I'm hoping this week I can find some time to write some more posts for the blog, update the spanking logs, reply to your comments and emails. I'm sorry for the lack of posts recently but life been getting in the way of my blogging.
Monday, 18 February 2013
Pictures - More F/M Spanking Pictures
It isn't hard to notice that the most popular post on the blog is entitled "Pictures - F/M Spanking Pictures" and like they say retail here is more of the same to keep the customers happy. I just hope you all enjoy them as much as you did the original set of pictures.
I'm hoping this week I can find some time to write some more posts for the blog, update the spanking logs, reply to your comments and emails. I'm sorry for the lack of posts recently but life been getting in the way of my blogging.
I'm hoping this week I can find some time to write some more posts for the blog, update the spanking logs, reply to your comments and emails. I'm sorry for the lack of posts recently but life been getting in the way of my blogging.
Saturday, 16 February 2013
Story - Shoplifters Caned
Last week I featured a story by Big Billy, The Eternal Triangle, and this week I wanted to showcase another of his stories that I found at the same time. Like all the stories featured in the blog this one was originally posted on one of the Usenet spanking newsgroup's that sadly no longer exist. I'm hoping that in the future I can bring you a few of the stories that no longer exist on the web from the past of the group alt.sex.spanking, but it might be a few weeks away before I post the first of them.
Author's Statement: Big Billie is opposed to spanking except for consenting adults. However, spanking sexually excites him, so he writes about it. For more information, see Big Billie’s Author Profile.
My name is Bill Baxter. For over 30 years I worked in a steel factory in a large industrial city in England. Then came de-industrialisation, closure and redundancies. My marriage collapsed under the strain, but fortunately our children were grown up and off our hands, so my wife and I could make a clean break. The problem was that she got our house as part of the divorce settlement, and I was left lonely and alone, with nowhere to live, and with only part of my redundancy money to see me through.
In answer to my plight I bought a small corner shop with living accommodation above it. The previous owner was called Mr. Patel. He had worked hard as a mature student to gain professional qualifications, and he wanted to sell up to pursue a more profitable career. He had run his shop well, and he was most courteous and helpful to me. For two months before I took over he hired me as his assistant so that he could train me and teach me the ropes, and to this day he is still helpful on the other end of the telephone if I need any further advice or guidance.
It took me a few months to settle into my new lifestyle, but when I did I enjoyed it. The shop was in a favourable location, and it made me a small but adequate living. My regular customers were all locals who lived in the neighbouring streets. I soon got to know them, and they began to tell me all about their lives and their families. This was something that I had never got as I laboured and sweated in the heat and noise of the steel factory, and I loved it.
One lady in particular was very friendly and talkative. She was called Mrs. Joanne (Jo) Aktar, and she was in her early to mid-30s. Jo’s maiden name had been O’Neill. She had come to England from County Waterford in Ireland when she was 10 years old, and she still had the most delicious, lilting, Irish accent. When she was 14, however, she had got pregnant. The father of the baby was an Asian youth. He and his family wanted to do what was right, and when Jo reached 16 the couple were married. By then a baby daughter had been born, and within 2 years another baby girl followed. Within 5 years the relationship had collapsed, but there was a brief reconciliation that had resulted in the birth of a son. The current position, therefore, was that Jo was living alone, as a single mother, with two daughters aged 18 and 16, and a son of 8.
Jo was a lady of fair complexion, her short, naturally blond hair highlighted by dyes and colorants. She had had a hard life, and was rough, tough, resourceful and resilient. She worked out regularly at a local gymnasium operated by the City Council, and she had the strong, muscular physique of a dedicated body builder. When, as she often did, she wore vest tops cut away at the shoulders I could see a small, neat tattoo etched onto her right shoulder. Sometimes Jo came into the shop wearing short tops that displayed her midriff, and her pierced belly button adorned with jewellery. Wow! There was I, a sexually frustrated male in my late 50s, chatting to a fine, fit, youthful specimen of Eve’s flesh about the intimate details of our personal lives. It was all most interesting and distinctly over-stimulating!
Jo’s daughters Sarah and Ruth were even more stunning, if rather less talkative, than their mother. The happy admixture of Celtic and Asian genes had produced two young ladies of breathtaking beauty. They were tall, slender, willowy and supple, but meaty in all the right places. Their skin was the most gorgeous colour tone of dark, well-creamed coffee. Their facial features were exquisite. Their cheekbones were classically high, their eyes dark and smouldering, and their necks long and graceful. Either of them could easily have graced the cover of Vogue, or of any other top fashion magazine. Jo, Sarah and Ruth were regulars at the shop, and, perhaps more than any of the other customers, they brightened and enlivened my life. To complete the family ensemble there was little David, who often popped in for sweets.
Now a constant problem for small shopkeepers is theft. To minimise this, I followed Mr. Patel’s lead and banned children on their journey to and from school. I also permanently banned any young customer who, in my judgement, could not be trusted. Despite these precautions, however, stock was still going missing. I therefore started to load videocassettes into the surveillance camera bequeathed to me by Mr. Patel and to record what went on in the shop. This was not ideal, since I found that to watch all of the footage took too long. But at least I made a note of the times when suspicious incidents had occurred, or when particular suspects had entered and left the premises. I then checked the video footage of these times later.
Soon I got a shock. I discovered that 2 of the culprits were Sarah and Ruth. The video evidence was quite conclusive. In one incident Ruth made a purchase and distracted me by the till, while Sarah stole goods down one of the aisles. Then, as Sarah paid for an item, Ruth took more of my stock. Well, I was shocked, and I did not know what to do. By now I looked upon Jo as a personal friend. She was someone whom I trusted to buy goods on credit when she was hard up, and she always paid me pack. I also knew that Jo was doing her best to bring up her children to be good and honest. Sarah, Ruth and David all attended Church schools, and always had done. Then, every Sunday and Holy Day of Obligation, the family attended the local Catholic Church. Jo and I needed to talk, I concluded, and the next time she came into the shop I asked her to call back at closing time. Jo was puzzled, but she trusted me enough to do what I had requested. When she called by I showed her the video evidence and explained my point of view. I then asked her to think about it, and to call back at closing time on the next day. Meanwhile, a saucy and lascivious plan was slowly forming in my mind.
When Jo called round to see me the next day, I adopted an implacable stance. Shoplifting thefts were threatening my livelihood, I explained, and I could not tolerate them. In this case it was even worse, since I had thought that the Aktar family were my personal friends. I needed a highly publicised prosecution, a show trial to warn off other potential malefactors, and this was my chance. I would be reporting the girls to the police on the next day.
To my surprise, Jo did not disagree with the gist of what I had to say, and she made no great effort to dissuade me from my stated intentions. Her line was that the girls were thieves, and to make things worse they had betrayed a personal friendship. They deserved all that I could throw at them, and she would not stand in my way or try to dissuade me. Then she said something that, happily, played straight into my hands. “By God,” she said. “If they weren’t so big I’d teach them a lesson that they would never forget. I would give both of the little madams the thrashing of their lives.” I said nothing at first in reply to this revelation, and a lengthy and embarrassing silence followed. Then I spoke. “Do you really mean that, Jo?” I asked quietly. “Mean it?” answered Jo. “I only wish that I had the chance. While they were growing up I never laid a finger on them. And look at how they have repaid me. Talk about ‘spare the rod and spoil the child.’ I have been too lenient with them, and look what has happened.” And so she continued, in great anger and frustration.
Well, to cut a long story short, Jo and I talked for two or three hours that night. The outcome was that I agreed to consider not taking the matter to the police if Jo administered appropriate physical chastisement to the malefactors. She left the details of this chastisement to be decided by me. I said that the punishment must begin on the first Friday night of the month, in 10 days time. I would provide the cane, and I must be present to witness how it was used. The girls’ chastening would be in two parts. On the first Friday of the next month each girl would take 6 cuts of the cane across her bared buttocks. The strokes were to be inflicted by Jo, and she must give me her word that she would apply them with every ounce of her strength. Then, on the first Friday of the month after that, exactly the same punishment would be repeated under exactly the same conditions. Then, 3 days later, on the following Monday evening, there would be a meeting of the 4 of us at which I would say whether, in the light of the punishment which they had received, I was prepared to let the girls off without reporting them to the police. I was making no promises, I said, but I was prepared to consider my position.
The next night Jo arrived at the shop after closing time with Sarah and Ruth. I confronted them with the video evidence, and told them what Jo and I had agreed to do to them. I did not give them any choice or options. Sarah was now 18 and legally an adult, but she made no challenge to my plans. As the meeting broke up Sarah and Ruth were looking very shocked and very apprehensive. “Yes, my girls,” I thought to myself as they left. “You are feeling sorry for themselves now. But just you wait. In a few days time you will be feeling a lot, lot sorrier!” Meanwhile, my cock was already standing rock hard in my underpants as I contemplated the sexy and kinky scenario that I had succeeded in setting up. Later that night I went online and ordered a cane from an Internet sex shop. I wanted the girls to sting, tingle and throb, but I did not want to bruise them too extensively. So I bought the thinnest and whippiest cane that I could find in the on-line catalogue. When it arrived a few days later I inspected it carefully. It was made of rattan, with a curled handle at one end. It was, I should say, only about 6 millimetres thick, or thinner than a pencil, and very springy. I received it 5 days before C1 (First Caning) Day, and during those days I assiduously rubbed linseed oil into it to make it even springier and whippier. I introduced it to Jo with 4 days to go, and then made her practice her caning technique on a pillow in 3x1 hour daily training sessions until it was time for the real thing. I witnessed these training sessions, and wow! The lady had a beautifully poised stance and a strong, powerful right arm. The way that she laid into that pillow was wicked! For the whole hour of each of the 3 training periods I watched in entranced anticipation, with my cock as stiff as a poker.
Just after 8 p.m. on C1 Day Jo, Sarah and Ruth arrived and I took them upstairs to my living room above the shop. I tried to be brusque and efficient, but underneath I was nervous and anxious about the outcome of my proposed sting, and embarrassed by the growing tumescence of penis under trouser crotch. “Right, Sarah,” I said, as authoritatively as I could manage. “You are the older, and you must be presumed to be the ringleader. You will therefore be caned first. Any rebellion or non-compliance will incur further penalties. Is that clear?” “Yes, Mr. Baxter,” replied the victim submissively. “Good!” I replied. “Jo, please bend the culprit over this side of the table.” When Jo had done this I made Ruth stand on the other side of the table facing her sister. I then told her to thread her arms under Sarah’s armpits, and clasp her hands together, as tightly as she could, behind Sarah’s back. In turn, Sarah was told to do the same to her sister. “I want you both to stay clasped together as tightly as you can during the chastisement,” I instructed them both. “This will sting, Sarah, but I am ordering you to stay in position, on pain of receiving extra chastisement. As for you, Ruth, if you want to help your sister, you will cling onto her as tightly as you can, however hard she struggles, and however loudly she cries out. Is that understood?” “Yes, Mr. Baxter,” replied the girls submissively.
I then went and sat on a chair directly behind Sarah, so that I could get a good view of the proceedings from the business end and at crotch height. Jo positioned her daughter by the table. She then unbuttoned her jeans, curled her fingers under jeans and knickers at each hipbone, and pulled hard, downwards and outwards. Sarah’s jeans and knickers were not merely tugged down. On my prior instructions they were pulled completely from off her legs, and thrown onto a nearby armchair. I insisted on this so that I would get as good a view as possible of quivering buttocks, flailing, open legs, and exposed hairy fanny and labial lips.
“Right now, Sarah,” I continued. “I will be counting out each of the six strokes. After each one you are to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Baxter, for having me caned. I am a common thief and I richly deserve it. Could I have another cut now please?’ Is that clear?” I then made Sarah practice her lines a few times until she had them off pat. “Very good!” I said encouragingly. “Now, Jo, would you take up your position, please, and stand ready for the commencement of the discipline?”
Jo did as I requested. I then paused for a short time to get a good view of Sarah’s exposed bum and hairy crotch and fanny. “Oh, my God!” I thought to myself. “That is the sauciest and sexiest sight that I have ever seen!” And my cock, already rock hard in my underpants, stiffened still further. Meanwhile, beads of sweat stood out on my forehead, my mouth went as dry as dust, and my heart knocked fiercely against my ribcage.
I was so sexually excited that I thought at one point that I would go into a swoon. Then I pulled myself together and gave my first instruction. “One” I said deliberately. Jo raised the cane high into the air so that it was almost brushing the ceiling. For an agonising few seconds it hovered there, above our heads. Then down it came, with a loud, hissing swish. CRACK!!!
Oh, wow! Jo was as good as her word, and she brought down that cane with all the strength of her fit, firm, muscular, youthful, sporty body. It hit home with a terrific crack that rang out like a pistol shot. The loud report echoed around my small living room, and could probably be heard in the street below. I had not been expecting anything as sharp or as sexy as that. I was shocked at the sheer number of decibels, and I breathed in suddenly. Then I started panting violently, thinking that, if I were about to die, then there could be no better way to go than this.
Meanwhile, there were interesting developments at Sarah’s seat of learning. The cane was very thin, and Sarah’s buttocks were trim, pert and firm. But, even so, the force of the blow caused her bum cheeks to quiver and wobble in the most provocative and stimulating fashion. “Ayieeee!” Sarah let out a long, shrill, piercing yell as the cane bit into her backside, and as she felt its sharp initial sting. Then, over the next 4 seconds or so, as her buttock meat began to tingle and throb, she cried out in great urgency: “Agh! Agh!! Aaagh!!! AAAAGH!!!!!!” Then, clearly shocked and taken aback by the sharpness and severity of the pain, poor Sarah began to weep and cry out uncontrollably. As for me, I was surprised by the intensity of the victim’s reactions, and I paused to give her a few moments to recover. Soon tears were streaming down Sarah’s face as she begged me for mercy. “Please, Mr. Baxter,” she pleaded between her sobs. “No more, no more. Please stop. It is more than I can stand.” I, of course, continued to leer at the target area where the cane had cracked home. Soon I noted with grim satisfaction that a deep, livid red weal was cut into the light brown buttock meat, right across the back of Sarah’s fanny hairs, just above the tops of her thighs, onto the plumpest and sexiest part of her bum.
It took more than a minute for Sarah to stop yelling, and, even then, she did not relapse into silence, but sobbed and whimpered quietly. By now I was in a state of great agitation. I was very, very sexually aroused, but also extremely concerned about the victim’s welfare. Up until now I had always treated young ladies with polite courtesy and chivalrous respect, and this gentlemanly side to my nature hated to see a beautiful teenaged girl treated in such an abrupt, arbitrary and strict fashion. But I was so excited by the kinky scenario before my eyes that I could scarcely help myself. Here I was, a man in my late 50s, supposedly past my sexual prime. But despite this my cock stood as stiff as a poker in my underpants, and my balls ached excruciatingly from the sharp and unrequited sexual tension in my loins. Unfortunately for Sarah, in my battle between sexual enjoyment and human compassion there could be only one winner. “Say your piece, Sarah,” I said gently, “or you will receive extra punishment.” Sarah snivelled helplessly for 10 to 15 seconds, and then she got out her statement: “Thank you, Mr. Baxter, for having me caned. I am a common thief and I richly deserve it. Could I have another cut now please?” Then she continued to blubber quietly as she waited with apprehension for my inevitable riposte.
I took my time as I continued to leer at the deep, livid cut inflicted by the cane, and at the recipient’s jet-black pubic hair, her dark, bushy fanny, and her labial lips, all of which were thrust out to my excited gaze by her provocative posture across the table. “Oh, God!” I thought to myself. “Was there ever in this world a more beautiful and seductive thief? First she stole my stock, and now, I fear, she will steal my heart.” But then I got a grip on myself. My thoughts changed tack and became less generous. “No she will not,” I mused. “Pull yourself together, man. What we have here is nothing more or less than a naughty juvenile in need of strict and sharp correction. She is a thieving little bitch, and she deserves everything that is coming to her.” Then I called out aloud, “Two!”
Jo had already raised the cane into the air, and at my signal she whipped it down again, with tremendous force. This time I allowed my gaze to rove away from the epicentre of her assault. Instead I looked at Jo. Her face was set into a grim, fixed stare as she concentrated hard on her aim and used all of her strength to administer this second cut. It was every bit as hard as cut number 1. The cane bit into Sarah’s posterior with a second loud, high-pitched crack. As when she had first tasted the rod, Sarah cried out again, loudly and piteously. And well she might because, with wicked effect, Jo laid her second stroke more or less slap on top of her first one. As the sting from cut number 2 was incrementally added to that from cut number 1, Sarah stopped her screaming and collapsed into uncontrollable sobs and tears.
And so it went on. It took a lot longer to administer the punishment than I had anticipated, mainly because it took Sarah an increasingly long time to get out her “Thank you, Mr. Baxter” lines. This gave me ample time to view the effects of Jo’s labours. My word, but the lady had a wickedly accurate aim. By the end of Sarah’s ordeal she was sporting 6 deep, livid cuts, already beginning to turn blue, etched into the fleshy meat of her backside just above her thighs, and slap across the back of her jet black fanny hairs. The cuts were bunched tightly together, with later cuts laid on top of existing cuts and they formed incremental ridges and indentations. Sarah’s increasing distress as the cuts were inflicted caused her to flail about, kicking and opening her legs to give me the most provocative and stimulating views of her bum, her inner thighs, her crotch and her dark, inviting honey pot. At the end of her ordeal, I kept Sarah bent over the table for another 10 minutes to stop her from rubbing her besieged rump. She was thus forced to experience the full stinging, tingling and throbbing after-effects of her punishment. She found this very distressing, and continued to sob quietly to herself.
It took Sarah the best part of half an hour before she had sufficiently recovered to be able to hold Ruth in position to receive her punishment. I was in doubt whether I could take such intense and extreme excitement all over again for a second time, since 16-year-old Ruth was every bit as sexy as her 18-year-old sister. Despite her tender years, however, she caught it just as hard and just as sexily as Sarah had. Her mother showed her absolutely no mercy and Ruth’s nubile bottom, which according to English law was only just old enough to be legally screwed, was chastised just as strictly and just as severely as Sarah’s had been. By now, however, I was not taking it all in. I leered obsessively at Ruth’s caned bum, inner thighs and hairy fanny as she threshed about to the stinging blows from the cane, and I heard her piteous cries and sobs. But it all seemed rather distant and remote. In retrospect, I concluded that my numbed reactions were my body’s defence mechanism against a heart attack, or a fit of apoplexy.
At last, the girls’ ordeal was over, at least for the time being. “Thank you, ladies. You may go.” I said to them. “I look forward to seeing you again in a month’s time. But could you stay behind for a few minutes, Jo? I would like a word before you leave.”
When we were on our own I had my word. “Wow, Jo,” I said quietly. “Nice one! That was awesome! But look. I know that I made you promise to strike as hard as you could. But if you want to go a bit easier next time, feel free. I am not sure that the girls could take the full works a second time.”
Jo looked at me archly. “What’s the matter, big boy?” she asked. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t you enjoy that.” Then she put her arms around my waist, reached up, and gave me a long, slow, luxurious kiss on the cheek. Then, staying pressed up against me, she moved one of her hands down to my crotch and gently squeezed my rock hard willie through my trousers.
Well, although she had always been very friendly, Jo had never done anything so intimate or so saucy to me before. I winced in ecstasy and gave a helpless little cry. But Jo did not remove her hand. Instead she gently grabbed my cock through my trousers and underpants, putting her thumb on my excited frenulum and her fingers on the other side of the stiffened shaft. Then she mischievously pulled my cock skin up and down. “Oh, stop, stop,” I sighed gently. But Jo could tell that I did not really mean it, and with one more delicate, skilful tug she brought me off. In my embarrassment I tried to disguise what was happening. But it must have been obvious, from my involuntary sighs and groans, and from my rhythmically jerking pelvis, that I was ejaculating great wads of spunk into my underpants.
“There, you did enjoy it, didn’t you?” “Yes,” I replied breathlessly. “Well let me tell you something, Mr. Bill Baxter. Unless you specifically order me not to, I intend to whip those bitches’ tails just as hard again next month. What do you say to that then?” “OK, OK,” I answered helplessly, as I felt hot, creamy, sticky semen spreading all over my crotch and balls, “Whatever you say.” “Attaboy! Let’s give those little madams a lesson that they will not forget in a hurry.” Jo embraced me again, this time around the neck, and kissed me full onto the mouth with a long, fierce, passionate French kiss. My ejaculation had calmed some of my sexual excitement, but, even so, I threw my arms around Jo and returned her kiss with fervour. The feel of her hard, fit body nuzzled firmly and intimately into mine sent me into further paroxysms of desire, as we remained clasped together for several minutes, our tongues entwined in delicious and ecstatic wetness. But, amazingly, for the moment that was as far as it went. Jo tapped me, very gently and affectionately, on the cheek with her fingers. “Naughty!” she said, grinning provocatively. “You’re just a dirty old man!” Then she disentangled herself from my embrace, smiled sweetly, and left.
The next month was a strange time for me. Jo continued to come into the shop. She was as friendly, talkative and vivacious as ever, but she made no mention of the events of C1 Day. As for Sarah and Ruth, I did not see them for several days. Then they started buying things from me again, but, understandably, they seemed tentative, nervous and withdrawn. Then, a few days before C2 (Second Caning) day, Sarah came in on her own at a quiet time. She paid for her purchases and turned to go. But then she paused and looked into my eyes. “Please, Mr. Baxter, don’t get mom to cane us again,” she pleaded. She looked so beautiful, so pure and so innocent with her big, doe eyes, and she sounded so contrite and so sorry for herself that I was tempted to grant her plea. But, of course, that could never be. The hungry tiger does not spare the gazelle. The snake does not release the captive frog. No dirty old man worthy of the title would ever call off the bare-bottomed caning of two beautiful teenaged girls, especially when he had booked himself a ringside seat. However, I decided to give Sarah a civil answer. I explained that she deserved her punishment, and that it had to sting, tingle and throb if it was to be effective. She was a bright, lively and intelligent girl. She was due to take her Advanced level examinations in a few months time, and I knew that she had a provisional offer of a place at a good university. I was very fond of her mother, and it was my duty to try to keep her daughters clear of a life of crime. Then I began to lie in my teeth. “They are for your own good, these canings,” I explained. “They hurt me also most as much as they hurt you, but you will thank me when they are all over.” The appalling thing is that poor Sarah seemed to fall for this pontificating claptrap. “Yes, Mr. Baxter,” she said sadly, and she went on her way.
C2 Day on the first Friday evening of the next month went well, at least from my point of view. I kept to exactly the same formula. I counted out the strokes and I made the girls thank me after each one. As for Jo, she was on top form again. When she started her work there were just a few, very faint, bruises remaining across the girls’ bums. By the time she had finished, her victims were again sporting deep, livid closely bunched cuts and indentations across the backs of their dark, hairy twats. Oh, yes. Jo caned their plump nubile arse meat for them, just above their thighs, every bit as hard as she had last time. The cracks of the cane rang out just as loudly, the girls screamed just as vociferously, and they struggled and kicked their legs just as hard. There were sobs and tears aplenty, and by the time it was all over 2 young ladies felt very, very sore, very, very well chastened, and very, very sorry for themselves. As for me, I was every bit as excited as the first time. During the whole affair, my heart pounded mercilessly against my ribcage, and my cock was so hard and engorged in my underpants that I thought it would explode. This time, however, to my deep disappointment and sharp frustration, Jo did not stay behind to give me any relief. She left with the girls, saying that the 3 of them would be back again on the following Monday night to hear whether, in view of the punishments which they had endured, I was prepared to let the girls off. I then went to bed, masturbated wildly, and plotted my final sexy little shock for the shoplifting sisters.
When they arrived on the following Monday, the girls were dressed primly and demurely in full school uniform of white shirt, school tie, blazer, pleated skirt, short white socks and round, felt hat. They smiled sweetly, and they both looked as though butter would not melt in their mouths. Jo told me later that she had instructed them to do this in the hope that their youthful, innocent looks would placate me. Instead, however, they got me overexcited, and further stiffened both my cock and my resolve to push ahead with my saucy and kinky plans. My cock was thus rock hard as I motioned the three ladies to sit around the table with me. Then I delivered my prepared speech. Sarah and Ruth, I explained, must realise that they were both common thieves. They might think that they had been strictly dealt with, but they had not. The alternative was the shame and humiliation of a public appearance before the magistrates, and the acquisition of a criminal record that would automatically disbar them from a number of desirable jobs and professions. “That is what will happen if I take you to court,” I added, “and in addition you will almost certainly get a heavy fine and 3 years probation. Do you really think that a few swishes across the bum with a cane is equivalent to that?” The girls blushed deeply and appeared nervous and alarmed. As for Jo, she looked very worried. Anyway, I lambasted the girls mercilessly with a lot more of the same. Then I delivered my punch line. Despite their serious crimes, I said, I was a reasonable man, and I was prepared to be lenient with them. They would each take another 6 strokes of the cane across their bare bottoms on the first Friday of the next month, after which I was prepared to call it quits and forgive them.
This revelation was met with silence, but Jo looked relieved, and much happier. Then Sarah started to sob, slowly and rhythmically. Her younger sister, Ruth, however, was made of sterner stuff. She confronted me fiercely. “You dirty old bastard,” she yelled. “This isn’t about justice and punishment, is it? You just want to get your rocks off leering at our naked cunts and arses. You filthy old sod! You dirty, filthy old sod. You bastard! You absolute fucking bastard!”
Well, of course, Ruth had nailed me in one. But I could not let her assertions go unchallenged. “Ruth!” I replied sharply. “How dare you! I’ll teach you young lady! I’ll curb that foul, vicious, swearing, lying tongue of yours. You richly deserve to be punished for that. Apologise immediately, or you will get 6 extra cuts of the cane.” There was then silence, but I could see from the way her face crumpled that I had broken Ruth’s spirit. She lowered her gaze, tears welled up in her eyes, and then, like Sarah, she started to sob. “I’m sorry, Mr. Baxter,” she said contritely. “Please don’t do that, I beg you. Please, please don’t do that.” “Very well,” I answered severely, “but just you be on your best behaviour, young lady, or I will exact that extra penalty, and, unless you are very careful, a lot more besides. Right, you can both go now.” Then Jo chipped in. “Carry on home, girls,” she said. “I want to have a talk to Mr. Baxter.”
After the girls had left Jo rose from her seat at the table and stood in the middle of the room. “Come here,” she said invitingly. I rose and went over to her. Then Jo did something that shocked me. She reached down and unzipped my flies. Then she put her hand into my trousers and gently pulled out my stiff, engorged cock. “You know,” she said archly, in that delicious, lilting Irish accent of hers, “Ruth was right, wasn’t she? You ARE a dirty, filthy old bastard, aren’t you?” And she squeezed and tugged at my naked cock with such skill that if she had continued for just a few more seconds I would have ejaculated. “Guilty,” I murmured helplessly. Then Jo wrapped her spare arm and hand around me and, while she held my cock with her other hand, gave me a wet, passionate French kiss. “Wow!” she exclaimed admiringly. “I never thought that you had that in you. When you told me to go easy after the first session I had you marked down as a wimp. Ouch! You really stuck it on those 2 little madams, didn’t you? Another 6 cuts each, across their bare bums, just when they thought it was all over! I bet they’re feeling sorry for themselves.” “Not as sorry as they soon will be,” I added with grim satisfaction. “Oh no! You are right there,” replied Jo. “Don’t you worry about that. I’ll whack them just as hard again for you, if not harder. But in the meantime is there, perhaps, some other service that I can perform for you?” And she gave my cock another expert tweak. “What do you think?” I asked breathlessly. “That’s settled, then,” replied Jo. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”
In order to understand what happened that night, dear reader, and how important it was to me, you have to remember my personal circumstances, and the nature of the lady who was so freely and generously offering herself to me. I was in my late 50s, and more than 25 years older than Jo. I was tall, and still fairly fit after 30 years of hard physical labour in the steel mill. It was about 3 years since the break-up of my marriage, and since then I had lived as a celibate. I had enjoyed an active sex life with my wife for many years, but when we split up she was in her mid-50s. Even as a young woman she had been very different from Jo, soft and pneumatic where Jo was fit and hard. That night, with Jo, I entered unknown territory and, despite my advancing age, I found it all very new and exciting.
But what did Jo see in me? Well, I had no illusions on that score. Like me she was living a life without a partner, and she was very sexually frustrated. But, even so, she would have been unlikely to tip her cap at a man who was a quarter of a century older than her on the grounds of physical attraction alone. No. It was, I was convinced, the caning of her daughters that had turned her on to me and, if I wanted to keep her, I would have to work that theme into our sex play.
Soon Jo and I were lying naked together in bed. Jo had only had one previous lover, but from they way that she worked on me you would never have known it. She was young, healthy and very, very active, and the things that she did to me that night blew my mind. She started off by gently tweaking my cock and talking dirty. Had I enjoyed the way that she had caned her daughters, she asked me, and already she had my cock as stiff as a poker and feeling fit to burst. “Wow,” I replied admiringly, “You roasted them alive. Why did you whack them so bloody hard?” And so on. As for me, I was already captivated by Jo’s physical charms before the shoplifting incident occurred. Then, the bold and saucy way that she took down her daughters, and the fact that she had caned them with such vigour, added considerably to her charms. It did not take more than a few minutes of Jo’s kinky verbals and saucy cock tweaks before I was opening her legs for her and ramming my stiff and excited truncheon deep into her soft, warm, receptive, dripping wet pussy. After that, for most of the rest of the night, Jo learnt of one of the advantages of an older lover. Unlike potent and over-excited younger men, we do not tend to suffer from the problem of premature ejaculation. As I recovered my stiffness after my initial act of coitus I reinserted my cock into my partner’s love slot and trip-hammered her mercilessly and at great length. Jo enjoyed three orgasms, and was exhausted and dripping wet with sweat. Then, at last, she whispered to me to come inside her and we enjoyed a shattering mutual climax.
I made love to Jo for between 3 and 4 hours, but then I asked her to go back home to the girls. “We do not want them to know what we are up to,” I explained. “At least, not yet. We have to maintain the illusion that their upcoming caning is purely disciplinary.” Jo agreed with me. She left, and told the girls that she had spent the time pleading with me on their behalf, that it had been a long hard job, but that it had paid off, and that after their next caning the matter would be closed.
I do not know why, but on C3 (Third Caning) Day the girls seemed to take their chastening better than during C1 and C2. Perhaps practice was making them braver. Or perhaps the knowledge that this was their last ordeal stiffened their resolve. This time they both strode up purposefully to the table to get their jeans and knickers removed and their buttocks bared to take their punishment. They were also rather better at getting out their “Thank you Mr. Baxter” lines. But, on the other hand, Jo was as good as her word. She knew that this was the last chance she would have to cane her daughters, at least for the present, and she resolved to make the most of it. If possible the C3 canings were even harder than those of C1 and C2. Despite their best efforts, after the first stroke the girls were again screaming, yelling, sobbing deeply and rhythmically and begging me for mercy. Instead they both got a third set of tightly bunched, livid, red and blue indentations cut into their naked, plump nubile arse meat, right across the back of their dark, hairy twats. The more that they screamed, and the more that they yelled, the harder Jo brought down that cane. What with the constant pauses that were necessary for the girls to regain a modicum of self control the canings took more than half an hour. For me this was half an hour of leering helplessly at bare quivering bum cheeks, naked flailing legs, and dark, nubile, hairy twats.
When she had inflicted the last stroke, Jo turned to me brightly, with a crafty smile on her face, and handed me the cane. “There you are, Bill. Keep this safe and keep it oiled. And if you catch these little madams thieving again, I hope you make it 6 canings not 3, and 12 cuts per caning not 6.” “Yes, OK, Jo,” I answered helplessly, “I will.” And at this thought my already rock hard cock came as close to orgasm as a cock can get without someone touching or rubbing it. Then Jo addressed her daughters. “My God, but you two little thieves have got off lightly,” she lied. “Now get back home before Mr. Baxter changes his mind.” And the girls made a sharp exit.
Even before her daughters had closed the door behind them Jo had come over to me. Without saying a word she threw her arms passionately around my neck and lifted her legs off the floor. She had caught me unawares, and we both tumbled onto the carpet in front of the cheerful and friendly glow of the gas fire. In an instant Jo had her tongue into my mouth for what was, I think, the deepest and longest French kiss that I have ever enjoyed. Meanwhile she had my belt and flies undone and my trousers and underpants down around my knees. “Hey, you’re no going to cane ME on the bare bum, are you?” I asked playfully. “Chance would be a fine thing,” replied my lover archly. Then she resumed her French kiss and started to work on my engorged and excited cock with the skilful fingers of her right hand. Then, at last, the French kiss ended. Jo bent down and took my cock in her mouth. Then she fellated me with her lips, her tongue, and her teeth with consummate confidence, skill and aplomb.
© Big Billie 2003. Not to be distributed or sold for monetary gain.
Shoplifters Caned
My name is Bill Baxter. For over 30 years I worked in a steel factory in a large industrial city in England. Then came de-industrialisation, closure and redundancies. My marriage collapsed under the strain, but fortunately our children were grown up and off our hands, so my wife and I could make a clean break. The problem was that she got our house as part of the divorce settlement, and I was left lonely and alone, with nowhere to live, and with only part of my redundancy money to see me through.
In answer to my plight I bought a small corner shop with living accommodation above it. The previous owner was called Mr. Patel. He had worked hard as a mature student to gain professional qualifications, and he wanted to sell up to pursue a more profitable career. He had run his shop well, and he was most courteous and helpful to me. For two months before I took over he hired me as his assistant so that he could train me and teach me the ropes, and to this day he is still helpful on the other end of the telephone if I need any further advice or guidance.
It took me a few months to settle into my new lifestyle, but when I did I enjoyed it. The shop was in a favourable location, and it made me a small but adequate living. My regular customers were all locals who lived in the neighbouring streets. I soon got to know them, and they began to tell me all about their lives and their families. This was something that I had never got as I laboured and sweated in the heat and noise of the steel factory, and I loved it.
One lady in particular was very friendly and talkative. She was called Mrs. Joanne (Jo) Aktar, and she was in her early to mid-30s. Jo’s maiden name had been O’Neill. She had come to England from County Waterford in Ireland when she was 10 years old, and she still had the most delicious, lilting, Irish accent. When she was 14, however, she had got pregnant. The father of the baby was an Asian youth. He and his family wanted to do what was right, and when Jo reached 16 the couple were married. By then a baby daughter had been born, and within 2 years another baby girl followed. Within 5 years the relationship had collapsed, but there was a brief reconciliation that had resulted in the birth of a son. The current position, therefore, was that Jo was living alone, as a single mother, with two daughters aged 18 and 16, and a son of 8.
Jo was a lady of fair complexion, her short, naturally blond hair highlighted by dyes and colorants. She had had a hard life, and was rough, tough, resourceful and resilient. She worked out regularly at a local gymnasium operated by the City Council, and she had the strong, muscular physique of a dedicated body builder. When, as she often did, she wore vest tops cut away at the shoulders I could see a small, neat tattoo etched onto her right shoulder. Sometimes Jo came into the shop wearing short tops that displayed her midriff, and her pierced belly button adorned with jewellery. Wow! There was I, a sexually frustrated male in my late 50s, chatting to a fine, fit, youthful specimen of Eve’s flesh about the intimate details of our personal lives. It was all most interesting and distinctly over-stimulating!
Jo’s daughters Sarah and Ruth were even more stunning, if rather less talkative, than their mother. The happy admixture of Celtic and Asian genes had produced two young ladies of breathtaking beauty. They were tall, slender, willowy and supple, but meaty in all the right places. Their skin was the most gorgeous colour tone of dark, well-creamed coffee. Their facial features were exquisite. Their cheekbones were classically high, their eyes dark and smouldering, and their necks long and graceful. Either of them could easily have graced the cover of Vogue, or of any other top fashion magazine. Jo, Sarah and Ruth were regulars at the shop, and, perhaps more than any of the other customers, they brightened and enlivened my life. To complete the family ensemble there was little David, who often popped in for sweets.
Now a constant problem for small shopkeepers is theft. To minimise this, I followed Mr. Patel’s lead and banned children on their journey to and from school. I also permanently banned any young customer who, in my judgement, could not be trusted. Despite these precautions, however, stock was still going missing. I therefore started to load videocassettes into the surveillance camera bequeathed to me by Mr. Patel and to record what went on in the shop. This was not ideal, since I found that to watch all of the footage took too long. But at least I made a note of the times when suspicious incidents had occurred, or when particular suspects had entered and left the premises. I then checked the video footage of these times later.
Soon I got a shock. I discovered that 2 of the culprits were Sarah and Ruth. The video evidence was quite conclusive. In one incident Ruth made a purchase and distracted me by the till, while Sarah stole goods down one of the aisles. Then, as Sarah paid for an item, Ruth took more of my stock. Well, I was shocked, and I did not know what to do. By now I looked upon Jo as a personal friend. She was someone whom I trusted to buy goods on credit when she was hard up, and she always paid me pack. I also knew that Jo was doing her best to bring up her children to be good and honest. Sarah, Ruth and David all attended Church schools, and always had done. Then, every Sunday and Holy Day of Obligation, the family attended the local Catholic Church. Jo and I needed to talk, I concluded, and the next time she came into the shop I asked her to call back at closing time. Jo was puzzled, but she trusted me enough to do what I had requested. When she called by I showed her the video evidence and explained my point of view. I then asked her to think about it, and to call back at closing time on the next day. Meanwhile, a saucy and lascivious plan was slowly forming in my mind.
When Jo called round to see me the next day, I adopted an implacable stance. Shoplifting thefts were threatening my livelihood, I explained, and I could not tolerate them. In this case it was even worse, since I had thought that the Aktar family were my personal friends. I needed a highly publicised prosecution, a show trial to warn off other potential malefactors, and this was my chance. I would be reporting the girls to the police on the next day.
To my surprise, Jo did not disagree with the gist of what I had to say, and she made no great effort to dissuade me from my stated intentions. Her line was that the girls were thieves, and to make things worse they had betrayed a personal friendship. They deserved all that I could throw at them, and she would not stand in my way or try to dissuade me. Then she said something that, happily, played straight into my hands. “By God,” she said. “If they weren’t so big I’d teach them a lesson that they would never forget. I would give both of the little madams the thrashing of their lives.” I said nothing at first in reply to this revelation, and a lengthy and embarrassing silence followed. Then I spoke. “Do you really mean that, Jo?” I asked quietly. “Mean it?” answered Jo. “I only wish that I had the chance. While they were growing up I never laid a finger on them. And look at how they have repaid me. Talk about ‘spare the rod and spoil the child.’ I have been too lenient with them, and look what has happened.” And so she continued, in great anger and frustration.
Well, to cut a long story short, Jo and I talked for two or three hours that night. The outcome was that I agreed to consider not taking the matter to the police if Jo administered appropriate physical chastisement to the malefactors. She left the details of this chastisement to be decided by me. I said that the punishment must begin on the first Friday night of the month, in 10 days time. I would provide the cane, and I must be present to witness how it was used. The girls’ chastening would be in two parts. On the first Friday of the next month each girl would take 6 cuts of the cane across her bared buttocks. The strokes were to be inflicted by Jo, and she must give me her word that she would apply them with every ounce of her strength. Then, on the first Friday of the month after that, exactly the same punishment would be repeated under exactly the same conditions. Then, 3 days later, on the following Monday evening, there would be a meeting of the 4 of us at which I would say whether, in the light of the punishment which they had received, I was prepared to let the girls off without reporting them to the police. I was making no promises, I said, but I was prepared to consider my position.
The next night Jo arrived at the shop after closing time with Sarah and Ruth. I confronted them with the video evidence, and told them what Jo and I had agreed to do to them. I did not give them any choice or options. Sarah was now 18 and legally an adult, but she made no challenge to my plans. As the meeting broke up Sarah and Ruth were looking very shocked and very apprehensive. “Yes, my girls,” I thought to myself as they left. “You are feeling sorry for themselves now. But just you wait. In a few days time you will be feeling a lot, lot sorrier!” Meanwhile, my cock was already standing rock hard in my underpants as I contemplated the sexy and kinky scenario that I had succeeded in setting up. Later that night I went online and ordered a cane from an Internet sex shop. I wanted the girls to sting, tingle and throb, but I did not want to bruise them too extensively. So I bought the thinnest and whippiest cane that I could find in the on-line catalogue. When it arrived a few days later I inspected it carefully. It was made of rattan, with a curled handle at one end. It was, I should say, only about 6 millimetres thick, or thinner than a pencil, and very springy. I received it 5 days before C1 (First Caning) Day, and during those days I assiduously rubbed linseed oil into it to make it even springier and whippier. I introduced it to Jo with 4 days to go, and then made her practice her caning technique on a pillow in 3x1 hour daily training sessions until it was time for the real thing. I witnessed these training sessions, and wow! The lady had a beautifully poised stance and a strong, powerful right arm. The way that she laid into that pillow was wicked! For the whole hour of each of the 3 training periods I watched in entranced anticipation, with my cock as stiff as a poker.
Just after 8 p.m. on C1 Day Jo, Sarah and Ruth arrived and I took them upstairs to my living room above the shop. I tried to be brusque and efficient, but underneath I was nervous and anxious about the outcome of my proposed sting, and embarrassed by the growing tumescence of penis under trouser crotch. “Right, Sarah,” I said, as authoritatively as I could manage. “You are the older, and you must be presumed to be the ringleader. You will therefore be caned first. Any rebellion or non-compliance will incur further penalties. Is that clear?” “Yes, Mr. Baxter,” replied the victim submissively. “Good!” I replied. “Jo, please bend the culprit over this side of the table.” When Jo had done this I made Ruth stand on the other side of the table facing her sister. I then told her to thread her arms under Sarah’s armpits, and clasp her hands together, as tightly as she could, behind Sarah’s back. In turn, Sarah was told to do the same to her sister. “I want you both to stay clasped together as tightly as you can during the chastisement,” I instructed them both. “This will sting, Sarah, but I am ordering you to stay in position, on pain of receiving extra chastisement. As for you, Ruth, if you want to help your sister, you will cling onto her as tightly as you can, however hard she struggles, and however loudly she cries out. Is that understood?” “Yes, Mr. Baxter,” replied the girls submissively.
I then went and sat on a chair directly behind Sarah, so that I could get a good view of the proceedings from the business end and at crotch height. Jo positioned her daughter by the table. She then unbuttoned her jeans, curled her fingers under jeans and knickers at each hipbone, and pulled hard, downwards and outwards. Sarah’s jeans and knickers were not merely tugged down. On my prior instructions they were pulled completely from off her legs, and thrown onto a nearby armchair. I insisted on this so that I would get as good a view as possible of quivering buttocks, flailing, open legs, and exposed hairy fanny and labial lips.
“Right now, Sarah,” I continued. “I will be counting out each of the six strokes. After each one you are to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Baxter, for having me caned. I am a common thief and I richly deserve it. Could I have another cut now please?’ Is that clear?” I then made Sarah practice her lines a few times until she had them off pat. “Very good!” I said encouragingly. “Now, Jo, would you take up your position, please, and stand ready for the commencement of the discipline?”
Jo did as I requested. I then paused for a short time to get a good view of Sarah’s exposed bum and hairy crotch and fanny. “Oh, my God!” I thought to myself. “That is the sauciest and sexiest sight that I have ever seen!” And my cock, already rock hard in my underpants, stiffened still further. Meanwhile, beads of sweat stood out on my forehead, my mouth went as dry as dust, and my heart knocked fiercely against my ribcage.
I was so sexually excited that I thought at one point that I would go into a swoon. Then I pulled myself together and gave my first instruction. “One” I said deliberately. Jo raised the cane high into the air so that it was almost brushing the ceiling. For an agonising few seconds it hovered there, above our heads. Then down it came, with a loud, hissing swish. CRACK!!!
Oh, wow! Jo was as good as her word, and she brought down that cane with all the strength of her fit, firm, muscular, youthful, sporty body. It hit home with a terrific crack that rang out like a pistol shot. The loud report echoed around my small living room, and could probably be heard in the street below. I had not been expecting anything as sharp or as sexy as that. I was shocked at the sheer number of decibels, and I breathed in suddenly. Then I started panting violently, thinking that, if I were about to die, then there could be no better way to go than this.
Meanwhile, there were interesting developments at Sarah’s seat of learning. The cane was very thin, and Sarah’s buttocks were trim, pert and firm. But, even so, the force of the blow caused her bum cheeks to quiver and wobble in the most provocative and stimulating fashion. “Ayieeee!” Sarah let out a long, shrill, piercing yell as the cane bit into her backside, and as she felt its sharp initial sting. Then, over the next 4 seconds or so, as her buttock meat began to tingle and throb, she cried out in great urgency: “Agh! Agh!! Aaagh!!! AAAAGH!!!!!!” Then, clearly shocked and taken aback by the sharpness and severity of the pain, poor Sarah began to weep and cry out uncontrollably. As for me, I was surprised by the intensity of the victim’s reactions, and I paused to give her a few moments to recover. Soon tears were streaming down Sarah’s face as she begged me for mercy. “Please, Mr. Baxter,” she pleaded between her sobs. “No more, no more. Please stop. It is more than I can stand.” I, of course, continued to leer at the target area where the cane had cracked home. Soon I noted with grim satisfaction that a deep, livid red weal was cut into the light brown buttock meat, right across the back of Sarah’s fanny hairs, just above the tops of her thighs, onto the plumpest and sexiest part of her bum.
It took more than a minute for Sarah to stop yelling, and, even then, she did not relapse into silence, but sobbed and whimpered quietly. By now I was in a state of great agitation. I was very, very sexually aroused, but also extremely concerned about the victim’s welfare. Up until now I had always treated young ladies with polite courtesy and chivalrous respect, and this gentlemanly side to my nature hated to see a beautiful teenaged girl treated in such an abrupt, arbitrary and strict fashion. But I was so excited by the kinky scenario before my eyes that I could scarcely help myself. Here I was, a man in my late 50s, supposedly past my sexual prime. But despite this my cock stood as stiff as a poker in my underpants, and my balls ached excruciatingly from the sharp and unrequited sexual tension in my loins. Unfortunately for Sarah, in my battle between sexual enjoyment and human compassion there could be only one winner. “Say your piece, Sarah,” I said gently, “or you will receive extra punishment.” Sarah snivelled helplessly for 10 to 15 seconds, and then she got out her statement: “Thank you, Mr. Baxter, for having me caned. I am a common thief and I richly deserve it. Could I have another cut now please?” Then she continued to blubber quietly as she waited with apprehension for my inevitable riposte.
I took my time as I continued to leer at the deep, livid cut inflicted by the cane, and at the recipient’s jet-black pubic hair, her dark, bushy fanny, and her labial lips, all of which were thrust out to my excited gaze by her provocative posture across the table. “Oh, God!” I thought to myself. “Was there ever in this world a more beautiful and seductive thief? First she stole my stock, and now, I fear, she will steal my heart.” But then I got a grip on myself. My thoughts changed tack and became less generous. “No she will not,” I mused. “Pull yourself together, man. What we have here is nothing more or less than a naughty juvenile in need of strict and sharp correction. She is a thieving little bitch, and she deserves everything that is coming to her.” Then I called out aloud, “Two!”
Jo had already raised the cane into the air, and at my signal she whipped it down again, with tremendous force. This time I allowed my gaze to rove away from the epicentre of her assault. Instead I looked at Jo. Her face was set into a grim, fixed stare as she concentrated hard on her aim and used all of her strength to administer this second cut. It was every bit as hard as cut number 1. The cane bit into Sarah’s posterior with a second loud, high-pitched crack. As when she had first tasted the rod, Sarah cried out again, loudly and piteously. And well she might because, with wicked effect, Jo laid her second stroke more or less slap on top of her first one. As the sting from cut number 2 was incrementally added to that from cut number 1, Sarah stopped her screaming and collapsed into uncontrollable sobs and tears.
And so it went on. It took a lot longer to administer the punishment than I had anticipated, mainly because it took Sarah an increasingly long time to get out her “Thank you, Mr. Baxter” lines. This gave me ample time to view the effects of Jo’s labours. My word, but the lady had a wickedly accurate aim. By the end of Sarah’s ordeal she was sporting 6 deep, livid cuts, already beginning to turn blue, etched into the fleshy meat of her backside just above her thighs, and slap across the back of her jet black fanny hairs. The cuts were bunched tightly together, with later cuts laid on top of existing cuts and they formed incremental ridges and indentations. Sarah’s increasing distress as the cuts were inflicted caused her to flail about, kicking and opening her legs to give me the most provocative and stimulating views of her bum, her inner thighs, her crotch and her dark, inviting honey pot. At the end of her ordeal, I kept Sarah bent over the table for another 10 minutes to stop her from rubbing her besieged rump. She was thus forced to experience the full stinging, tingling and throbbing after-effects of her punishment. She found this very distressing, and continued to sob quietly to herself.
It took Sarah the best part of half an hour before she had sufficiently recovered to be able to hold Ruth in position to receive her punishment. I was in doubt whether I could take such intense and extreme excitement all over again for a second time, since 16-year-old Ruth was every bit as sexy as her 18-year-old sister. Despite her tender years, however, she caught it just as hard and just as sexily as Sarah had. Her mother showed her absolutely no mercy and Ruth’s nubile bottom, which according to English law was only just old enough to be legally screwed, was chastised just as strictly and just as severely as Sarah’s had been. By now, however, I was not taking it all in. I leered obsessively at Ruth’s caned bum, inner thighs and hairy fanny as she threshed about to the stinging blows from the cane, and I heard her piteous cries and sobs. But it all seemed rather distant and remote. In retrospect, I concluded that my numbed reactions were my body’s defence mechanism against a heart attack, or a fit of apoplexy.
At last, the girls’ ordeal was over, at least for the time being. “Thank you, ladies. You may go.” I said to them. “I look forward to seeing you again in a month’s time. But could you stay behind for a few minutes, Jo? I would like a word before you leave.”
When we were on our own I had my word. “Wow, Jo,” I said quietly. “Nice one! That was awesome! But look. I know that I made you promise to strike as hard as you could. But if you want to go a bit easier next time, feel free. I am not sure that the girls could take the full works a second time.”
Jo looked at me archly. “What’s the matter, big boy?” she asked. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t you enjoy that.” Then she put her arms around my waist, reached up, and gave me a long, slow, luxurious kiss on the cheek. Then, staying pressed up against me, she moved one of her hands down to my crotch and gently squeezed my rock hard willie through my trousers.
Well, although she had always been very friendly, Jo had never done anything so intimate or so saucy to me before. I winced in ecstasy and gave a helpless little cry. But Jo did not remove her hand. Instead she gently grabbed my cock through my trousers and underpants, putting her thumb on my excited frenulum and her fingers on the other side of the stiffened shaft. Then she mischievously pulled my cock skin up and down. “Oh, stop, stop,” I sighed gently. But Jo could tell that I did not really mean it, and with one more delicate, skilful tug she brought me off. In my embarrassment I tried to disguise what was happening. But it must have been obvious, from my involuntary sighs and groans, and from my rhythmically jerking pelvis, that I was ejaculating great wads of spunk into my underpants.
“There, you did enjoy it, didn’t you?” “Yes,” I replied breathlessly. “Well let me tell you something, Mr. Bill Baxter. Unless you specifically order me not to, I intend to whip those bitches’ tails just as hard again next month. What do you say to that then?” “OK, OK,” I answered helplessly, as I felt hot, creamy, sticky semen spreading all over my crotch and balls, “Whatever you say.” “Attaboy! Let’s give those little madams a lesson that they will not forget in a hurry.” Jo embraced me again, this time around the neck, and kissed me full onto the mouth with a long, fierce, passionate French kiss. My ejaculation had calmed some of my sexual excitement, but, even so, I threw my arms around Jo and returned her kiss with fervour. The feel of her hard, fit body nuzzled firmly and intimately into mine sent me into further paroxysms of desire, as we remained clasped together for several minutes, our tongues entwined in delicious and ecstatic wetness. But, amazingly, for the moment that was as far as it went. Jo tapped me, very gently and affectionately, on the cheek with her fingers. “Naughty!” she said, grinning provocatively. “You’re just a dirty old man!” Then she disentangled herself from my embrace, smiled sweetly, and left.
The next month was a strange time for me. Jo continued to come into the shop. She was as friendly, talkative and vivacious as ever, but she made no mention of the events of C1 Day. As for Sarah and Ruth, I did not see them for several days. Then they started buying things from me again, but, understandably, they seemed tentative, nervous and withdrawn. Then, a few days before C2 (Second Caning) day, Sarah came in on her own at a quiet time. She paid for her purchases and turned to go. But then she paused and looked into my eyes. “Please, Mr. Baxter, don’t get mom to cane us again,” she pleaded. She looked so beautiful, so pure and so innocent with her big, doe eyes, and she sounded so contrite and so sorry for herself that I was tempted to grant her plea. But, of course, that could never be. The hungry tiger does not spare the gazelle. The snake does not release the captive frog. No dirty old man worthy of the title would ever call off the bare-bottomed caning of two beautiful teenaged girls, especially when he had booked himself a ringside seat. However, I decided to give Sarah a civil answer. I explained that she deserved her punishment, and that it had to sting, tingle and throb if it was to be effective. She was a bright, lively and intelligent girl. She was due to take her Advanced level examinations in a few months time, and I knew that she had a provisional offer of a place at a good university. I was very fond of her mother, and it was my duty to try to keep her daughters clear of a life of crime. Then I began to lie in my teeth. “They are for your own good, these canings,” I explained. “They hurt me also most as much as they hurt you, but you will thank me when they are all over.” The appalling thing is that poor Sarah seemed to fall for this pontificating claptrap. “Yes, Mr. Baxter,” she said sadly, and she went on her way.
C2 Day on the first Friday evening of the next month went well, at least from my point of view. I kept to exactly the same formula. I counted out the strokes and I made the girls thank me after each one. As for Jo, she was on top form again. When she started her work there were just a few, very faint, bruises remaining across the girls’ bums. By the time she had finished, her victims were again sporting deep, livid closely bunched cuts and indentations across the backs of their dark, hairy twats. Oh, yes. Jo caned their plump nubile arse meat for them, just above their thighs, every bit as hard as she had last time. The cracks of the cane rang out just as loudly, the girls screamed just as vociferously, and they struggled and kicked their legs just as hard. There were sobs and tears aplenty, and by the time it was all over 2 young ladies felt very, very sore, very, very well chastened, and very, very sorry for themselves. As for me, I was every bit as excited as the first time. During the whole affair, my heart pounded mercilessly against my ribcage, and my cock was so hard and engorged in my underpants that I thought it would explode. This time, however, to my deep disappointment and sharp frustration, Jo did not stay behind to give me any relief. She left with the girls, saying that the 3 of them would be back again on the following Monday night to hear whether, in view of the punishments which they had endured, I was prepared to let the girls off. I then went to bed, masturbated wildly, and plotted my final sexy little shock for the shoplifting sisters.
When they arrived on the following Monday, the girls were dressed primly and demurely in full school uniform of white shirt, school tie, blazer, pleated skirt, short white socks and round, felt hat. They smiled sweetly, and they both looked as though butter would not melt in their mouths. Jo told me later that she had instructed them to do this in the hope that their youthful, innocent looks would placate me. Instead, however, they got me overexcited, and further stiffened both my cock and my resolve to push ahead with my saucy and kinky plans. My cock was thus rock hard as I motioned the three ladies to sit around the table with me. Then I delivered my prepared speech. Sarah and Ruth, I explained, must realise that they were both common thieves. They might think that they had been strictly dealt with, but they had not. The alternative was the shame and humiliation of a public appearance before the magistrates, and the acquisition of a criminal record that would automatically disbar them from a number of desirable jobs and professions. “That is what will happen if I take you to court,” I added, “and in addition you will almost certainly get a heavy fine and 3 years probation. Do you really think that a few swishes across the bum with a cane is equivalent to that?” The girls blushed deeply and appeared nervous and alarmed. As for Jo, she looked very worried. Anyway, I lambasted the girls mercilessly with a lot more of the same. Then I delivered my punch line. Despite their serious crimes, I said, I was a reasonable man, and I was prepared to be lenient with them. They would each take another 6 strokes of the cane across their bare bottoms on the first Friday of the next month, after which I was prepared to call it quits and forgive them.
This revelation was met with silence, but Jo looked relieved, and much happier. Then Sarah started to sob, slowly and rhythmically. Her younger sister, Ruth, however, was made of sterner stuff. She confronted me fiercely. “You dirty old bastard,” she yelled. “This isn’t about justice and punishment, is it? You just want to get your rocks off leering at our naked cunts and arses. You filthy old sod! You dirty, filthy old sod. You bastard! You absolute fucking bastard!”
Well, of course, Ruth had nailed me in one. But I could not let her assertions go unchallenged. “Ruth!” I replied sharply. “How dare you! I’ll teach you young lady! I’ll curb that foul, vicious, swearing, lying tongue of yours. You richly deserve to be punished for that. Apologise immediately, or you will get 6 extra cuts of the cane.” There was then silence, but I could see from the way her face crumpled that I had broken Ruth’s spirit. She lowered her gaze, tears welled up in her eyes, and then, like Sarah, she started to sob. “I’m sorry, Mr. Baxter,” she said contritely. “Please don’t do that, I beg you. Please, please don’t do that.” “Very well,” I answered severely, “but just you be on your best behaviour, young lady, or I will exact that extra penalty, and, unless you are very careful, a lot more besides. Right, you can both go now.” Then Jo chipped in. “Carry on home, girls,” she said. “I want to have a talk to Mr. Baxter.”
After the girls had left Jo rose from her seat at the table and stood in the middle of the room. “Come here,” she said invitingly. I rose and went over to her. Then Jo did something that shocked me. She reached down and unzipped my flies. Then she put her hand into my trousers and gently pulled out my stiff, engorged cock. “You know,” she said archly, in that delicious, lilting Irish accent of hers, “Ruth was right, wasn’t she? You ARE a dirty, filthy old bastard, aren’t you?” And she squeezed and tugged at my naked cock with such skill that if she had continued for just a few more seconds I would have ejaculated. “Guilty,” I murmured helplessly. Then Jo wrapped her spare arm and hand around me and, while she held my cock with her other hand, gave me a wet, passionate French kiss. “Wow!” she exclaimed admiringly. “I never thought that you had that in you. When you told me to go easy after the first session I had you marked down as a wimp. Ouch! You really stuck it on those 2 little madams, didn’t you? Another 6 cuts each, across their bare bums, just when they thought it was all over! I bet they’re feeling sorry for themselves.” “Not as sorry as they soon will be,” I added with grim satisfaction. “Oh no! You are right there,” replied Jo. “Don’t you worry about that. I’ll whack them just as hard again for you, if not harder. But in the meantime is there, perhaps, some other service that I can perform for you?” And she gave my cock another expert tweak. “What do you think?” I asked breathlessly. “That’s settled, then,” replied Jo. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”
In order to understand what happened that night, dear reader, and how important it was to me, you have to remember my personal circumstances, and the nature of the lady who was so freely and generously offering herself to me. I was in my late 50s, and more than 25 years older than Jo. I was tall, and still fairly fit after 30 years of hard physical labour in the steel mill. It was about 3 years since the break-up of my marriage, and since then I had lived as a celibate. I had enjoyed an active sex life with my wife for many years, but when we split up she was in her mid-50s. Even as a young woman she had been very different from Jo, soft and pneumatic where Jo was fit and hard. That night, with Jo, I entered unknown territory and, despite my advancing age, I found it all very new and exciting.
But what did Jo see in me? Well, I had no illusions on that score. Like me she was living a life without a partner, and she was very sexually frustrated. But, even so, she would have been unlikely to tip her cap at a man who was a quarter of a century older than her on the grounds of physical attraction alone. No. It was, I was convinced, the caning of her daughters that had turned her on to me and, if I wanted to keep her, I would have to work that theme into our sex play.
Soon Jo and I were lying naked together in bed. Jo had only had one previous lover, but from they way that she worked on me you would never have known it. She was young, healthy and very, very active, and the things that she did to me that night blew my mind. She started off by gently tweaking my cock and talking dirty. Had I enjoyed the way that she had caned her daughters, she asked me, and already she had my cock as stiff as a poker and feeling fit to burst. “Wow,” I replied admiringly, “You roasted them alive. Why did you whack them so bloody hard?” And so on. As for me, I was already captivated by Jo’s physical charms before the shoplifting incident occurred. Then, the bold and saucy way that she took down her daughters, and the fact that she had caned them with such vigour, added considerably to her charms. It did not take more than a few minutes of Jo’s kinky verbals and saucy cock tweaks before I was opening her legs for her and ramming my stiff and excited truncheon deep into her soft, warm, receptive, dripping wet pussy. After that, for most of the rest of the night, Jo learnt of one of the advantages of an older lover. Unlike potent and over-excited younger men, we do not tend to suffer from the problem of premature ejaculation. As I recovered my stiffness after my initial act of coitus I reinserted my cock into my partner’s love slot and trip-hammered her mercilessly and at great length. Jo enjoyed three orgasms, and was exhausted and dripping wet with sweat. Then, at last, she whispered to me to come inside her and we enjoyed a shattering mutual climax.
I made love to Jo for between 3 and 4 hours, but then I asked her to go back home to the girls. “We do not want them to know what we are up to,” I explained. “At least, not yet. We have to maintain the illusion that their upcoming caning is purely disciplinary.” Jo agreed with me. She left, and told the girls that she had spent the time pleading with me on their behalf, that it had been a long hard job, but that it had paid off, and that after their next caning the matter would be closed.
I do not know why, but on C3 (Third Caning) Day the girls seemed to take their chastening better than during C1 and C2. Perhaps practice was making them braver. Or perhaps the knowledge that this was their last ordeal stiffened their resolve. This time they both strode up purposefully to the table to get their jeans and knickers removed and their buttocks bared to take their punishment. They were also rather better at getting out their “Thank you Mr. Baxter” lines. But, on the other hand, Jo was as good as her word. She knew that this was the last chance she would have to cane her daughters, at least for the present, and she resolved to make the most of it. If possible the C3 canings were even harder than those of C1 and C2. Despite their best efforts, after the first stroke the girls were again screaming, yelling, sobbing deeply and rhythmically and begging me for mercy. Instead they both got a third set of tightly bunched, livid, red and blue indentations cut into their naked, plump nubile arse meat, right across the back of their dark, hairy twats. The more that they screamed, and the more that they yelled, the harder Jo brought down that cane. What with the constant pauses that were necessary for the girls to regain a modicum of self control the canings took more than half an hour. For me this was half an hour of leering helplessly at bare quivering bum cheeks, naked flailing legs, and dark, nubile, hairy twats.
When she had inflicted the last stroke, Jo turned to me brightly, with a crafty smile on her face, and handed me the cane. “There you are, Bill. Keep this safe and keep it oiled. And if you catch these little madams thieving again, I hope you make it 6 canings not 3, and 12 cuts per caning not 6.” “Yes, OK, Jo,” I answered helplessly, “I will.” And at this thought my already rock hard cock came as close to orgasm as a cock can get without someone touching or rubbing it. Then Jo addressed her daughters. “My God, but you two little thieves have got off lightly,” she lied. “Now get back home before Mr. Baxter changes his mind.” And the girls made a sharp exit.
Even before her daughters had closed the door behind them Jo had come over to me. Without saying a word she threw her arms passionately around my neck and lifted her legs off the floor. She had caught me unawares, and we both tumbled onto the carpet in front of the cheerful and friendly glow of the gas fire. In an instant Jo had her tongue into my mouth for what was, I think, the deepest and longest French kiss that I have ever enjoyed. Meanwhile she had my belt and flies undone and my trousers and underpants down around my knees. “Hey, you’re no going to cane ME on the bare bum, are you?” I asked playfully. “Chance would be a fine thing,” replied my lover archly. Then she resumed her French kiss and started to work on my engorged and excited cock with the skilful fingers of her right hand. Then, at last, the French kiss ended. Jo bent down and took my cock in her mouth. Then she fellated me with her lips, her tongue, and her teeth with consummate confidence, skill and aplomb.
© Big Billie 2003. Not to be distributed or sold for monetary gain.
Thursday, 14 February 2013
Kinky Valentines Day
Just back from a lovely meal out and now it is time to make my lady smile in the most lovely way possible with a bit of kinky fun. It has been a fantastic day already and it is only get better. A wonderful card and a amazing present all from a special lady.
Where ever you are I hope you are all having a kinky Valentines Day and you are spending it with the one you love. Have a great day and a special evening.
Wednesday, 13 February 2013
Pictures - Woman in Bondage
It has been a few days since the last post and life has been busy for me. I always hope I can do a post a day but that hasn't happened this week and I'm sorry for that. Anyway onto a subject I love but have hardly touched on and that is bondage.
Hopefully as time moves on I will post on the subject, but for now here is some pictures to wet you appetite. I can assure you it it is great fun if you haven't tried it. Great for spanking and a whole lot more and one of the things I really enjoy from a dominate point of view.
Hopefully as time moves on I will post on the subject, but for now here is some pictures to wet you appetite. I can assure you it it is great fun if you haven't tried it. Great for spanking and a whole lot more and one of the things I really enjoy from a dominate point of view.
Saturday, 9 February 2013
You have to love the Google search engine or hate it, in the past I have on the whole loved it, despite what they did to Usenet group search a few years ago that ruined it. That might be all about to change as I have started using other search engines for some of my searches.
Let me explain my move away from Google, and how it has occurred over the last few weeks, not long ago you could do an image search on a erotic subject and find thousands of hits, all of which matched what you were looking for as long as you turned off the safe filter. Now the same search, with the same settings, tends to come up with far less erotic results.
Something has changed on Goggle in the UK, probably driven by the nanny state and the controlling right wing government and press we have at the moment. It becoming harder to find the pictures to post for tumblr and on the blog than it was in the past. This could be seen as a good thing by some, stopping people coming across images that feel aren't suitable for their eyes, but that is why they have the safe search filter. We don't need the state to get in the way of our kinks, we have rights as adults to view what we like.
Clearly there has to be safe guards for children on the internet but I question if it has to be done in away that hides things that people are looking for. Surely we are at a stage where we can write decent filtering software and have that in place on mobile devices as well as computers. It's not hard to set up such software in the home so it shouldn't be hard for the phone companies and ISP's do they same for those that want such filters on there internet connections for what ever reason. The one thing it shouldn't be is compulsory and put in place because of pressure from the nanny state. So to Google be strong and keep the internet free form censorship of acts that are legal.
Let me explain my move away from Google, and how it has occurred over the last few weeks, not long ago you could do an image search on a erotic subject and find thousands of hits, all of which matched what you were looking for as long as you turned off the safe filter. Now the same search, with the same settings, tends to come up with far less erotic results.
Something has changed on Goggle in the UK, probably driven by the nanny state and the controlling right wing government and press we have at the moment. It becoming harder to find the pictures to post for tumblr and on the blog than it was in the past. This could be seen as a good thing by some, stopping people coming across images that feel aren't suitable for their eyes, but that is why they have the safe search filter. We don't need the state to get in the way of our kinks, we have rights as adults to view what we like.
Clearly there has to be safe guards for children on the internet but I question if it has to be done in away that hides things that people are looking for. Surely we are at a stage where we can write decent filtering software and have that in place on mobile devices as well as computers. It's not hard to set up such software in the home so it shouldn't be hard for the phone companies and ISP's do they same for those that want such filters on there internet connections for what ever reason. The one thing it shouldn't be is compulsory and put in place because of pressure from the nanny state. So to Google be strong and keep the internet free form censorship of acts that are legal.
Friday, 8 February 2013
Story - The Eternal Triangle
Another post from the past, this time by Big Billie whose stories you can find at Alt Sex Stories Text Repository. It deals with school punishment which I don't agree with at all, expect in the form of role play between adults, however the Sally Trubshawe Henderson stories are rather good. I hope you enjoy this weeks story.
Author's Statement: Big Billie is opposed to spanking and circumcision except for consenting adults. However, spanking and circumcision sexually excite him, so he writes about them.
My name is Sally Henderson, neé Trubshawe. From the early 1960s until the 1990s I was a teacher. For most of that time I taught gymnastics and geography at a small, select, girls boarding school in the southern counties of England. Soon after I took up my job there the headmistress, Miss Pargeter, appointed me the Dean of Discipline, and, when Miss Pargeter retired, I myself became the headmistress.
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You may, dear reader, recall some or all of this from my earlier reminiscences. You may also remember that, until I met my policeman husband, Dave, I was very sexually frustrated. As Dean of Discipline I found slippering young ladies' bottoms a sexual turn-on, and, for a while, I enjoyed a delicious, but highly illicit, sexual relationship with a young lady called Margaret Bushnell. But, as I have explained before, I was an unfaithful votaress of the sorority of Sappho, and I craved the sexual attentions of young men. This, of course, posed problems, since I was ensconced within the secure walls of an all-female academy. Therefore, every chance for relations with the opposite sex had to be swiftly and efficiently grasped; at the time the opportunity that I will now describe was far too good to miss, even though it has since brought me much emotional grief.
It was a late afternoon in January a few days after the start of the Spring Term. The day was bright and mild, with a light, pleasant, southerly wind that brought scurrying clouds and sunny intervals. By now the sun was setting, and it threw deep golden rays, almost horizontally, across the landscape.
Now the tennis courts are on the far side of the playing fields, at a considerable distance from the school. A separate hut therefore services them, and it contains not only changing rooms for the players, but also a large room that we use as storage space. I had gone to the tennis hut to retrieve something from this storeroom. I did not anticipate meeting anyone, since tennis was not in season, and the courts were not used, during the early months of the year. But this time I got a shock. The lock on the door was hanging on its clasp, open.
I immediately diagnosed mischief and decided to investigate. I opened the door as quickly and as quietly as I could, strode boldly into the hut and instituted a swift search before any malefactors would know what had hit them. I found the culprits in the storeroom. One of them was a 14-year-old girl from the Third Year called Annie Kemp. In the sunlight that streamed through the window I could see that she was completely naked, and that a young man in a similar condition accompanied her. The couple had made a bed out of some padded gym mats from the store, and they were lying on this, clasped in a passionate embrace. What held me entranced and spellbound, however, was the sight of the young man's cock. It was stiff and rock hard, with the skin pulled so tightly down the shaft that it glistened in the rays of the setting sun.
Unfortunately, however, it did not stay long in this condition. The young man was jolted out of his sexual pleasure by my appearance at the door, and soon his cock was hanging, engorged but flaccid, against his thigh.
Well, dear reader, spanking has been an important part of my life, and in those days I always tried to carry my slipper with me in case it was needed for the execution of summary acts of retributive justice. Luckily for me, and unluckily for the two lovebirds, I had it to hand on this occasion, in a duffle bag that hung from my shoulder. So, wow, I thought. If I play my cards right here, this could get very interesting.
I started off by making the culprits stand, stark naked, in front of me. I then softened them up with a verbal roasting. I had seen Annie's paramour before, but I could not put a name to his face. He now told me, however, that he was called John Hankinson. He was 18 years old and attended a nearby male boarding school as a dayboy. The couple had met during a recent joint Shakespearian production between the two schools, and they had been smitten with each other. As I delivered GBH (grievous bodily harm) of the ear- hole to the two malefactors I seized the opportunity to eye up this naked, nubile male. He was thin, and, despite his tender years, very tall. I would say that he must have been at least 6 feet 2 inches, and he towered above Annie. The hair on his head was very fair, but around his cock it was a little darker. John had pale skin, but a complexion that was naturally ruddy. Now that he had been apprehended, he blushed a deep and very fetching colour, somewhere between scarlet and claret, from his chin to his eyes. John was quiet, unassuming and well spoken. He was also very nice, very pleasant, and very chivalrous towards Annie. All in all he was a fine and excellent young man, and I immediately lusted after him. Why, I thought to myself, should some scrawny little Third Year enjoy the pleasures of his favour while I was lying on my bed at night, frustrated and alone?
In his attempts to get Annie off the hook, John was a perfect gentleman. He freely confessed that it was all his idea, and his entire fault. It was he who had picked the lock to gain entrance, and he had persuaded Annie to go along with him. He loved Annie, and he just wanted to spend some time with her in private. But then they had both got carried away. It was, he added, as well that they had been interrupted or he might have done something that he would have regretted. "Yes, that's right, miss," chipped in Annie. "Nothing happened. I mean, John didn't do anything, did you, darling?"
Well, I thought to myself, that was a relief. I also had considerable sympathy for John and Annie. If I had been John I would have done exactly the same thing. There would have been exactly the same developments, and I would have been caught 'in flagrante delicto' in exactly the same way. I was therefore very tempted, as I have been on a number of similar occasions, to exercise discretion and to let the culprits go. But no! Hang on, I thought! That could never be. Here I was, a deeply frustrated female who loved spanking and sex. How could I avoid exploiting the possibilities of this situation, and of a handsome, completely naked young man, at the height of his sexual potency? I had to go for it, I concluded; and go for it I did, even though, in the end, my actions brought me grief.
First I introduced the subject of corporal punishment. How, I asked John, was his headmaster going to react to news of his escapade? "It will be six of the best for you, young man," I extemporised. "With a cane. Have you ever been caned?" "No ma'am." "Well I assure you that it will hurt like hell. You will be left with 6 deep livid, red and black bruised ridges cut into the fleshy meat of your backside that will take the best part of a week to 10 days to go away. Do you really want that?" "No, ma'am." "No. I bet you don't. And, in addition, you will almost certainly be expelled." I paused for dramatic effect. "Then," I added, "There will be the police and the criminal charges." "Criminal charges, ma'am?" John asked in dismay. "Oh yes!" I replied blithely. "You don't think that you can walk away from something like this with a mere caning and an expulsion, do you? The legal age for sex in England is 16. How old is Annie?" John blushed still more, and looked at the floor, discomfited. "Well," I urged. "Go on. Tell me." "She's 14, ma'am." "Quite. And how old are you?" "Eighteen, ma'am." "And you attempted intercourse with a 14-year-old girl?" "No, ma'am," replied John, and by now he was really frightened. "It wasn't like that." "So you say," I answered, but the police and the courts will look at the evidence. Good Lord, young man! You were caught red-handed, lying on a bed with a completely naked young lady. Don't tell me you were about to play tiddlywinks." At this point Annie, in a state of great agitation, made an emotional outburst. She gazed into my eyes and pleaded with me. "Please, miss," she cried. "Don't do that. Do anything but that. Do what you like to me, but don't punish John. I fancied him and I led him on. He doesn't deserve what you are threatening him with. Please! I love him. Don't have him caned and expelled, and don't turn him into a criminal."
Yes, I thought to myself. I like these two young people. They are good, decent eggs. They care deeply about each other. They are each trying to make it right for the other by taking the rap themselves; and the blame for this affecting scenario should rightly fall, not on these two young lovers, but on the school, which had arranged the joint Shakespearian production in the first place, and which had allowed kind occasion to prompt their warm desires. These young lovers, at a vulnerable time of their lives, had acted opposite each other as the leads in 'Romeo and Juliet,' one of the Bard's great tragedies, courtly and romantic. Could there be a more fertile ground for young love to blossom than in the passion and intensity of this moving drama? Even now our lovers were acting as Shakespearians, with dignity, nobility and altruism, despite the embarrassingly undignified situation in which they had been caught. All of these factors, I concluded, indicated that I should not be too harsh with our young thespians. But that did not mean that I should not spank them, and that I should not have myself a bit of fun!
"You say that, Annie," I replied. "And I accept that, despite your tender years, you are a fetching piece of Eve's flesh. But succumbing to the temptations of jailbait, however alluring, is not a defence that is acceptable to the courts." And so our interesting and stimulating discussions continued.
Eventually, having milked the situation for all it was worth, and for as long as I could, I told the two lovers what I intended to do with them. I wanted, I said, to avoid a scandal that would damage the reputations of the two schools, and that would put future joint dramatic productions in jeopardy. I would therefore try to cover things up provided that the two culprits were prepared to let me deal with them. I admitted to John and Annie that I had some sympathy for their plight. They were healthy young people. It was natural that they should both be interested in the opposite sex. It was not good for them to live in single sex institutions, and I could understand them going ape when they met each other. Annie might be only 14, but she did look older. Most important of all, I was prepared to accept their assurances that intercourse had not occurred. I was therefore going to be lenient with them. They would each be let off with a bare-bottomed spanking. Annie would take the standard dose for a Third Year girl, namely 8 slaps, and John would take the usual rap for an older pupil, namely 12 slaps.
I then took a piece of chalk from my bag and drew two crosses on the floor. The first cross was about 10 yards from the window and directly opposite to it. The second cross was about 4 or 5 yards closer to the window, and to the right of the first one. I then got Annie to stand on the second cross with her bottom towards the window, and John on the first cross facing the same way. "Now," I said. "Touch your toes, please, keeping your legs straight." My victims meekly and obediently complied with these instructions, and I took a few seconds to survey the sexy and kinky scenario that I had succeeded in setting up. The setting sun was shining through the window and illuminating the culprits' two bare bottoms.
Annie was a dark, slim, svelte girl, tall for her age. She had pert, firm, nubile breasts and a trim but curvaceous figure. Her bottom was deceptively meaty and, beneath and between its two cheeks, I noticed with satisfaction that, despite her youthfulness, a thick tousle of curly, crinkly black fanny hairs was already sprouting from and around her labial lips. As Annie bent over and stretched forward, the muscles and tendons in her legs and thighs were pulled tight and taut. This emphasised the shapeliness of her calves beautifully. Then, at the tops of her two inside thighs, where they became lost in the downwardly sprouting public hair of the vulva, there were two dimpling concave hollows, as if designed to allow a little more space for a big, round, cylindrical cock to ease its way into her unshaven haven. And what a stunning and alluring target there was between those two thigh hollows for a stiff male cock to aim at! Annie's legs were pushed together and her outer labia pouted slightly open to reveal a thin vertical line of serrated coral pink inner pussy skin. The serrations were delicate and tight, like the join line between the two half shells of an unopened oyster. Wow! How that excited my Sapphic proclivities! How I lusted to give those two pink lips of love a long, slow, wet, passionate French kiss! Oh, yes! Annie clearly still had some growing up to do, but, I concluded, there was already more than enough there to keep a healthy young male like John over-excited for the duration. Wow! I thought to myself. I bet John would just love to spear Annie's bearded clam; and the thought excited me, but also made me very, very jealous.
Then I turned my gaze onto Annie's young admirer. He was standing with his legs just slightly apart, and, illuminated by the late afternoon sunshine, I could clearly see, between his legs, his bollocks hanging in their hairy scrotal bag. As for John's bottom it was firm and tight, just the shape that a young man's bottom should be. In general, John was not a particularly hirsute person, but his long, thin, muscular legs were adorned with short fair hairs. Finally, I noted that John had fallen for the bait that I had dangled before him. Indeed, what healthy young man would not? As he bent over he was arching his neck and looking upwards, forwards and to the left, gazing intently at his girlfriend's legs, bum and hairy vulva.
I took my slipper in my hand and stood in position to chastise Annie. First, however, I decided to give her a few tail flicks to keep her on her toes. I flicked my wrist and slapped my trusty slipper across the back of Annie's hairy twat. Smack! The slap was not very hard, but, even so, within a few seconds it had left a sexy pink mark on Annie's undercarriage, just above her thighs, to match the thin coral pink line of her pouting pussy lips. "Come on, girl," I said sharply. "Bend over further. You know that is not good enough." And so on. Even though Annie was doing her best to present her rump to me as instructed I still dished out 4 of these preparatory pre-spanking tail flicks, all of them across the back of the fanny meat just above the thighs, and each one slightly harder than the one before it. In an attempt to stop this arbitrary extra chastisement Annie sweated, strained and grunted to bend over as far as she possibly could, pushing her fingers up to and past her toes. After the fourth slap she protested. "Please, miss," she pleaded helplessly. "I'm doing my best. I really am." Now this was what victims of my pre-spanking tail flicks often said, and I gave Annie one of my standard replies. Whack!! Four second pause. Whack!!! I delivered another two sharp flicks, slightly harder than the previous 4, and with number 6 just marginally harder than number 5. "Well your best is just not good enough, Annie," I explained testily. "When I catch you bending I expect you to co-operate; if you do not I will make you very, very sorry for yourself." Poor Annie! She grunted and winced at the flicks as she kept trying her very best to obey my orders.
Next I moved across to John. Smack! "Come {on, young man. Legs straight and touch your toes." Poor John! He was nowhere near as supple as Annie, and his legs were very long. Despite his grunts and groans he was still several inches short of complying with my injunction. Smack!! Four second wait. Smack!!! "Please ma'am," pleaded the victim helplessly. "I just can't do it. I've never been able to touch my toes." Smack!!! "Well now is the time to learn. Come on! Stretch!" And I placed my hand on the back of John's neck and gently pressed it towards the floor. Then, unfortunately for John, he made a mistake. Crack!!! Four second wait. Crack!!! Four second wait. Crack!!! I administered a further 3 gratuitous flicks to John's bare bum, and I flicked it pretty hard too! "Right, young man, now you have really annoyed me. You have touched your toes but you have bent your legs. What did I tell you?" "Please ma'am, I just can't do it. I'm sorry." So OK, I thought, I'll buy that. Let's stop arsing about and get on with the spanking proper.
"Right," I said to our two lovebirds. "Ladies first. You will take your first slap, Annie, and then John will take his. Then you will take your second, and so on. When you have taken your 8, stay in position and keep touching your toes. And you do the same, John, after you have taken your 12. Is that clear?" "Yes, miss," said Annie. "Yes ma'am," added John.
I then took up my stand again to the left of Annie's bare bum, with my slipper gripped firmly in my right hand. I stared long and hard at the thick clump of wiry black hair that sprouted indelicately and invitingly from Annie's pudenda. Now my younger readers may be surprised at the frequency of the references, in my memoirs, to hirsute fannies, and to hairy armpits. You may recall that in one of my narratives a cheeky girl tried to appear less nubile than she really was by shaving the hairs from off her underarms and cunt meat. Well, today it would be interesting to know how many young ladies have what the British Navy would refer to as "a full set" of armpit and pubic hairs. There are not many, I bet. These days, upon their crotches, many ladies sport the "LA cut," the "Brazilian cut," or any one of a number of other tonsorial styles to ensure that their fanny hair does not cause them embarrassment by sprouting from the gussets of their high cut bikini bottoms and similar. The same is true of armpit hair, which these days is usually cut off rather than left to hang free when ladies are wearing revealing tops. But in the 1960s things were different, with both fanny and armpit hair, and, as my husband Dave says on this one, "Long live the 1960s!" In those days, so distant to many of you but so familiar to my generation, it was the exception rather than the rule for a girl to pay overmuch attention either to her underarms or to her "bikini line." Certainly, Annie had ignored both her armpits and her hairy crotch. I could see, as she bent over, that her labial lips were completely unrazored. For a girl of her age, she had a magnificent tousle of thick, wiry black fanny curls sprouting saucily and jauntily from between and above the meaty undercarriage of her curvaceous bottom, the jet black hair setting off and highlighting the delicate pink pouting pussy lips.
For a few seconds I gawped helplessly at Annie's fanny, at her shapely buttocks and hairy crotch. Oh, wow, but she was sexy! I sometimes ask my husband, Dave, which view of a young lady turns him on the most. Dave says that there are 2 serious runners. The first is naked full frontal, or the "eyes and thighs" interactive view as Dave calls it. This is a democratic, egalitarian, politically correct view, in which the young lady can hold her admirer's attention with powerful eye contact, smiles and come hither expressions. The young man's eyes, however, against his will, begin to wander, and sooner or later he breaks off eye contact to ogle, leer and gawp at his paramour's nubile boobies, trim waist and belly button, meaty thighs and, in particular, hairy vulva and love slot. Then, embarrassed at his crude display of animal lust, he will gaze back full into his lover's eyes, sheepishly and slightly ashamed, and his partner will give him a tolerant and knowing smile that tells him, "Yes, I know. You men are all the same." There is no more romantic pose in which to catch a young lady, claims Dave, romantic but with more than a hint of sauciness.
However, Dave adds that if you want, not romance, but sheer animal lust, the sexiest view of a young lady is from the rear, while she is bending over. This is the authoritarian, undemocratic, non-female participative, non-interactive, male chauvinist, view, but it presents the lady's rump, hairy fanny, labial lips and cunt slot perfectly for meticulous male inspection. There is no eye contact, and the young lady cannot easily participate in the proceedings. It is the man who is calling the shots, and he it is who decides whether to enter her or not. Then, if he does, all that she can do is to brace herself and take it. It may not be a politically correct posture for the lady, adds Dave, but, for him, it stirs the loins and stiffens the cock more than any other.
Well, this was the aspect that Annie presented now, to me and to her lover, John. As he gazed forward to the right, and strained his neck to get a good view, I could see, as I stood at his side, that his cock was stiff and straight, pushing into his tummy as he bent forwards; and oh my, dear reader, did this annoy me! I was riled that Annie's vulva was so youthful, tight, nubile and sexy. In contrast (or so it seemed to me at the time) my own twat was ageing, used, second-hand, loose and stretched. Why, I thought, should this scrawny slip of a girl distil so much sexiness, and have so much sexual power over this young man? Despite her tender years, all she had to do was to bend over and show him the goods, and he was gagging for it. It was so effortless, almost arrogant, in its hegemonic force, and it made me very, very jealous, and very, very mad! Right, madam, I thought to myself, how dare you be sexier than I am! I will make you pay for that. I will punish you at the point of pulchritude. I will make your fanny meat tingle! I will wring, sting, and redden your naked cunt flesh right across the back of that tight, stunning little box of yours!
Of course, all of this was blatantly unfair on poor Annie. It was not her fault that God had fashioned her so wondrously. But, even so, it would be very demeaning for such a wonder of nature to get spanked like a naughty juvenile, and this would do her no harm. After all, we did not want her to get too conceited about her womanly charms and her power over young men! The only problem, of course, from my point of view, was that the harder I chastised Annie, and the redder I made her bottom, the more it was likely to turn John on to her! Hey ho! In this world there are times when you just cannot win!
But, again, dear reader, I fear that I am relapsing into long-windedness. Let me return to how I spanked our two lovebirds on that bright, sunny, winter's afternoon. First I pushed my trusty spanking slipper into the bare meat of Annie's fanny, just above the tops of her thighs where her bum flesh was plump and succulent, as I took careful aim. Next I raised the slipper high in the air and exulted in my triumph. Then round came my arm in a sharp, swift movement. CRACK!!! Oh, wow! That was more than me having myself a bit of fun! That was a really mean and spiteful one! As I have said, I was jealous that Annie should have this handsome and sexy young hunk for her use and enjoyment, and I made her tingle for it. The slap rang out like an exploding firecracker as my pump bit into the soft, plump meat across the back of Annie's twat. Her bum flesh shuddered and her black fanny hairs flew. "Ngh!" The victim let out an urgent grunt at the sharp initial sting of the pump across her bare bum. Then, over the next few seconds, as her bum began to tingle, Annie started to cry out, in great urgency, as if she were in the throes of an orgasm. "Oh! Oh!! Oh!!!"
Meanwhile I smiled in grim satisfaction to see the wicked red outline of my slipper, stamped into Annie's fanny meat right across the back of her hairy twat. It was as if my pump was a hot iron, and she had just been branded with it across her naked arse. "Take that," I thought. "You precocious young madam! So you are the girl are you? You're ready to take a cock up your twat are you? You're the sophisticated lady, old enough for the jousts of Venus? You're the 'femme fatale' with airs and graces, leading young men astray? I think not, my bonnie bird! You're an immature 14-year-old girl, and you need to be humbled and slapped back into line. There will be no stiff cock slapped between your naked buttocks! Instead, you will get a slipper slapped across them, and slapped across them hard!" Poor Annie! She was not only taking the punishment she deserved, she was also paying a saucy surcharge inflicted by a spiteful, envious and vindictive old hag!
I spent a long time admiring my handiwork to Annie's bare bum. Then I stepped backwards and to the left and positioned myself to commence John's chastisement. First I gazed with interest at his unclothed rump and nether regions. From behind I could see hairs around his crotch. Then, in addition, and unlike Annie, he also had a thin sprinkling of downy hairs on his legs and bottom. In proportion to the rest of his body, John's rump was smaller, trimmer and neater than Annie's, or, to put it another way, less voluptuous. But it was perfectly formed and very inviting. Then, hanging free below and between John's buttocks, I noticed his hairy scrotum encasing his balls and temporarily hiding his cock from my excited gaze. However, despite the erotic possibilities of the situation, John had caught me at a disadvantage. I had never slippered a young man's bare bottom before, and I did not know how best to proceed.
Now I should stress at this point that I have always been a very thoughtful disciplinarian. During our teacher training we were told to think constantly about what we did in the classroom, and to always try to do it better. Throughout my career I have done my best to live up to this principle. I have kept up-to-date with my classroom subject, Geography, right from the 1960s onwards, from the first mention of earth sciences, tectonic plates and so on in the official syllabus. I have also tried to use up- to-date teaching methods and to employ all the latest ideas and technologies.
I have always reflected upon disciplinary topics, too, especially the principles and practice of smacking bottoms. The psychology of spanking fascinates me. It always has done ever since, all those years ago in the West Indies, I first landed the flat sole of a large gentlemen's gym slipper slap across the naked, nubile buttocks of a beautiful teenaged lady. How many times, I have often asked myself, and how hard, should a young lady's bottom be smacked? Well, in my view, and as I explain more fully elsewhere, the bigger the bum, and the hairier its undercarriage, the sharper it should catch it. But there are a number of other factors to take into account. If the victim has riled me, for example by taking the piss or by being caught smoking, I make her feel my displeasure. If she tries to appear nonchalant about her punishment, if she does not grunt or wince in an appropriate fashion while it is inflicted, and if she does not pay me the courtesy of acknowledging my skill by ruefully rubbing her bottom afterwards, she catches it harder next time. To help me to fine tune my discipline, I observe my victims, and my audience, very carefully before, during and after the chastisements that I dish out. Girls are usually slippered at the end of gym classes. Afterwards, I always, whenever I get the chance, eye up the red marks that I have inflicted while the victims are in the communal showers. Some girls I do not slap as hard as others. For example, high spirits and harmless horseplay I can tolerate better than laziness and lack of effort. If a girl is an occasional, as opposed to a frequent, offender, or if she is fearful of the pump, or shows signs of distress after she has taken it, I usually try to go easy on her. Since my marriage to Dave I have talked over these issues with him, with a view to improving my disciplinary practices. I could write at great length on this subject, and I may do, perhaps, later in these reminiscences. What I did not realise at first, however, is that some girls enjoy being spanked. I remember, over the years, a number of young ladies, often among the brightest, most hard working and most pleasant in the school, who always seemed to be getting into hot water. It was some time before I realised that these ladies liked to take the slipper just as much as I liked to dish it out. In the modern parlance, I suppose, I am a "top," and it took me some time to work out that there were people who enjoyed being "bottoms." When I caught on, however, I was intrigued and delighted at my discovery, and from then on I tried as hard as I could to identify all "bottoms" and to give them slightly more satisfaction than they wanted!
Anyway, I have spent too long on this, and I must move on. I mention it now because for someone who took spanking as seriously as me it was disconcerting to be faced with a completely new and unknown challenge in the shape of a nubile, naked, male bottom. Anyway, despite my ignorance and lack of experience, I decided to give it my best shot. I pushed my slipper into John's firm, taut bum flesh to get my bearings. Then I raised the slipper into the air. Next, as with Annie a few seconds before, I got mad. How dare this young man fancy a scrawny 14-year-old nymphette rather than me! Here I was, a mature, sophisticated and experienced lady, ready, willing and able for Aphroditic antics. Yet the young man who bent naked before me had had the effrontery to dally with a mere slip of a girl, a gauche, callow virgin half my age! For that, I resolved, he must be made to sting! I let the anger and outrage well up inside me, and then, just as it reached its peak, I let John have it, and I let him have it very hard, straight across the naked bum flesh of both bare buttocks, just above the tops of his thighs. Swish! Crack!!!
At first John took his slap manfully, and in complete silence. I listened carefully, but I could detect no sign of a grunt or a cry; but his buttock meat shuddered invitingly, the blond, downy hairs of his bum fluff were scattered by the breeze, and, at the force of the blow, his bollocks swung gently backwards and then forwards again in their hairy scrotal bag. I watched John's undercarriage intently where I had just hit it. After about 4 seconds it flushed a fetching shade of deep pink. I knew that at this point the sharp initial sting inflicted by my pump would be supplemented by a sharp and urgent tingling, and I was interested in how John would react to this. I was not to be disappointed. John was taking his medicine bravely and stoically, but he was not expecting this sizzling encore, and he found it impossible to take it in silence. "Oh! Oh!! OH!!! Aaaaaaw!" he murmured helplessly.
Gratified by John's reaction I stepped forward and to my right, towards Annie. I addressed her undercarriage for a second time with my trusty gym slipper. Then I raised the slipper high into the air and brought it down and round again. For a second time it slapped across the back of Annie's beleaguered twat meat with a loud, high-pitched crack. Annie let out an urgent little scream followed, a few seconds later, by a long, loud yell as she reacted to the sharp, escalating tingling: "Ouch! Aaaaiiiyeeee!!!" Meanwhile I had moved backwards and to the left and was addressing John's rump again.
And so, dear reader, it went on, until my two victims had both taken their stipulated penalty, Annie her 8 slaps and John his 12. I fully vented my spleen on them, {nd purged my outraged pride. I smacked them both hard, right slap across their bare, quivering, reddening buttocks. Neither victim was able to take the punishment in silence, and, to my amusement and satisfaction, they both uttered a series of interesting and diverting grunts and cries. Then I made them put their hands on their heads, straighten up, and stand to attention. In fact, John stood to attention in more ways than one. From his vantage point to the rear of his paramour he had an excellent view of her bare, reddened, well-smacked bum, and it seemed to seriously excite him. His cock was still rock hard and standing high and erect. I kept the lovebirds in this position for 10 minutes, to let them feel the full stinging and tingling effects of their chastisement, and at the end of that time John's cock was just as engorged as it had been to start with. Then, to hide John's embarrassing tumescence from Annie, I ordered him to stand in the corner of the room that lay behind him and to his left, with his face to the wall. Next I told Annie to get dressed and get back into school. At this instruction Annie took her hands off her head and massaged her bum flesh, gingerly and ruefully, for about 30 seconds, with her fingers and opened palms. Then she pulled on her clothing and her shoes and made off, giving John's bare, reddened bum a long, lingering stare as she went.
Right, I thought to myself. That has got rid of her. Now comes the really interesting bit. And I pondered on how I should play out my part in this fleeting little scene, acted out on this bank and shoal of time, in England's beautiful southern counties in the mid-1960s. For in this little drama Annie was no longer my pupil, and I was not her teacher. Our roles were for the moment changed. Annie was my rival in love, and I was the scheming, calculating other woman who intended to take her man off her and get him for myself. Well, I thought, I do not seem to have made a bad start. After all, how many ladies reading this now would not like to smack the bare bottom of a romantic rival, hard, and then contemptuously dismiss her!
On the other hand, I was torn. I knew that I was seriously abusing my professional position. I lusted after John passionately, and I knew I was about to try my hardest to seduce him. Was this right? I asked myself, and the answer that my conscience gave to me was No. Then I recalled how the lovebirds had looked when I had first apprehended them, mutually entwined in a naked embrace. They were so innocent, so beautiful and so charming. Throughout all of the eons of recorded time until now they had both been dead and unformed. Then they had spent their early years growing to sexual puberty. Now that, at last, they were nubile and sexually aware, who could blame them for taking their chances? I called to mind the words of the Shakespearian song:
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty; Youth's a stuff will not endure.
What had they done that was bad? Was it wrong for young men to court young ladies, and for young ladies to respond to their advances? No, what was wrong was my plan to thwart their love, and to impose my own selfish agenda upon their lives. But, dear reader, what force have moral scruples when they are confronted by urgent sexual desires? In the future, these matters were to cause me great grief; but for the present I tried to exploit the sexual opportunities that were dangled so invitingly before me.
My target was still standing in a corner, bare naked, with his face to the wall. "John," I said, and I now sounded gentle and considerate. "Yes, ma'am." "Come here, please." "Yes, ma'am." Still with his hands on his head, John turned from his corner and walked over to me. He stopped in front of me, looking very embarrassed. I looked steadily into his eyes. "O.K.", I said sympathetically. "You can take your hands off your head now." "Thank you, ma'am," said John as he obeyed my instructions. Meanwhile, we were both connecting to each other with powerful eye contact. I smiled sweetly and took a step backwards. Then I looked down at John's cock. Good. It was still stiff and rampant, tugging upwards and standing almost vertical against his belly button.
Then I took a risk. I extended my right hand horizontally from my waist and, with my fingernail, gently scratched the underside of John's cock, just below his glans. I was fearful that John would recoil in shock and horror, but he did not. Instead his cock leapt to my arousing touch, and he sucked in air with an audible gasp. "Ooooh!" he breathed ecstatically. Then I grinned impishly. "My, my, young man," I said. "You have been circumcised." And I gave the underneath of his cock another tweaking scratch with my nail, causing John to catch his breath yet again. Meanwhile, we continued to engage each other with steady, almost obsessive, eye contact. "Very tightly," I added pertly as I tweaked him for a third time. "I like that." Meanwhile, John's cock, if anything, went even stiffer. It was now as stiff as a cock can be without exploding into orgasm. John continued to look very embarrassed, but he kept up his relentless eye contact, as if I held him in a spell.
So, O.K., I thought. It is now or never. I was afraid that if I broke eye contact the moment would be lost, so I kept it up. At the same time I tugged down my training bottoms and panties. Then I took John's cock in my hands and pulled it towards my vulva. By now I was hot and wet, and, wherever this ended, I knew that I had to go on.
In fact, although I was fearful of resistance it never came. John had been so excited by Annie's charms, and by the kinkiness of their mutual punishment, that he was as hot as I was. I did not need to complete the process of guiding his love truncheon to my pussy slot. He suddenly embraced me with a tenderness that shocked me, and kissed me, gently but passionately, on the lips. Then, bending his knees to bring his cock to the height of my crotch, he gently eased his stiffened shaft into me. Since I had not led a particularly chaste life, my love channel presented no problems of tightness or inadequacy, and John slipped into it easily.
Meanwhile, I was shocked at how tender and gentle my young lover was with me. I had rudely rattled his arse for him, and I was expecting his lovemaking to be just as brusque: wham, bam, thank you ma'am. But, oh no, dear reader, it was not. "Come on," I said quietly. "Let's lie down." So we lay down together on the same bed of padded gym mats where I had found John with Annie. Soon I was as naked as John was, and we were engaged in long, passionate, but also gentle, considerate and romantic, coitus.
Oh my, dear reader. That was so much better than what I had been expecting, but it was to cause me pain. As I have intimated elsewhere in these memoirs, if only there were such a thing as an uncomplicated fuck. Spanking is usually a one-off. A nubile young lady has been naughty. I smack her bottom for her, which I thoroughly enjoy, and then it is over. If she is big and succulent (or even if she is not) I hope to catch her bending again; but, if it does not happen, well, there are plenty more fish in the sea. But romantic relationships, and sexual coitus, are not like that, at least not for me, and they never have been. As I lay down with John on those gym mats I was beset by guilt and I was thinking in terms of a sharp exit from the situation. I wanted a single, brief, hot, passionate act of coitus, after which I would tenderly kiss him, thank him, hand him back to Annie, and get on with my life. And I thought that was what would happen. After all, John, at 18 years of age, was at his sexual peak. He was inexperienced, a virgin in fact, so I did not expect him to be a particularly skilful or effective lover. But at least, I thought, he could give me a quick bonk. I was so sexually excited that it would not take much for him to bring me off. Then it would all be over, and I would be able to look back, wistfully, on a brief but very amusing and sexy encounter that had featured my 2 greatest passions, namely spanking and sex.
But no, dear reader, that is not what happened; that is not what happened at all. John and I lay on those gym mats for more than 3 hours, for so long, in fact, that I missed the evening meal. My lover was young and virile, but also polite, gentlemanly and unselfish. He had four orgasms before we arose, but he seemed less interested in them than in pleasuring me. On a purely physical level, I emerged as a very well fucked, and a very well satisfied lady. But, of course, it was much more than purely physical. I was enchanted and captivated by this excellent young man. Ever the professional educator, I tried to thank John by acting out the "older experienced woman teaches young male virgin how it is done" role. Yes, O.K., John did rise from those gym mats a wiser and more sexually competent lover; but to both him and me that was not what it was mainly about.
For the last hour we just cuddled and talked, and I was amazed at how gentle and considerate my lover was towards me, especially since I had been so forceful and violent towards him and Annie. By now I was utterly mortified at how I had treated the lovebirds, and completely thrown off balance. I just did not know how to play it any more, but I concluded that I owed it to John to be open and honest with him. I apologised to him for the spankings, and I explained how and why they were not purely disciplinary. John replied that he was flattered by my sexual interest, that Annie and he had deserved all they got, and that he bore me no ill will but, in fact, the precise opposite. Before we parted, I extolled Annie, and recommended John to pursue his relationship with her; but the advice did not come from my heart. We parted as lovers, even though we made no arrangements for another tryst.
Even after all of these years, dear reader, I am thrown into palpitations and confusion by this narrative that I am writing. I was in such an emotional state after John left me that I could scarcely concentrate upon my official duties.
By the time that all of this occurred I had moved out of my rooms in the main school building, and into a small cottage in the grounds. On the next Sunday morning, at about 11 o'clock, I was in the kitchen of the cottage dolefully munching breakfast cereal and morosely pondering on my romantic predicament. Then I heard a light tapping on the window. When I looked to see what it was, my hackles stood on end and my heart pounded fiercely against my ribcage; it was John. Luckily, a high privet hedge surrounded the cottage garden, so I was able to let him in unobserved. Even so, I quickly smuggled him upstairs, where callers would not see him.
Well, in the bedroom John and I had another long talk. From what he said it sounded as if he was even more emotionally distressed than me by our recent sexual encounter; I was his obsession, he said, and he could think of nothing else. Yet again I admitted that his feelings were reciprocated, but I added that it could never be. I was about 10 years older than him and for all sorts of reasons it just would not work out. During my life I have had a lot of heart-to-heart talks with my various lovers; but none of them was so distressing and so emotionally fraught as that session with John.
However, the inevitable happened. On that winter Sunday John and I ended up in bed together; and we spent a lot more time in the same bed from January until the following October and beyond. John's 19th birthday fell in the February of that year; he had already gained a State Scholarship from his A Level performance as an 18-year-old the previous summer, and at Christmas he had past the entrance examinations for Cambridge University. Thus, although my lover was staying on at school to complete his duties as house captain, etc., he had not been entered for any forthcoming examinations and was under no pressures. Wow! The situation was perfect for us, and our romantic attachment blossomed during a very long, hot summer. Our lovemaking was fierce, but our romantic relationship was tender. Like me, John was beset with guilt. He should never have called at the cottage, he said, and it was wrong that we were lovers; typically, he was particularly upset about Annie, to whom he was still very attached. Sometimes he tried to make light of it. He had been very naughty, he would say, and I could spank him if I liked; well, I did, of course, but only playfully and as part of our lovemaking.
My relationship with John is one that has never ended. My lover went up to Cambridge that autumn, but we still kept in touch. I will not tell you the whole story of the relationships between John, Annie and me; but suffice to say that, inevitably in the end, I got my emotional comeuppance. If only John had been a bastard it would have been so much easier. But, of course, he was not. Do you not agree, ladies, that it is very often the nice ones who break your heart? Every year John and Annie send Dave and me a Christmas card, and every time it arrives I am punished again for the sins of my youth.
© Big Billie 2003. Not to be distributed or sold for monetary gain.
John, Annie and Sally: The Eternal Triangle
Author's Statement: Big Billie is opposed to spanking and circumcision except for consenting adults. However, spanking and circumcision sexually excite him, so he writes about them.
My name is Sally Henderson, neé Trubshawe. From the early 1960s until the 1990s I was a teacher. For most of that time I taught gymnastics and geography at a small, select, girls boarding school in the southern counties of England. Soon after I took up my job there the headmistress, Miss Pargeter, appointed me the Dean of Discipline, and, when Miss Pargeter retired, I myself became the headmistress.
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You may, dear reader, recall some or all of this from my earlier reminiscences. You may also remember that, until I met my policeman husband, Dave, I was very sexually frustrated. As Dean of Discipline I found slippering young ladies' bottoms a sexual turn-on, and, for a while, I enjoyed a delicious, but highly illicit, sexual relationship with a young lady called Margaret Bushnell. But, as I have explained before, I was an unfaithful votaress of the sorority of Sappho, and I craved the sexual attentions of young men. This, of course, posed problems, since I was ensconced within the secure walls of an all-female academy. Therefore, every chance for relations with the opposite sex had to be swiftly and efficiently grasped; at the time the opportunity that I will now describe was far too good to miss, even though it has since brought me much emotional grief.
It was a late afternoon in January a few days after the start of the Spring Term. The day was bright and mild, with a light, pleasant, southerly wind that brought scurrying clouds and sunny intervals. By now the sun was setting, and it threw deep golden rays, almost horizontally, across the landscape.
Now the tennis courts are on the far side of the playing fields, at a considerable distance from the school. A separate hut therefore services them, and it contains not only changing rooms for the players, but also a large room that we use as storage space. I had gone to the tennis hut to retrieve something from this storeroom. I did not anticipate meeting anyone, since tennis was not in season, and the courts were not used, during the early months of the year. But this time I got a shock. The lock on the door was hanging on its clasp, open.
I immediately diagnosed mischief and decided to investigate. I opened the door as quickly and as quietly as I could, strode boldly into the hut and instituted a swift search before any malefactors would know what had hit them. I found the culprits in the storeroom. One of them was a 14-year-old girl from the Third Year called Annie Kemp. In the sunlight that streamed through the window I could see that she was completely naked, and that a young man in a similar condition accompanied her. The couple had made a bed out of some padded gym mats from the store, and they were lying on this, clasped in a passionate embrace. What held me entranced and spellbound, however, was the sight of the young man's cock. It was stiff and rock hard, with the skin pulled so tightly down the shaft that it glistened in the rays of the setting sun.
Unfortunately, however, it did not stay long in this condition. The young man was jolted out of his sexual pleasure by my appearance at the door, and soon his cock was hanging, engorged but flaccid, against his thigh.
Well, dear reader, spanking has been an important part of my life, and in those days I always tried to carry my slipper with me in case it was needed for the execution of summary acts of retributive justice. Luckily for me, and unluckily for the two lovebirds, I had it to hand on this occasion, in a duffle bag that hung from my shoulder. So, wow, I thought. If I play my cards right here, this could get very interesting.
I started off by making the culprits stand, stark naked, in front of me. I then softened them up with a verbal roasting. I had seen Annie's paramour before, but I could not put a name to his face. He now told me, however, that he was called John Hankinson. He was 18 years old and attended a nearby male boarding school as a dayboy. The couple had met during a recent joint Shakespearian production between the two schools, and they had been smitten with each other. As I delivered GBH (grievous bodily harm) of the ear- hole to the two malefactors I seized the opportunity to eye up this naked, nubile male. He was thin, and, despite his tender years, very tall. I would say that he must have been at least 6 feet 2 inches, and he towered above Annie. The hair on his head was very fair, but around his cock it was a little darker. John had pale skin, but a complexion that was naturally ruddy. Now that he had been apprehended, he blushed a deep and very fetching colour, somewhere between scarlet and claret, from his chin to his eyes. John was quiet, unassuming and well spoken. He was also very nice, very pleasant, and very chivalrous towards Annie. All in all he was a fine and excellent young man, and I immediately lusted after him. Why, I thought to myself, should some scrawny little Third Year enjoy the pleasures of his favour while I was lying on my bed at night, frustrated and alone?
In his attempts to get Annie off the hook, John was a perfect gentleman. He freely confessed that it was all his idea, and his entire fault. It was he who had picked the lock to gain entrance, and he had persuaded Annie to go along with him. He loved Annie, and he just wanted to spend some time with her in private. But then they had both got carried away. It was, he added, as well that they had been interrupted or he might have done something that he would have regretted. "Yes, that's right, miss," chipped in Annie. "Nothing happened. I mean, John didn't do anything, did you, darling?"
Well, I thought to myself, that was a relief. I also had considerable sympathy for John and Annie. If I had been John I would have done exactly the same thing. There would have been exactly the same developments, and I would have been caught 'in flagrante delicto' in exactly the same way. I was therefore very tempted, as I have been on a number of similar occasions, to exercise discretion and to let the culprits go. But no! Hang on, I thought! That could never be. Here I was, a deeply frustrated female who loved spanking and sex. How could I avoid exploiting the possibilities of this situation, and of a handsome, completely naked young man, at the height of his sexual potency? I had to go for it, I concluded; and go for it I did, even though, in the end, my actions brought me grief.
First I introduced the subject of corporal punishment. How, I asked John, was his headmaster going to react to news of his escapade? "It will be six of the best for you, young man," I extemporised. "With a cane. Have you ever been caned?" "No ma'am." "Well I assure you that it will hurt like hell. You will be left with 6 deep livid, red and black bruised ridges cut into the fleshy meat of your backside that will take the best part of a week to 10 days to go away. Do you really want that?" "No, ma'am." "No. I bet you don't. And, in addition, you will almost certainly be expelled." I paused for dramatic effect. "Then," I added, "There will be the police and the criminal charges." "Criminal charges, ma'am?" John asked in dismay. "Oh yes!" I replied blithely. "You don't think that you can walk away from something like this with a mere caning and an expulsion, do you? The legal age for sex in England is 16. How old is Annie?" John blushed still more, and looked at the floor, discomfited. "Well," I urged. "Go on. Tell me." "She's 14, ma'am." "Quite. And how old are you?" "Eighteen, ma'am." "And you attempted intercourse with a 14-year-old girl?" "No, ma'am," replied John, and by now he was really frightened. "It wasn't like that." "So you say," I answered, but the police and the courts will look at the evidence. Good Lord, young man! You were caught red-handed, lying on a bed with a completely naked young lady. Don't tell me you were about to play tiddlywinks." At this point Annie, in a state of great agitation, made an emotional outburst. She gazed into my eyes and pleaded with me. "Please, miss," she cried. "Don't do that. Do anything but that. Do what you like to me, but don't punish John. I fancied him and I led him on. He doesn't deserve what you are threatening him with. Please! I love him. Don't have him caned and expelled, and don't turn him into a criminal."
Yes, I thought to myself. I like these two young people. They are good, decent eggs. They care deeply about each other. They are each trying to make it right for the other by taking the rap themselves; and the blame for this affecting scenario should rightly fall, not on these two young lovers, but on the school, which had arranged the joint Shakespearian production in the first place, and which had allowed kind occasion to prompt their warm desires. These young lovers, at a vulnerable time of their lives, had acted opposite each other as the leads in 'Romeo and Juliet,' one of the Bard's great tragedies, courtly and romantic. Could there be a more fertile ground for young love to blossom than in the passion and intensity of this moving drama? Even now our lovers were acting as Shakespearians, with dignity, nobility and altruism, despite the embarrassingly undignified situation in which they had been caught. All of these factors, I concluded, indicated that I should not be too harsh with our young thespians. But that did not mean that I should not spank them, and that I should not have myself a bit of fun!
"You say that, Annie," I replied. "And I accept that, despite your tender years, you are a fetching piece of Eve's flesh. But succumbing to the temptations of jailbait, however alluring, is not a defence that is acceptable to the courts." And so our interesting and stimulating discussions continued.
Eventually, having milked the situation for all it was worth, and for as long as I could, I told the two lovers what I intended to do with them. I wanted, I said, to avoid a scandal that would damage the reputations of the two schools, and that would put future joint dramatic productions in jeopardy. I would therefore try to cover things up provided that the two culprits were prepared to let me deal with them. I admitted to John and Annie that I had some sympathy for their plight. They were healthy young people. It was natural that they should both be interested in the opposite sex. It was not good for them to live in single sex institutions, and I could understand them going ape when they met each other. Annie might be only 14, but she did look older. Most important of all, I was prepared to accept their assurances that intercourse had not occurred. I was therefore going to be lenient with them. They would each be let off with a bare-bottomed spanking. Annie would take the standard dose for a Third Year girl, namely 8 slaps, and John would take the usual rap for an older pupil, namely 12 slaps.
I then took a piece of chalk from my bag and drew two crosses on the floor. The first cross was about 10 yards from the window and directly opposite to it. The second cross was about 4 or 5 yards closer to the window, and to the right of the first one. I then got Annie to stand on the second cross with her bottom towards the window, and John on the first cross facing the same way. "Now," I said. "Touch your toes, please, keeping your legs straight." My victims meekly and obediently complied with these instructions, and I took a few seconds to survey the sexy and kinky scenario that I had succeeded in setting up. The setting sun was shining through the window and illuminating the culprits' two bare bottoms.
Annie was a dark, slim, svelte girl, tall for her age. She had pert, firm, nubile breasts and a trim but curvaceous figure. Her bottom was deceptively meaty and, beneath and between its two cheeks, I noticed with satisfaction that, despite her youthfulness, a thick tousle of curly, crinkly black fanny hairs was already sprouting from and around her labial lips. As Annie bent over and stretched forward, the muscles and tendons in her legs and thighs were pulled tight and taut. This emphasised the shapeliness of her calves beautifully. Then, at the tops of her two inside thighs, where they became lost in the downwardly sprouting public hair of the vulva, there were two dimpling concave hollows, as if designed to allow a little more space for a big, round, cylindrical cock to ease its way into her unshaven haven. And what a stunning and alluring target there was between those two thigh hollows for a stiff male cock to aim at! Annie's legs were pushed together and her outer labia pouted slightly open to reveal a thin vertical line of serrated coral pink inner pussy skin. The serrations were delicate and tight, like the join line between the two half shells of an unopened oyster. Wow! How that excited my Sapphic proclivities! How I lusted to give those two pink lips of love a long, slow, wet, passionate French kiss! Oh, yes! Annie clearly still had some growing up to do, but, I concluded, there was already more than enough there to keep a healthy young male like John over-excited for the duration. Wow! I thought to myself. I bet John would just love to spear Annie's bearded clam; and the thought excited me, but also made me very, very jealous.
Then I turned my gaze onto Annie's young admirer. He was standing with his legs just slightly apart, and, illuminated by the late afternoon sunshine, I could clearly see, between his legs, his bollocks hanging in their hairy scrotal bag. As for John's bottom it was firm and tight, just the shape that a young man's bottom should be. In general, John was not a particularly hirsute person, but his long, thin, muscular legs were adorned with short fair hairs. Finally, I noted that John had fallen for the bait that I had dangled before him. Indeed, what healthy young man would not? As he bent over he was arching his neck and looking upwards, forwards and to the left, gazing intently at his girlfriend's legs, bum and hairy vulva.
I took my slipper in my hand and stood in position to chastise Annie. First, however, I decided to give her a few tail flicks to keep her on her toes. I flicked my wrist and slapped my trusty slipper across the back of Annie's hairy twat. Smack! The slap was not very hard, but, even so, within a few seconds it had left a sexy pink mark on Annie's undercarriage, just above her thighs, to match the thin coral pink line of her pouting pussy lips. "Come on, girl," I said sharply. "Bend over further. You know that is not good enough." And so on. Even though Annie was doing her best to present her rump to me as instructed I still dished out 4 of these preparatory pre-spanking tail flicks, all of them across the back of the fanny meat just above the thighs, and each one slightly harder than the one before it. In an attempt to stop this arbitrary extra chastisement Annie sweated, strained and grunted to bend over as far as she possibly could, pushing her fingers up to and past her toes. After the fourth slap she protested. "Please, miss," she pleaded helplessly. "I'm doing my best. I really am." Now this was what victims of my pre-spanking tail flicks often said, and I gave Annie one of my standard replies. Whack!! Four second pause. Whack!!! I delivered another two sharp flicks, slightly harder than the previous 4, and with number 6 just marginally harder than number 5. "Well your best is just not good enough, Annie," I explained testily. "When I catch you bending I expect you to co-operate; if you do not I will make you very, very sorry for yourself." Poor Annie! She grunted and winced at the flicks as she kept trying her very best to obey my orders.
Next I moved across to John. Smack! "Come {on, young man. Legs straight and touch your toes." Poor John! He was nowhere near as supple as Annie, and his legs were very long. Despite his grunts and groans he was still several inches short of complying with my injunction. Smack!! Four second wait. Smack!!! "Please ma'am," pleaded the victim helplessly. "I just can't do it. I've never been able to touch my toes." Smack!!! "Well now is the time to learn. Come on! Stretch!" And I placed my hand on the back of John's neck and gently pressed it towards the floor. Then, unfortunately for John, he made a mistake. Crack!!! Four second wait. Crack!!! Four second wait. Crack!!! I administered a further 3 gratuitous flicks to John's bare bum, and I flicked it pretty hard too! "Right, young man, now you have really annoyed me. You have touched your toes but you have bent your legs. What did I tell you?" "Please ma'am, I just can't do it. I'm sorry." So OK, I thought, I'll buy that. Let's stop arsing about and get on with the spanking proper.
"Right," I said to our two lovebirds. "Ladies first. You will take your first slap, Annie, and then John will take his. Then you will take your second, and so on. When you have taken your 8, stay in position and keep touching your toes. And you do the same, John, after you have taken your 12. Is that clear?" "Yes, miss," said Annie. "Yes ma'am," added John.
I then took up my stand again to the left of Annie's bare bum, with my slipper gripped firmly in my right hand. I stared long and hard at the thick clump of wiry black hair that sprouted indelicately and invitingly from Annie's pudenda. Now my younger readers may be surprised at the frequency of the references, in my memoirs, to hirsute fannies, and to hairy armpits. You may recall that in one of my narratives a cheeky girl tried to appear less nubile than she really was by shaving the hairs from off her underarms and cunt meat. Well, today it would be interesting to know how many young ladies have what the British Navy would refer to as "a full set" of armpit and pubic hairs. There are not many, I bet. These days, upon their crotches, many ladies sport the "LA cut," the "Brazilian cut," or any one of a number of other tonsorial styles to ensure that their fanny hair does not cause them embarrassment by sprouting from the gussets of their high cut bikini bottoms and similar. The same is true of armpit hair, which these days is usually cut off rather than left to hang free when ladies are wearing revealing tops. But in the 1960s things were different, with both fanny and armpit hair, and, as my husband Dave says on this one, "Long live the 1960s!" In those days, so distant to many of you but so familiar to my generation, it was the exception rather than the rule for a girl to pay overmuch attention either to her underarms or to her "bikini line." Certainly, Annie had ignored both her armpits and her hairy crotch. I could see, as she bent over, that her labial lips were completely unrazored. For a girl of her age, she had a magnificent tousle of thick, wiry black fanny curls sprouting saucily and jauntily from between and above the meaty undercarriage of her curvaceous bottom, the jet black hair setting off and highlighting the delicate pink pouting pussy lips.
For a few seconds I gawped helplessly at Annie's fanny, at her shapely buttocks and hairy crotch. Oh, wow, but she was sexy! I sometimes ask my husband, Dave, which view of a young lady turns him on the most. Dave says that there are 2 serious runners. The first is naked full frontal, or the "eyes and thighs" interactive view as Dave calls it. This is a democratic, egalitarian, politically correct view, in which the young lady can hold her admirer's attention with powerful eye contact, smiles and come hither expressions. The young man's eyes, however, against his will, begin to wander, and sooner or later he breaks off eye contact to ogle, leer and gawp at his paramour's nubile boobies, trim waist and belly button, meaty thighs and, in particular, hairy vulva and love slot. Then, embarrassed at his crude display of animal lust, he will gaze back full into his lover's eyes, sheepishly and slightly ashamed, and his partner will give him a tolerant and knowing smile that tells him, "Yes, I know. You men are all the same." There is no more romantic pose in which to catch a young lady, claims Dave, romantic but with more than a hint of sauciness.
However, Dave adds that if you want, not romance, but sheer animal lust, the sexiest view of a young lady is from the rear, while she is bending over. This is the authoritarian, undemocratic, non-female participative, non-interactive, male chauvinist, view, but it presents the lady's rump, hairy fanny, labial lips and cunt slot perfectly for meticulous male inspection. There is no eye contact, and the young lady cannot easily participate in the proceedings. It is the man who is calling the shots, and he it is who decides whether to enter her or not. Then, if he does, all that she can do is to brace herself and take it. It may not be a politically correct posture for the lady, adds Dave, but, for him, it stirs the loins and stiffens the cock more than any other.
Well, this was the aspect that Annie presented now, to me and to her lover, John. As he gazed forward to the right, and strained his neck to get a good view, I could see, as I stood at his side, that his cock was stiff and straight, pushing into his tummy as he bent forwards; and oh my, dear reader, did this annoy me! I was riled that Annie's vulva was so youthful, tight, nubile and sexy. In contrast (or so it seemed to me at the time) my own twat was ageing, used, second-hand, loose and stretched. Why, I thought, should this scrawny slip of a girl distil so much sexiness, and have so much sexual power over this young man? Despite her tender years, all she had to do was to bend over and show him the goods, and he was gagging for it. It was so effortless, almost arrogant, in its hegemonic force, and it made me very, very jealous, and very, very mad! Right, madam, I thought to myself, how dare you be sexier than I am! I will make you pay for that. I will punish you at the point of pulchritude. I will make your fanny meat tingle! I will wring, sting, and redden your naked cunt flesh right across the back of that tight, stunning little box of yours!
Of course, all of this was blatantly unfair on poor Annie. It was not her fault that God had fashioned her so wondrously. But, even so, it would be very demeaning for such a wonder of nature to get spanked like a naughty juvenile, and this would do her no harm. After all, we did not want her to get too conceited about her womanly charms and her power over young men! The only problem, of course, from my point of view, was that the harder I chastised Annie, and the redder I made her bottom, the more it was likely to turn John on to her! Hey ho! In this world there are times when you just cannot win!
But, again, dear reader, I fear that I am relapsing into long-windedness. Let me return to how I spanked our two lovebirds on that bright, sunny, winter's afternoon. First I pushed my trusty spanking slipper into the bare meat of Annie's fanny, just above the tops of her thighs where her bum flesh was plump and succulent, as I took careful aim. Next I raised the slipper high in the air and exulted in my triumph. Then round came my arm in a sharp, swift movement. CRACK!!! Oh, wow! That was more than me having myself a bit of fun! That was a really mean and spiteful one! As I have said, I was jealous that Annie should have this handsome and sexy young hunk for her use and enjoyment, and I made her tingle for it. The slap rang out like an exploding firecracker as my pump bit into the soft, plump meat across the back of Annie's twat. Her bum flesh shuddered and her black fanny hairs flew. "Ngh!" The victim let out an urgent grunt at the sharp initial sting of the pump across her bare bum. Then, over the next few seconds, as her bum began to tingle, Annie started to cry out, in great urgency, as if she were in the throes of an orgasm. "Oh! Oh!! Oh!!!"
Meanwhile I smiled in grim satisfaction to see the wicked red outline of my slipper, stamped into Annie's fanny meat right across the back of her hairy twat. It was as if my pump was a hot iron, and she had just been branded with it across her naked arse. "Take that," I thought. "You precocious young madam! So you are the girl are you? You're ready to take a cock up your twat are you? You're the sophisticated lady, old enough for the jousts of Venus? You're the 'femme fatale' with airs and graces, leading young men astray? I think not, my bonnie bird! You're an immature 14-year-old girl, and you need to be humbled and slapped back into line. There will be no stiff cock slapped between your naked buttocks! Instead, you will get a slipper slapped across them, and slapped across them hard!" Poor Annie! She was not only taking the punishment she deserved, she was also paying a saucy surcharge inflicted by a spiteful, envious and vindictive old hag!
I spent a long time admiring my handiwork to Annie's bare bum. Then I stepped backwards and to the left and positioned myself to commence John's chastisement. First I gazed with interest at his unclothed rump and nether regions. From behind I could see hairs around his crotch. Then, in addition, and unlike Annie, he also had a thin sprinkling of downy hairs on his legs and bottom. In proportion to the rest of his body, John's rump was smaller, trimmer and neater than Annie's, or, to put it another way, less voluptuous. But it was perfectly formed and very inviting. Then, hanging free below and between John's buttocks, I noticed his hairy scrotum encasing his balls and temporarily hiding his cock from my excited gaze. However, despite the erotic possibilities of the situation, John had caught me at a disadvantage. I had never slippered a young man's bare bottom before, and I did not know how best to proceed.
Now I should stress at this point that I have always been a very thoughtful disciplinarian. During our teacher training we were told to think constantly about what we did in the classroom, and to always try to do it better. Throughout my career I have done my best to live up to this principle. I have kept up-to-date with my classroom subject, Geography, right from the 1960s onwards, from the first mention of earth sciences, tectonic plates and so on in the official syllabus. I have also tried to use up- to-date teaching methods and to employ all the latest ideas and technologies.
I have always reflected upon disciplinary topics, too, especially the principles and practice of smacking bottoms. The psychology of spanking fascinates me. It always has done ever since, all those years ago in the West Indies, I first landed the flat sole of a large gentlemen's gym slipper slap across the naked, nubile buttocks of a beautiful teenaged lady. How many times, I have often asked myself, and how hard, should a young lady's bottom be smacked? Well, in my view, and as I explain more fully elsewhere, the bigger the bum, and the hairier its undercarriage, the sharper it should catch it. But there are a number of other factors to take into account. If the victim has riled me, for example by taking the piss or by being caught smoking, I make her feel my displeasure. If she tries to appear nonchalant about her punishment, if she does not grunt or wince in an appropriate fashion while it is inflicted, and if she does not pay me the courtesy of acknowledging my skill by ruefully rubbing her bottom afterwards, she catches it harder next time. To help me to fine tune my discipline, I observe my victims, and my audience, very carefully before, during and after the chastisements that I dish out. Girls are usually slippered at the end of gym classes. Afterwards, I always, whenever I get the chance, eye up the red marks that I have inflicted while the victims are in the communal showers. Some girls I do not slap as hard as others. For example, high spirits and harmless horseplay I can tolerate better than laziness and lack of effort. If a girl is an occasional, as opposed to a frequent, offender, or if she is fearful of the pump, or shows signs of distress after she has taken it, I usually try to go easy on her. Since my marriage to Dave I have talked over these issues with him, with a view to improving my disciplinary practices. I could write at great length on this subject, and I may do, perhaps, later in these reminiscences. What I did not realise at first, however, is that some girls enjoy being spanked. I remember, over the years, a number of young ladies, often among the brightest, most hard working and most pleasant in the school, who always seemed to be getting into hot water. It was some time before I realised that these ladies liked to take the slipper just as much as I liked to dish it out. In the modern parlance, I suppose, I am a "top," and it took me some time to work out that there were people who enjoyed being "bottoms." When I caught on, however, I was intrigued and delighted at my discovery, and from then on I tried as hard as I could to identify all "bottoms" and to give them slightly more satisfaction than they wanted!
Anyway, I have spent too long on this, and I must move on. I mention it now because for someone who took spanking as seriously as me it was disconcerting to be faced with a completely new and unknown challenge in the shape of a nubile, naked, male bottom. Anyway, despite my ignorance and lack of experience, I decided to give it my best shot. I pushed my slipper into John's firm, taut bum flesh to get my bearings. Then I raised the slipper into the air. Next, as with Annie a few seconds before, I got mad. How dare this young man fancy a scrawny 14-year-old nymphette rather than me! Here I was, a mature, sophisticated and experienced lady, ready, willing and able for Aphroditic antics. Yet the young man who bent naked before me had had the effrontery to dally with a mere slip of a girl, a gauche, callow virgin half my age! For that, I resolved, he must be made to sting! I let the anger and outrage well up inside me, and then, just as it reached its peak, I let John have it, and I let him have it very hard, straight across the naked bum flesh of both bare buttocks, just above the tops of his thighs. Swish! Crack!!!
At first John took his slap manfully, and in complete silence. I listened carefully, but I could detect no sign of a grunt or a cry; but his buttock meat shuddered invitingly, the blond, downy hairs of his bum fluff were scattered by the breeze, and, at the force of the blow, his bollocks swung gently backwards and then forwards again in their hairy scrotal bag. I watched John's undercarriage intently where I had just hit it. After about 4 seconds it flushed a fetching shade of deep pink. I knew that at this point the sharp initial sting inflicted by my pump would be supplemented by a sharp and urgent tingling, and I was interested in how John would react to this. I was not to be disappointed. John was taking his medicine bravely and stoically, but he was not expecting this sizzling encore, and he found it impossible to take it in silence. "Oh! Oh!! OH!!! Aaaaaaw!" he murmured helplessly.
Gratified by John's reaction I stepped forward and to my right, towards Annie. I addressed her undercarriage for a second time with my trusty gym slipper. Then I raised the slipper high into the air and brought it down and round again. For a second time it slapped across the back of Annie's beleaguered twat meat with a loud, high-pitched crack. Annie let out an urgent little scream followed, a few seconds later, by a long, loud yell as she reacted to the sharp, escalating tingling: "Ouch! Aaaaiiiyeeee!!!" Meanwhile I had moved backwards and to the left and was addressing John's rump again.
And so, dear reader, it went on, until my two victims had both taken their stipulated penalty, Annie her 8 slaps and John his 12. I fully vented my spleen on them, {nd purged my outraged pride. I smacked them both hard, right slap across their bare, quivering, reddening buttocks. Neither victim was able to take the punishment in silence, and, to my amusement and satisfaction, they both uttered a series of interesting and diverting grunts and cries. Then I made them put their hands on their heads, straighten up, and stand to attention. In fact, John stood to attention in more ways than one. From his vantage point to the rear of his paramour he had an excellent view of her bare, reddened, well-smacked bum, and it seemed to seriously excite him. His cock was still rock hard and standing high and erect. I kept the lovebirds in this position for 10 minutes, to let them feel the full stinging and tingling effects of their chastisement, and at the end of that time John's cock was just as engorged as it had been to start with. Then, to hide John's embarrassing tumescence from Annie, I ordered him to stand in the corner of the room that lay behind him and to his left, with his face to the wall. Next I told Annie to get dressed and get back into school. At this instruction Annie took her hands off her head and massaged her bum flesh, gingerly and ruefully, for about 30 seconds, with her fingers and opened palms. Then she pulled on her clothing and her shoes and made off, giving John's bare, reddened bum a long, lingering stare as she went.
Right, I thought to myself. That has got rid of her. Now comes the really interesting bit. And I pondered on how I should play out my part in this fleeting little scene, acted out on this bank and shoal of time, in England's beautiful southern counties in the mid-1960s. For in this little drama Annie was no longer my pupil, and I was not her teacher. Our roles were for the moment changed. Annie was my rival in love, and I was the scheming, calculating other woman who intended to take her man off her and get him for myself. Well, I thought, I do not seem to have made a bad start. After all, how many ladies reading this now would not like to smack the bare bottom of a romantic rival, hard, and then contemptuously dismiss her!
On the other hand, I was torn. I knew that I was seriously abusing my professional position. I lusted after John passionately, and I knew I was about to try my hardest to seduce him. Was this right? I asked myself, and the answer that my conscience gave to me was No. Then I recalled how the lovebirds had looked when I had first apprehended them, mutually entwined in a naked embrace. They were so innocent, so beautiful and so charming. Throughout all of the eons of recorded time until now they had both been dead and unformed. Then they had spent their early years growing to sexual puberty. Now that, at last, they were nubile and sexually aware, who could blame them for taking their chances? I called to mind the words of the Shakespearian song:
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty; Youth's a stuff will not endure.
What had they done that was bad? Was it wrong for young men to court young ladies, and for young ladies to respond to their advances? No, what was wrong was my plan to thwart their love, and to impose my own selfish agenda upon their lives. But, dear reader, what force have moral scruples when they are confronted by urgent sexual desires? In the future, these matters were to cause me great grief; but for the present I tried to exploit the sexual opportunities that were dangled so invitingly before me.
My target was still standing in a corner, bare naked, with his face to the wall. "John," I said, and I now sounded gentle and considerate. "Yes, ma'am." "Come here, please." "Yes, ma'am." Still with his hands on his head, John turned from his corner and walked over to me. He stopped in front of me, looking very embarrassed. I looked steadily into his eyes. "O.K.", I said sympathetically. "You can take your hands off your head now." "Thank you, ma'am," said John as he obeyed my instructions. Meanwhile, we were both connecting to each other with powerful eye contact. I smiled sweetly and took a step backwards. Then I looked down at John's cock. Good. It was still stiff and rampant, tugging upwards and standing almost vertical against his belly button.
Then I took a risk. I extended my right hand horizontally from my waist and, with my fingernail, gently scratched the underside of John's cock, just below his glans. I was fearful that John would recoil in shock and horror, but he did not. Instead his cock leapt to my arousing touch, and he sucked in air with an audible gasp. "Ooooh!" he breathed ecstatically. Then I grinned impishly. "My, my, young man," I said. "You have been circumcised." And I gave the underneath of his cock another tweaking scratch with my nail, causing John to catch his breath yet again. Meanwhile, we continued to engage each other with steady, almost obsessive, eye contact. "Very tightly," I added pertly as I tweaked him for a third time. "I like that." Meanwhile, John's cock, if anything, went even stiffer. It was now as stiff as a cock can be without exploding into orgasm. John continued to look very embarrassed, but he kept up his relentless eye contact, as if I held him in a spell.
So, O.K., I thought. It is now or never. I was afraid that if I broke eye contact the moment would be lost, so I kept it up. At the same time I tugged down my training bottoms and panties. Then I took John's cock in my hands and pulled it towards my vulva. By now I was hot and wet, and, wherever this ended, I knew that I had to go on.
In fact, although I was fearful of resistance it never came. John had been so excited by Annie's charms, and by the kinkiness of their mutual punishment, that he was as hot as I was. I did not need to complete the process of guiding his love truncheon to my pussy slot. He suddenly embraced me with a tenderness that shocked me, and kissed me, gently but passionately, on the lips. Then, bending his knees to bring his cock to the height of my crotch, he gently eased his stiffened shaft into me. Since I had not led a particularly chaste life, my love channel presented no problems of tightness or inadequacy, and John slipped into it easily.
Meanwhile, I was shocked at how tender and gentle my young lover was with me. I had rudely rattled his arse for him, and I was expecting his lovemaking to be just as brusque: wham, bam, thank you ma'am. But, oh no, dear reader, it was not. "Come on," I said quietly. "Let's lie down." So we lay down together on the same bed of padded gym mats where I had found John with Annie. Soon I was as naked as John was, and we were engaged in long, passionate, but also gentle, considerate and romantic, coitus.
Oh my, dear reader. That was so much better than what I had been expecting, but it was to cause me pain. As I have intimated elsewhere in these memoirs, if only there were such a thing as an uncomplicated fuck. Spanking is usually a one-off. A nubile young lady has been naughty. I smack her bottom for her, which I thoroughly enjoy, and then it is over. If she is big and succulent (or even if she is not) I hope to catch her bending again; but, if it does not happen, well, there are plenty more fish in the sea. But romantic relationships, and sexual coitus, are not like that, at least not for me, and they never have been. As I lay down with John on those gym mats I was beset by guilt and I was thinking in terms of a sharp exit from the situation. I wanted a single, brief, hot, passionate act of coitus, after which I would tenderly kiss him, thank him, hand him back to Annie, and get on with my life. And I thought that was what would happen. After all, John, at 18 years of age, was at his sexual peak. He was inexperienced, a virgin in fact, so I did not expect him to be a particularly skilful or effective lover. But at least, I thought, he could give me a quick bonk. I was so sexually excited that it would not take much for him to bring me off. Then it would all be over, and I would be able to look back, wistfully, on a brief but very amusing and sexy encounter that had featured my 2 greatest passions, namely spanking and sex.
But no, dear reader, that is not what happened; that is not what happened at all. John and I lay on those gym mats for more than 3 hours, for so long, in fact, that I missed the evening meal. My lover was young and virile, but also polite, gentlemanly and unselfish. He had four orgasms before we arose, but he seemed less interested in them than in pleasuring me. On a purely physical level, I emerged as a very well fucked, and a very well satisfied lady. But, of course, it was much more than purely physical. I was enchanted and captivated by this excellent young man. Ever the professional educator, I tried to thank John by acting out the "older experienced woman teaches young male virgin how it is done" role. Yes, O.K., John did rise from those gym mats a wiser and more sexually competent lover; but to both him and me that was not what it was mainly about.
For the last hour we just cuddled and talked, and I was amazed at how gentle and considerate my lover was towards me, especially since I had been so forceful and violent towards him and Annie. By now I was utterly mortified at how I had treated the lovebirds, and completely thrown off balance. I just did not know how to play it any more, but I concluded that I owed it to John to be open and honest with him. I apologised to him for the spankings, and I explained how and why they were not purely disciplinary. John replied that he was flattered by my sexual interest, that Annie and he had deserved all they got, and that he bore me no ill will but, in fact, the precise opposite. Before we parted, I extolled Annie, and recommended John to pursue his relationship with her; but the advice did not come from my heart. We parted as lovers, even though we made no arrangements for another tryst.
Even after all of these years, dear reader, I am thrown into palpitations and confusion by this narrative that I am writing. I was in such an emotional state after John left me that I could scarcely concentrate upon my official duties.
By the time that all of this occurred I had moved out of my rooms in the main school building, and into a small cottage in the grounds. On the next Sunday morning, at about 11 o'clock, I was in the kitchen of the cottage dolefully munching breakfast cereal and morosely pondering on my romantic predicament. Then I heard a light tapping on the window. When I looked to see what it was, my hackles stood on end and my heart pounded fiercely against my ribcage; it was John. Luckily, a high privet hedge surrounded the cottage garden, so I was able to let him in unobserved. Even so, I quickly smuggled him upstairs, where callers would not see him.
Well, in the bedroom John and I had another long talk. From what he said it sounded as if he was even more emotionally distressed than me by our recent sexual encounter; I was his obsession, he said, and he could think of nothing else. Yet again I admitted that his feelings were reciprocated, but I added that it could never be. I was about 10 years older than him and for all sorts of reasons it just would not work out. During my life I have had a lot of heart-to-heart talks with my various lovers; but none of them was so distressing and so emotionally fraught as that session with John.
However, the inevitable happened. On that winter Sunday John and I ended up in bed together; and we spent a lot more time in the same bed from January until the following October and beyond. John's 19th birthday fell in the February of that year; he had already gained a State Scholarship from his A Level performance as an 18-year-old the previous summer, and at Christmas he had past the entrance examinations for Cambridge University. Thus, although my lover was staying on at school to complete his duties as house captain, etc., he had not been entered for any forthcoming examinations and was under no pressures. Wow! The situation was perfect for us, and our romantic attachment blossomed during a very long, hot summer. Our lovemaking was fierce, but our romantic relationship was tender. Like me, John was beset with guilt. He should never have called at the cottage, he said, and it was wrong that we were lovers; typically, he was particularly upset about Annie, to whom he was still very attached. Sometimes he tried to make light of it. He had been very naughty, he would say, and I could spank him if I liked; well, I did, of course, but only playfully and as part of our lovemaking.
My relationship with John is one that has never ended. My lover went up to Cambridge that autumn, but we still kept in touch. I will not tell you the whole story of the relationships between John, Annie and me; but suffice to say that, inevitably in the end, I got my emotional comeuppance. If only John had been a bastard it would have been so much easier. But, of course, he was not. Do you not agree, ladies, that it is very often the nice ones who break your heart? Every year John and Annie send Dave and me a Christmas card, and every time it arrives I am punished again for the sins of my youth.
© Big Billie 2003. Not to be distributed or sold for monetary gain.
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