100 roubles and three years free of tax. Make it pay and I will grant you the rank of rystar with legal tenure over the serfs there. Treat them well and they will serve you in kind.”

Sofia gaped and then grinned widely.

“Thank you my prince,” Ivan bowed.

It was a great reward but somehow it seemed a hollow one. He bowed again and backed away.

“As for you my girl, you have a reward of another kind coming,” Prince Molotov rasped angrily, “Go to your room until I decide what to do with you.”

Sofia blanched but offered him a deep curtsey and hurried away. If she hoped to see Ivan she was thwarted. No sooner had she slipped away than her old governess stepped forward and took her by the arm.

“Come with me you foolish girl,” the rather severe dark-clad woman barked.

Sofia bristled at being so handled, but Baroness Moskova’s sharp visage and scraped back hair silenced any protests.

“You won’t sit down for a year by the time your father finishes with you and if you resist I will thrash your backside raw before Prince Molotov even lays his first stroke,” the Baroness hissed.

Sofia drew herself up proudly but seeing no hope she snatched away her hand and imperious walked to the staircase that led to her room.

“If you are lucky your father will find a poor baron to marry you to, the very idea, running away like that,” Moskova said with more sadness than anger.

Sofia rounded on her at the very suggestion, but what did it matter if she married prince or duke, baron or pauper, none of them would be Ivan? There, she had said it, if only in her heart.

“Go to your room,” the baroness barked.

Tears pooling at her eyes Sofia nodded and did as she was told.

*

Sofia stood with her hands clamped to the back of her neck and her elbows at right angles. Her nose was so close to where the two walls met at the corner of the room that she was effectively blinkered. Her bottom had been left bare and facing the room, but it was the light chill and not fear that left her shivering.

The night before the maids had come to bathe her more thoroughly than she had ever been bathed before and every inch of her skin had tingled from their ministrations. Then after a crude repast she had slept the sleep of ages until the strong spring sun had stirred her from lonely dreams.

It was not until Baroness Moskova had come to supervise her morning toilet and dressing had Sofia got a first hint of her fate. For one thing she had been permitted only a high cut corset and stockings to dress in and for another not one of the maids had giggled when she had been sentenced to the corner. Her father must still be furious then, she thought.

It was a shameful and uncomfortable predicament but with the door left wide and the constant sound of footsteps out in the hall Sofia dared not move or even risk a quick glance over her shoulder. So an age passed before anyone came to her directly.

“Sofia, turn around,” her father’s voice was a sudden shock as she had not known he was there.

The blood rushed to her face and she gulped hard before obeying, even then she quickly covered her front with both cupped hands as she did so. She needn’t have bothered just then as her father stood facing the window with his back to her and it was the Baroness who watched her hawk-like from by the door.

But Sofia could not miss the multi-tailed short whip grasped at her father’s back nor the copper bucket of birch rods at the baroness’s feet. She gulped and averted her gaze. For the first time since sneaking off she actually felt sorry for her sins.

“Father I…” she began.

“Be quiet Sofia,” the Prince barked.

She could only nod at the solid wall of her father’s back.

“Before I thrash you I want you to know that I am so disappointed in you. Your behaviour is…” he sighed and bowed his head before straightening again. “Well what is done is done,” he sighed, “I have arranged a marriage for you. A certain count… anyway, he is loyal and the best you can expect under the circumstances.”

“But…” Sofia began.

“Be silent,” the Prince barked. “News of your disappearance has even reached St Petersburg, your reputation…”

For one vital moment Sofia thought her father would cry but then steel returned to his voice.

“Sofia, get on your knees on the bed and present your bottom,” he said at last.

Sofia swallowed hard but nodded. She shot a glance at the baroness for any sign of satisfaction, but saw nothing but grim duty written on her face.

“Yes Sir,” she said.

The nerves that clawed at her belly were worse than the embarrassment now and she dipped her head as if making herself small. Still her father did not look at her, but whether this was out of respect for her partial nudity or from disgust Sofia could not tell.

The bed creaked as she mounted it and hastily she pressed her legs protectively together as she kowtowed to the headboard. She hadn’t even considered that this elevated her bottom so and in her haste to hide her face in the bed pane she had obeyed her father so perfectly.

When he finally turned and saw his humbled daughter he grunted in some non-committal way as he took some small pride at least in her obedience. Damn the girl, why had she been so wilful? But at least… something welled up and took him by surprise and in a rush all the nightmares that had assailed him that winter filled his head to the point of nausea.

“I thought you were…” the word held and he could not speak it as tears filled his eyes.

The baroness chose the moment to take an unwavering interest in the floor while keeping her face blank.

“Damn you girl,” the Prince roared and falling upon his daughter he hauled from her knees and across his lap.

In half a minute his hard leather hands blasted Sofia’s bottom with a hundred hearty spanks as he poured out his rage and relief.

“Damn you,” he spat, choking back a sob.

“I’m sorry Daddy, I’m sorry,” Sofia wailed and hugged into her father as of old.

“Do not think… do not think…” he repeated unable to complete the threat as he lambasted her, “do you know what you did? Do you know?”

But he let his hand do the talking and the spanking lasted perhaps 15 minutes until the Prince finally wavered. By then Sofia’s bottom was sunset red and she was sobbing gently into the space between the back of her father’s shins and the smooth wood of the bed.

“Oh Sofia,” Sofia’s father sighed giving her an affectionate squeeze. “I had such… the Tsar’s son perhaps… oh well this count is not so old and poor…”

“My lord… shall I…?” the baroness’s interjection was to ask if she should go and she pointed to the rods in the bucket by way of asking if she should take them.

“Would you?” Prince Molotov sighed, “My heart is not in it.”

But before the baroness could leave the weary man said casually, “thrash her well for it is needful.”

Sofia was not surprised by the command, for once she knew she well-deserved it and at the back of her head a braver version of her knelt and begged to be soundly thrashed beyond all endurance. But with still undried tears from the spanking and a persistent sting in her bottom such requests would remain unspoken and it was all she could do not to beg for mercy.

As soon as Prince Molotov had gone Baroness Moskova ordered Sofia to take up the position on the bed again and Sofia meekly nodded. Then with her bottom high in the air Sofia’s governess took up the first rod and stood poised behind her exposed bare bottom.

“Sofia attend,” she said sternly, an old custom between them at such times.

Then the rod swept down like fire and where once Sofia would have glared angrily in silence she now responded with a grunt of distress into her pillow.

No pride now, have you? Baroness Moskova thought, a small pleasure for her after years of prideful defiance from the girl. Then she eyed the bucket still full of bitter rods. The Prince had not countermanded his earlier order and the governess saw no reason to go easy as she struck the sore up-struck bottom again. There were a great many rods and the baroness intended to use them all.

To be continued.

Sam is a contributor who from time to time sends in some interesting snippets and pictures. This old picture is unusual not only because of the subject matter, two young women about to be caned in public, but because the faces have been pixelated out.

Sam reports that the picture came from a family blog with some genuine old family photographs on it and that the faces were blurred to protect the innocent. Sam doesn’t know the back story but says the caption read ‘Grandmother (pictured in white) at her old Alma Mata back in 1928.’

Who knows the truth of it, but the use of the cane and the posture does suggest that this is not just a posed-for birthday spanking picture. But maybe it is a ladies’ college or some such as the girls look too old for high school.

Here is a Saturday quickie. This a poster from the 1957 movie Sorority Girl. Despite the poster there is only one off screen paddle sequence (the one in the poster) and that is depicted as a bullying. Although the girl takes it in good part and there is a suggestion that she deserved it, but the other girls think that our evil heroine shouldn’t have done it.

It is an interesting curio and well worth a look when it next does the late-night rounds but not one to seek out I think as the poster is more interesting from a spanking point of view than the film.

Mrs Walcott stood at the window and gazed upon the snow-capped mountains that framed the valley. She hadn’t been waiting long but she was becoming impatient. Even the the the ancient clock behind her sounded lackluster as it slowly marked the time.

She was a tall dour woman clad in dark grey, a look only occasionally changed to Scottish tweed. Her dark hair was streaked with white and hung to her shoulder in a 1930s bluestocking style untroubled by vanity. Nor did she smile much. But when she did, her girls knew they were in trouble.

Finally there was a knock at the door and Mrs Walcott relaxed. Now she was in no hurry.

“Come in,” she said after an age had passed while pointedly not turning around.

The door swung in with a drawn out creak before closing with a heavy thud, but otherwise there was no sound to indicate that anyone had entered. Then the principal of Closter Ladies College turned around.

Zoe Fenchurch looked nervous, as well she might. She was a petite girl with dark straight bobbed hair cut in an immaculate dome just above the shoulder with a fringe running dangerously close to her eye line. She wore expensive black flat shoes and a dark blue cashmere dress that tastefully matched her eyes and fell demurely to her stockinged knees. Today she stood a little hunched with her chin almost resting on her chest as she cast her gaze downwards.

“How long have you been at this college Miss Fenchurch?” Mrs Walcott asked pointedly.

Zoe shrugged.

“Your father has paid a lot of money on horses and other extras, not to mention another two goes around for you to tackle you’re A Levels. All with a view to finishing you, as we say, and sending you out into the world,” Mrs Walcott said in a strained voice.

Zoe shrugged again and licked her lips.

“And you don’t know how long you have been here?” Mrs Walcott continued.

“It is my second year Miss,” Zoe muttered, tossing an imagined hair from her eyes. Her fringe was getting long.

“Your second year,” Mrs Walcott agreed. “So you know the town is out of bounds during the week.”

“Yes Miss,” Zoe said sullenly.

“Please desist in addressing me as if you were an inmate of an East End secondary modern, Miss Fenchurch. You are the miss, not I. You will address me as Mrs Walcott or ma’am,” Mrs Walcott sighed.

“Yes Miss… eh… Ma’am,” Zoe mumbled.

“Your father is concerned that you only managed a C in your English,” Mrs Walcott said, “An improvement on a D, I grant you, but it doesn’t look very good does it?”

Zoe shrugged.

“Also, there have been some complaints about you being rough with the horses, turning up late to croquet practice… in fact there is quite a litany of failings attributed to you aren’t there?” Mrs Walcott groaned.

“I don’t know Miss,” Zoe shrugged, “eh… I mean… eh… ma’am.”

“You don’t?” Mrs Walcott allowed herself to sound surprised. “Well let me tell you that there very much is.”

“Oh,” Zoe said with a shrug. At this point she began to look bored and dragged the toe of one shoe along the floor as she tugged at her dress.

“Most girls come here at 18 and stay for one term,” Mrs Walcott said in a brittle voice. The girl’s demeanour did not go unnoticed. “Others like you come at 19 or even 20 and stay for a year or two depending on how far behind they were with their studies and what other requirements they have in addition to finishing.”

“That’s very interesting,” Zoe said insincerely.

“Indeed,” Mrs Walcott said icily, “Your father is… rather peeved that you may end up staying with us for another year.”

“But…” Zoe suddenly took notice. Another year would be awful, she thought.

“He wants us to help you buck your ideas up,” Mrs Walcott said sharply, “And he has given me cart blanche, so to speak, to assist you with this.” As she spoke Mrs Walcott walked around the desk and took a long dark brown stick from the long draw of her desk. “He doesn’t expect straight A’s, not anymore, or even a polished jewel of a girl. But he does expect a minimum standard for his generosity and certain level of decorum.”

Zoe visibly baulked at the rattle of the stick on the desktop. She had heard things and also seemed to remember her brother teasing her about some beastly ‘old school’ punishments mentioned in the brochure. The stick, she didn’t admit the word ‘cane,’ was a strange object to her and she refused to consider any implications of its presence.

“There are certain sanctions reserved for difficult girls and for those girls whose husbands and fathers feel the need for stiffer guidance,” Mrs Walcott continued. “Setting aside your academic failings and your reckless carelessness with regard to other girls and instructors, you did dangerously and thoughtlessly go into town whilst knowing that it is strictly forbidden. So I intend to deal with you accordingly.”

Zoe’s eyes widened and she gaped at the cane on the desk. She had been supposing that its presence was a warning; a mere hint of dark alternatives should she continue to displease. She had been certain that she would get another chance.

“Wh-what are you going to do?” Zoe asked with a growing sense of horror.

“Why Miss Fenchurch, I am going to cane you,” Mrs Walcott said brightly and smiled.

Zoe opened her mouth and closed it.

“Unless you care to withdraw consent, of course, but then I am to inform you that you must leave,” Mrs Walcott added.

“Couldn’t I just…?” Zoe pointed to a random point on the wall desperately hoping there was an alternative. I mean, she thought, there just had to be. This couldn’t be happening.

“Do you wish me to inform you father that you refuse my guidance?” Mrs Walcott asked in a formal voice.

Zoe shook her head. It was a small resigned movement that suggested a horror of an unthinkable failure.

“What are you going to do?” Zoe asked again.

“Why Miss Fenchurch, I should have thought that was obvious,” Mrs Walcott said as she took up the cane.

“I mean…” Zoe licked her lips nervously and hugged herself. “What do I… what is going to h-happen?”

Mrs Walcott sighed heavily. In the old days this would have been routine. Most girls wouldn’t have escaped their fate after the first failure.

“I intend to cane you soundly on your bare bottom,” she said, “So I require you to remove your under things and hose, if you are wearing them, and then raise your dress to your waist. Then you bend over the desk and present your bottom.”

Zoe gasped.

“You can’t Miss, you just can’t,” she wailed.

Mrs Walcott waited. She was aware of the clock again, no doubt both of them were. The only other sound was Zoe’s breathing, rendered more laboured by some figurative handwringing.

The girl was blushing and after a moment looked around her. Whether this was for witnesses or for aid, Mrs Walcott couldn’t tell. Then Zoe took a breath and dipped at the waist as she fumbled under skirts for something. A moment later she tugged down her white cotton briefs and neatly stepped out of them.

Mrs Walcott gave her a hard stare.

“I’m not wearing tights,” Zoe whispered.

The principal looked unimpressed at this inconsequential news and for the longest moment time hung between them.

Finally, sensing no succour,  Zoe began slowly rolling up the lower part of her dress as she turned to the desk. After a pause she half bent forward to hoist the hem a little way off her bottom.

Mrs Walcott could indeed see that Zoe was wearing only hold up stockings but she was far from satisfied.

“Higher,” she ordered.

Zoe lifted her dress a little more.

“Higher, I said, and get your bottom up. I want to see you dip your back and stick out your behind,” the principal said impatiently.

Zoe went peony in the face but did as she was told.

“A little more, and keep your feet together,” Mrs Walcott barked.

Eventually a very reluctant Zoe was bent right over the desk with her smallish pert white bottom uppermost and her head down so that her hair brushed the desk top.

“I never give less than eight and then only as a reprimand. By rights you have a serious bill to pay,” the principal growled.

It was a very sad and humble Zoe who risked a peek at her tormentor under her heavy fringe. Then with sad eyes she whispered, “Yes Ma’am.”

It was an easy acknowledgement, Zoe was sure that the current humiliation was about as bad as it could get. What were a few taps with a cane compared with this embarrassment?

“I’ll make it just 10 this time, but if you don’t take them all in a sufficiently ladylike manner I’ll have you back this afternoon and we will start over. Do you understand?” Mrs Walcott said firmly.

“Oh yes Ma’am,” Zoe gasped as the principal lined herself up to strike.

The first stroke came as a surprise. Zoe had barely understood the hiss of the cane cutting the air, still less that the thwack was of wood meeting her bottom. Only when the searing bite reached her brain did she join the dots. She ejaculated a sharp angry howl.

Her bottom jiggled as she pumped her heels on the spot and was certain nothing could have hurt her more. Then what had begun as pain grew so that a line of pure agony sawed across her bottom cheeks. Still bent over, she danced on the spot, describing small circles as she gripped the desk and hissed out pain from her clenched jaw.

She was still dealing with that stroke when Mrs Walcott delivered the next.

“Oh sheeesh,” she yelped and buckled at the knees in a vain attempt to make her bottom smaller.

“Keep your bottom up and your legs straight,” Mrs Walcott chided her.

Zoe couldn’t manage a ‘yes ma’am’ and only nodded as she strived to comply.

The next three did not go well and Zoe leapt up and grabbed her bottom. There without shame she bounced around the room rubbing furiously at her behind.

“So you wish to come back later?” the principal said wearily.

“Oh no Ma’am, please I…” Zoe’s words were damp and a tear rolled down her right cheek.

“Then you will take two extra for that display, now bend back over,” her tormentor told her.

Miserably and fearing a repeat of the whole ordeal to date, Zoe bent back over the desk and heroically stuck her bottom out.

She held out for the next stroke and then two more before bucking up and yelling out. But she quickly restored her position and Mrs Walcott let the slip go.

The girl’s bottom had eight vivid purplish lines across it now. Each one stood out a little like a ridge and looked extremely raw. They ran in parallel from the tops of the buttocks down at roughly equal intervals to the under curves of her bottom to where her curves met the thighs. Here they bunched together somewhat and the redness had begun to flood into the surrounding white flesh.

Zoe was whimpering now too and her shoulders shook gently.

“I trust I am making my point?” the principle said sternly.

“Yes Ma’am,” Zoe replied, her voice now forlorn.

The last four strokes were purgatory and Zoe learned that 12 were twice as bad as eight. But it wasn’t until the last, and Mrs Walcott told her she could stand, did she really let go with an outpouring of sobbing.

“That’s it,” Mrs Walcott said gently, “Go and face that wall and have a good cry. Afterwards you can shake my hand and thank me as tradition dictates.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Zoe sobbed.

As Zoe obeyed Mrs Walcott surveyed her work and pondered. Caning a girl was rare enough these days, but it was still a service that some needed. In her experience girls fell into two camps; those that were caned and never came back and those for some reason that returned over and over again. With the latter kind one only needed to tighten the rules until they got what they needed and still complied. The principal wondered which Zoe would turn out to be.

Charlie Lain’s mess of dark blonde curls tumbled pell-mell over her face as she stood bent at the waist in the middle of Davina’s floor. Her only clothing was a short white T-shirt emblazoned with a large yellow smiley face and a tiny pair of white ankle socks.

She was a small girl with a pert dome of a bottom that peeked cheekily from beneath the hem of her shirt as she steadied herself with her hands on her knees.

The bottom, once bleached pale, was now marred by pink blotches and here and there yellowish brown bruises. Since pledging, Charlie had as yet to sit easily and her bottom had scarce been given recovery time from one paddling to another.

“You know why you are here don’t you Charlie?” Davina said imperiously as her fidgeting fingers dusted the thin blade of the long paddle in her hands.

The bare bottom before her was quite a target and she was eager to begin.

“Yes Ma’am,” Charlie squeaked.

“And why is that?” Davina asked as she suddenly stooped down next to the little pledge, her hard pleasant voice a sharp whisper at Charlie’s ear.

“To get paddled,” Charlie said sullenly.

Davina straightened and brought the paddle down with an electric crack across the pledge’s bare bottom and extracted a grunt.

Charlie blinked hard as she rode out the pain and earnestly hoped there wouldn’t be too many of those. Obviously that had been the wrong answer and she racked her 18-year-old brain for another one.

The paddle struck again and Charlie yelped angrily.

“I didn’t say anything,” she wailed.

“And yet you should have said ‘ma’am,’ as in ‘I am here to get paddled ma’am,’” Davina said wearily, “Sometimes I don’t think you girls are really trying. Besides that was the wrong answer. Why are you here to get paddled?”

Charlie gritted her teeth. Was it because she had muttered a bad word at breakfast or…?

“Tardiness,” Davina sighed. This time the paddle landed with three short crisp splats that almost sent Charlie out of position.

Charlie clamped her jaw shut hard and slowly let air hiss through her nose.

“Oh that, yes Ma’am, sorry,” she finally managed.

By now her bottom was a hard bright red and fizzed like a launch-pad at Cape Canaveral. On top of that the first tear came unbidden to her right eye and rolled down her cheek.

“Okay, give me a number,” Davina said sharply, “If it is lower than mine we will add the difference to my number.”

Charlie closed her eyes in despair. She hated this game, it was rigged. She was willing to bet that Davina didn’t even have a number in mind. She parted her legs a little to get a better purchase and pushed her bottom out a some more behind. For a second she contemplated saying a ridiculously high number out of pure bravado, but knowing Davina she would probably have to take every one of them.

So instead she squeaked, “Six.”

“Oh dear,” Davina sighed mockingly, “I was thinking of a nine.”

Charlie hastily ran the numbers in her head. Twelve, she couldn’t take 12. But Davina landed the first biting swat that told a very different tale.

*

Melanie Crow surreptitiously moved her hand from her side and turned the face of her watch so that she could just see it, but the movement caused her nose to be taken from the wall and behind her the tutor barked; “Head.”

Melanie jerked back into position and blood flooded her face. For a second she cursed herself with menace for her slip. Shit, shit, shit, she quailed inwardly, this might be bad. But after a long pause Professor Archer said no more.

Roland Archer gave his cornered student a long hard stare to assure himself that she had obeyed and then turned back to her essay. He was inclined to let her faux pas slip this time. After all it had been her first in over 40 minutes, which was how long since he had left her to wait.

Also the essay was a fair effort. For sure it could have been better executed, but the girl was beginning to show promise. Her grades had really been picking up lately and by the end of the semester her average would be almost acceptable. Better still, the girl had stopped being habitual late to their sessions and that month he had only had to thrash once for a tardy.

That particular situation had been improved after he had instituted a sanction of six of the best for any lateness and further six for lateness of more than 10 minutes on top of the one stroke per minute. A regular 24 strokes of the cane for being 12 minutes late every week had soon focussed her mind. Wrestling with an essay deconstruction with two dozen hot welty lines of pain across your bare bottom did that for a girl; especially when she still has extras for shoddy work to come.

Roland looked up and studied Melanie’s as yet unpunished bare bottom for any signs of her sister’s guidance. He saw none and concluded that the girl must be learning. He knew for a fact that Anita, another former student of his, made her little sister toe a very exacting line, a situation which Melanie reluctantly agreed to lest the parents get involved.

He sometimes wondered if Mr and Mrs Crow knew of the arrangement, but given the consequences for both girls should they be deceiving them… well they must know, mustn’t they?

He looked again at Melanie and pondered. Maybe he should ask her. After all it wouldn’t be right to go behind the parent’s back, even if the girl was 18. But he hated the idea of losing another student and after all Anita was 26. Besides Melanie was definitely getting some benefit. No better to assume all was well and run it past the Crows after the event. That way both bases would be covered.

He turned back to the essay, it wasn’t quite… he sighed. He should probably give her a dozen or so with the paddle for sloppiness on top of her 12 cane-stroke straightener. After all he couldn’t have her falling back into bad habits.

*

Dana Guinness swallowed back a nasty taste as she reached for the letter again. Taking a long slow breath she unfolded it carefully and reread the credit statement from the bank.

It was only $986 but the little figure screamed at her in red. She hastily refolded the paper again and put it away.

“Bad news?” her sister Hope asked casually from her place perched upon the kitchen stool.

“Nothing much,” Dana lied.

Hope frowned for a moment and then a small smile broke on her face. Unconsciously a strand of undyed greying hair found its way into her mouth and she obligingly sucked on it as she cradled a large steaming coffee cup with both hands.

“Come on, fess up,” she chuckled, “I always know when little sister is lying.”

At a year younger Dana still couldn’t help feeling awkward in front of her elder sister.

“Oh God,” she sighed, and handed the letter to Hope.

The older woman tried to sound somewhere between horrified and sympathetic but the amused squeal rather fell short.

“What again, John is going to…” she clapped a hand to her mouth, “Whoops. And after last time too.”

Dana blushed. She remembered the spanking she had gotten from her husband on the day Hope, their mother and her twin nieces had dropped by. Judging from the look on her sister’s face it was a memory shared.

“Lucky for you the girls are out,” Hope smirked.

Right on cue there was the sound of John’s car in the drive. Both sisters rolled their eyes the direction of the sound but only Hope looked relaxed.

“Yeah but you are still here,” Dana said nervously, “Time to go,” she added making as if to shove her sister towards the door.

“Oh I don’t think so,” Hope purred as conspiratorially she waved the incriminating bank statement, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

An ashen Dana was still wildly gesticulating at her sister when John entered the kitchen and seeing the scene he looked apprehensive with a frown suddenly etched onto his face. He knew when mischief was brewing.

“Hello Hope… eh is that for me?” he asked his sister-in-law.

“N-no, it’s…” Dana cut in nervously, but John was already extending a hand to take the letter from Hope.

Dana gaped in horror as the creamy-cat-faced Hope gave John the bank statement.

For a long moment after he had read the statement John didn’t speak. Instead he just put the letter down and removed his jacket. Dana fancied she heard him breathe sharply through his nose, but he had turned away to open the fridge at this point, so she couldn’t be certain.

There was something slow and deliberate about the way he poured a glass of orange juice and Dana felt something in the pit of her stomach.

“I-I was meaning to… I mean, I hadn’t guessed that…” Dana willed herself to shut up, but her mouth kept muttering blandishments.

“What did I tell you last time?” John said calmly.

Dana shot a glare at Hope and urgently mouthed that she should go, but her sister just folded her arms and dropped back onto her kitchen stool as she picked up her unfinished coffee.

“Please Hope, will you go?” Dana said in a dull voice. There was resignation there too.

“I am talking here,” John Guinness said sharply.

“I’m sorry,” Dana sighed.

Her husband leaned forward with his strong arms set akimbo on the kitchen top as he survey his nervously retreating wife. An action that caused Hope to smile a little smile as John stood upright and unhooked his belt buckle. As both women looked on he let it rattle through the hoops of his pants with small leather-on-cotton clicks, each one causing Dana to wince.

“Please send Hope out,” Dana asked. The words were moist and that dampness touched her eyes.

By way of reply John  folded the belt in two and gave his wife a significant glare. The gesture was final and well understood by both of them. So with a deep breath Dana unbuttoned her own grey pants and let them fall to her ankles before folding herself woodenly over a vacant kitchen stool.

Her husband didn’t wait, but hooking his thumb in the crack of her bottom where it peeked above her upper panty line, he drew down her high-cut briefs to leave her exposed.

Dana a had a big bottom, but it was still firm for a 41-year-old and unlike the more lived-in Hope, she looked young for her years.

“Cute ass,” Hope said lightly and gave John a wink.

“You were a witness last time, for all the good it did, but I think the embarrassment is the only thing that gets through to her,” John explained unnecessarily.

Hope shrugged even as she smirked and took another slow sip of coffee. One might even think she was taking in a show.

meanwhile out of long habit and good family training Dana stuck her bottom out as far as she could as she dipped her back, making the firm split globes well-rounded. Then with slow shallow breaths, she waited.

The first crack stung her behind and Dana gasped. But it was still Hope’s presence that bothered most, an attitude that prevailed for the next six biting licks. Then she grunted a little and gripped the legs of the stool with knuckles as white as her bottom used to be. From then on the leather really lit a fire and tears spilled freely on her cheeks until her small groans became yells.

Hope lost count of the strokes at around 23 and took another sip from her mug. By then her sister’s bottom held two welty pads and she was colouring up to shade approaching that of a shiny Victoria plum.

“That is your second lot of debt in as many months,” John barked.

“I’m sorry John, I’m sorry, but it was already too late last time,” Dana sobbed, “I’ll do better, really I will.”

“You know what,” John growled, “We are going to finish this at bedtime. Now go stand in the corner.”

Dana swallowed back some tears and stood stiffly, her face glossed with a wet sheen. The corner with her sister there would be hell and she could only hope that her daughters didn’t come home anytime soon. Or, she gulped, anyone else.

“Is there any more coffee?” John asked Hope.

*
Donna Warren felt utterly stupid. She had been stood in the corner of the room in just her PJ tops for over an hour. It wasn’t her ideal way of spending a Saturday morning and not for the first time she wondered by what authority Mrs Main was doing this to her and why she had agreed.

But that battle had already been lost and Donna knew it.

Mrs Main, the housemother of Carlton House Freshman Hall, had had years upon years’ of experience in handling young women who thought they were too old for a spanking. At least half of them were from out of town and might very well have had their first spanking at her hands. Even at 28 Donna was little older than these girls and so far the housemother had been singularly unimpressed that she was a teacher and not a student. Any attempt by Donna to argue or refuse to cooperate would end very badly. She would get a tear-making, bottom-rending spanking at the very least and all on top of whatever else the woman had planned.

The only glimmer of hope was that in return for her cooperation Mrs Main had agreed to be discreet. But it was a scant hope. For Mrs Main had absolutely refused to cut her any slack at all, and unless she toed the line she would be spanked like a freshman each and every time she didn’t.

On the other hand, Donna bit back a dry sob, it was so unfair; the thought almost broke her… on the other hand, now she had fully submitted she was going to get a spanking every Saturday whether she broke the rules or not. The trade-off was that with this deal she wouldn’t screw up and risk exposure to the other kids in the hall.

Other kids… she caught herself on, but she wasn’t a kid, she was on the faculty for God’s sake. The raging in Donna’s mind was cyclical, even as she protested in her mind she obediently stood in the corner her bare bottom displayed.

It was at this point that the door opened and Mrs Main came back from an errand.

“Good girl, you haven’t moved I see,” she said gently. Then after a pause she asked, “You do know that I can tell don’t you?”

It didn’t surprise Donna in the slightest and in a dull sullen voice she replied, “No Ma’am.”

“Now let me outline how these little sessions will go,” Mrs Main said brightly.

“If you keep out of trouble and dutifully report to me every Saturday morning, then you will usually only get a simple spanking,” the housemother told her. “By simple I mean of course a thorough application of my hairbrush to your bare bottom for 20 or 30 minutes until you are quite contrite. Then you will stand in that corner, as you are now for one hour, before and after your spanking.”

That sounded bad enough but Donna did not like the sound of the word ‘usually.’

“B-but… what if…? I mean…” Donna wanted to cry.

“Please wait until I have finished Dr Warren,” Mrs Main scolded, “Once a month we will augment your experience just so you don’t get complacent and slip back into bad habits.”

Donna had trouble getting her breath. She had about a million questions.

“Of course if you do get into trouble on top of our little sessions then it will start getting very much worse for you,” Mrs Main said in a tone of anticipated disappointment.

Donna felt her chest tighten and a small sinking feeling. How could it get worse?

“Dr Warren,” Mrs Main said in a commanding tone, “Please come here.”

Donna felt sick. Couldn’t she just stay in the corner? The corner was nice, Mrs Main could even spank another girl instead and it wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Her legs felt like lead as she obeyed and for once she didn’t know what to do with her hands.

Instead of Mrs Main’s lap, Donna was taken to the bathroom just off the housemother’s main room. It was larger than most, certainly larger than the oversized bathrooms the girls shared. The tub was big enough for a small horse and there was even a gym bench in the corner.

But what caught Donna’s eye were a row of enema bags and other rubber accoutrements.

“I usually just spank,” Mrs Main informed her, “That is with my hand or hairbrush right through to some expertly made paddles. I do have a couple of prison straps and canes, but I prefer to humble a girl rather than break her physically. It is just… useful to have another level now and again.”

Donna didn’t care about the paddles or canes right then, it was the array of bottom-intruders with all their threat of medical terror held her gripped.

“But as I told you, once a month we have to get tougher and that will involve a visit here and a good cleansing on top of the usual, followed by a prolonged battle with a battledore,” Mrs Main said with what sounded like genuine regret.

“And if I am bad…?” Donna blurted.

“Good girl, now you are getting my point?” Mrs Main beamed.

*

Mrs Main’s lap was a relief after the explicit threat. Only it wasn’t a threat was it? It was a promise. Once a month she had said. Donna was still pondering this fact when the flat side of the brush landed firmly across her bare bottom.

“Jeeessss,” she gasped as her legs shot straight and stiff as she rode the pain.

She had forgotten how bad a spanking from the housemother really was.

The punitive arm rose and fell like a piston, but the only fire was in Donna’s bottom and in short order all pretence at being stoical was driven out. Instead Donna bucked and howled while her legs kicked the air futilely. The whole house must be hearing her, was her last coherent thought.

“Now this is a little more than just a maintenance spanking today, I want to really set a standard here. So if you find you can’t sit down until next Saturday…” Mrs Main said this so casually that for once Donna feared it was more than a figure of speech.

Or she should have done but the spanking took her now, red-bottomed and bawling, she was a young woman who was all sorry and all prayer. In her misery she looked at the corner from the vantage of Mrs Main’s lap. “I’ll be a good girl, I’ll be a good girl,” she wailed as she made futile attempts to crawl towards it.

“Now, now,” Mrs Main soothed, but her only caress was delivered with the brush, “We really have only just got started Dr Warren.”

“Please Ma’am, I’ll be a good girl, really I will,” Donna bawled.

“I know girl, I know, that’s what the spanking is for,” Mrs Main told her tenant with another sharp volley of spanks.

It seemed that eternity had only just begun. As if to confirm this the minute hand on the clock crawled towards eleven, a progress measured out slowly by the treacle-like second hand. It would proclaim a quarter past the hour before the spanking was over and only then would Donna would be permitted the corner.

She would be released at 12.30 sharp, just in time for lunch, if she wanted any. But most of Mrs Main’s girl’s viewed a canteen chair with a certain amount of dread after one of their sessions and a good spanking did tend to dull the appetite for a few hours.