The Romance of Chastisement

The Romance of Chastisement

Saturday, August 30, 2014

F/M Spanking Sunday -- A Boy Learns Respect

This is just a little domestic scene, not really a story, but it's pretty intense. I found it I-don't-know-where and I have no idea who the author is, but it's dated. I've done some editing to clean a few things up.


            My father left my mom with two boys to raise when I was 13 and
my little brother was 9.  Mom did her best to raise us right,
but I guess we were a handful.  When I was turning 16, she lost
a job and her sister, my Aunt Faye, took us in for a few
months.  I'll never forget one night a few days after we arrived
at her big house to take up our stay there.  Her own kids, also
both boys, were older; one in college and one a senior in high
school.  I guess I'd always been aware that Aunt Faye was
pretty strict with her sons.  We'd never been all that close,
but I could remember times when she was very stern with them,
especially the younger one, Rob, and I recall at least one time
when they visited us when she took Rob out to their car and
spanked him.  I hadn't been spanked since before my Dad left,
and it didn't really even occur to me as something that might
happen to me if I wasn't careful around Aunt Faye.

            Well, that evening I guess I was being pretty mouthy to my Mom,
talking back and not being very cooperative about helping her
get things settled in in the guest apartment over the garage
where Aunt Faye was putting us up.  We all had dinner together,
and I don't even remember the details, but I must have been real
bratty and backtalking --  it was hardly unusual for me at the

            Aunt Faye gave me real cold looks a couple of times during
dinner, but she didn't say anything.  I ate quickly and wanted to
get up from the table before anyone else.  I started to just get
up, and my Mom said, "Mike, aren't you going to stay for

            "Aw, mom," I said, "I wanna see what's on TV. I'll have it in

            Aunt Faye looked at me with this mean, angry stare.  "Michael,
in this house, you will ask to be excused from the table.  And
your mother does not wish for you to be excused, so you will
wait patiently while the rest of us enjoy our meal.  Do you
understand me?"

            "Uhh.. yeah, sure, Aunt Faye, whatever you say.."

            "And I will see you after supper, young man.  We have a few
things to get straight now that you are living here with us."

            My mom looked embarrassed at this.  I didn't know what to think
or say... she was so earnest and not too kindly.  "Yeah, sure,
Aunt Faye..."

                        The rest of the meal was like a session in the library.
My mom was obviously uncomfortable.  She tried to
speak to Aunt Faye in a low voice at one point, but Aunt Faye fairly
snapped at her, "just leave this to me, will you! If you live here, we do things my way."

            My cousin Rob looked at me with this malicious smile and
managed to mutter so only I could hear, "you're
gonna get it big time, Mikey, I can tell, believe me."

            I wasn't quite sure what she meant, but I had an inkling it
would not be pleasant and might be painful as well as

            Finally dinner ended and the table was cleared.  I even helped.
 But Aunt Faye was intent.  She came up to me and put her hand
on my shoulder.  "I'll see you in my study now, young man.  We
have to come to an understanding."

            She turned and walked towards the study.  I hesitated, but she
looked back and said, "get down here now, son.  It won't be any
easier if you drag it out."

            I walked slowly down to her study, and entered through the open
door.  She was already seated on the sofa.  She patted the seat
next to her, and said, "Come sit here.  We're going to have a
talk about respect, obedience, helpfulness, and attitude.  These
are areas where I have observed you need work if you're going to
be living in our house."

            "Uh, OK, sure.."

            "First, you will address me as 'Aunt Faye,' or 'ma’am.'  I am
your Aunt and you are a child.  This is the proper way for you
to speak to me, or to your Aunt Rose, or to your mother.  If you
do not, you will be punished.  Am I clear?"

            "Uhh... yes... ma’am." Punished? What did that mean?

            "That's better.  Now, you have a very bad habit of talking back
to adults and arguing when you are asked to perform simple
chores.  This I will not tolerate, and you have already gone
beyond any reasonable bounds of acceptable behavior.  When you
are told to do something by one of the adults of this house, you
will answer respectfully, and you will do it without argument.
I am going to punish you now in order to make this point very, very

She paused a moment.

I waited and I had a really bad feeling about this. What did she mean to do? What came next stunned me.

“You are going over my knee for a good hard spanking."

            "Sp--spank me!?" I blurted. I could not believe this! Spanking was something that happened to little kids, not teenagers. I was panicked and I pleaded. Embarrassing images formed in my mind.

 "Gee, Aunt Faye, you don't hafta
do that.. I'll be good... I promise I will."

At once I felt a cold chill. Feelings of fear, embarrassment, and confusion hit me all at once. How could she even think about this?
I was too old. You didn’t do this to kids my age. I blushed red with shame at the thought
of having to endure such a juvenile punishment.

            "I know you will, because I'm going to spank you so hard you
will remember this lesson very well.  I accept your promise.
But you are going to be punished for what you've already done.
It's important for you to learn from very definite experience
that this is serious, and you WILL change your behavior.”

She stopped and looked me in the eye.

“Now, get over here.” She pointed to her right side, indicating I was to stand there. I did, but what she said next made my blood run cold. “Drop your pants, boy."

            Drop my pants? Like some little kid? She slapped her lap, indicating I was to go over her knee.  I was in shock. But what could I do? I stood up and walked closer to her.

            "Shirt off."

            I took off my shirt and slowly undid my belt and fly. I hesitated.
            “Down,” she said, pointing down with a bony finger. “Right now.”

 Reluctantly I pulled down my pants, and stood facing her. My pants were at my
knees but my underwear was still on.  I hoped she wouldn't make
me pull them down too, I was already so humiliated I was
blushing bright red.

            Her eyes met mine, and there was the slightest nod as she gestured for me to get across her lap. I laid my body across her lap, with my briefs still on, and my pants down at my
knees.  I could feel the warmth of her body through the briefs,
and felt a little involuntary stirring of my cock. My penis was rubbing against the flesh of her thigh. Somehow the bizarre situation was making me horney.

            "Michael, before we start, I want you to understand something.
I am NOT going to go easy on you.  You have been getting away
with being a complete brat for a long time.  I know it's hard
for your mother, but you are in need of some serious discipline,
and I intend to make sure you get it, starting RIGHT NOW."

            There was a pause and then -- SLAP!...SLAP!...SLAP! She started spanking me on my
underpants.  The slaps were hard, and they burned. The spanks came steadily, with her
hand cupped and holding onto my butt a second after each slap.
After just four or five I was feeling a forceful sting with each
slap and I squirmed and moaned.  She kept on...

It burned, the sting becoming more intense with each forceful smack.

            After twenty or so, it was too much.  I squirmed and howled, "OK, Aunt Faye!
I'll be good, I promise!  OWW!  OWW!"

            SLAP!...SLAP!...SLAP! But she was relentless, spanking my ass really hard.

 "Yes, you will, and you will also take
your spanking tonight like a man.  We've just gotten started."

            With that, she yanked my underpants away from my butt. Just yanked them right down.

I was bare. I had never felt so shamed.  That wasn’t the worst. She
redoubled the spanking, smacking my fanny a little harder.  She covered my whole ass
with her ample hand, and showed no hesitation to slap hard, even
at the base of my butt, where the curve of the buttocks meets
the leg.  She seemed to relish it, glancing a series of slaps off
that area before moving to the crown of my ass for a volley of good
hard smacks.  SLAP!...SLAP!...SLAP!  On and on, she spanked
and spanked as I squirmed and howled "OWW!  OWWW!  OWWW!" -- loud
and for real.  I had never been spanked so hard in my life and it hurt!

            My face contorted with the unrelenting spanking, and my butt
was glowing bright red, but she showed no sign of letting up.  I
had no idea how many slaps she had already given me, squirming
and howling the whole time, but it must have been more than a

            All of a sudden, she sped up and gave me 20 or so very hard
slaps, very fast.  I almost screamed with the shock and sharp
pain.  Then she stopped.  "Whew!"  I thought, "finally over!" --
but no.

            "OK, Mike, now you know what's in store for you if you talk
back and act like a brat.  You will be taken over my knee like
the naughty child you are and thoroughly spanked.  And don't
think I won't do it each and every time you need it.  But now,
you must learn what happens to wilfully disobedient young men.
You are going to learn to cooperate in this house and to obey
your mother and myself.  Stand up."

            I managed to choke out, "But, Aunt Faye, ma’am, I've learned my lesson!  I promise to do as I'm told!  I've had enough!  Please!"  I was truly desperate
-- I didn't think I could take any more spanking! My ass was stinging and burning.

            "Yes, you have learned that lesson.   I note you are speaking
to me with proper respect.  Keep that up.  And I accept your
promise to cooperate and do what you are told to do.  But you
have yet to be punished for your past misbehavior, and that it
the only way, believe me, I know, to impress on a young man how
serious this is.  Now get over here, you are going to get the
paddle, and you WILL LEARN obedience and cooperation."

            I walked towards the desk.  I still had my pants pulled down,
so I had to sort of waddle.  She reached in her drawer and pulled
out a wooden paddle, about half an inch thick, made of laminated
wood, with a non-skid handle, and about 9 inches by five, with
an oval paddle. Then she put a pillow on the edge of the desk and
made me stand right up against the desk. I had to bend over and grip
the far end.

            She touched the paddle to my already flaming butt.  "I told you
I was not going to go easy on you, and I meant it.  You've been
overdue for this for a long time, and you're getting it now. You will stick that fanny out and hold still for some good hard swats, do you understand?"

            SWAT! .. I guess it wasn't really all that hard, but coming
after the hardest spanking I'd ever had, it seemed like someone
had taken a torch to my butt.  SWAT! .....SWAT!  There was a
period of several seconds between each swat.  I howled with each
swat and whimpered in between.  I couldn't believe how much it
hurt, but she just kept on, swat after swat. 

            Aunt Faye had other ideas.  I now realize she wasn't giving me
full-force swats at arms length, though at the time they hurt so
bad it was hard for me to imagine anything harder.  She was
basically spanking me with the paddle, using her wrist to deliver swats slowly, pretty hard, and
standing up, but it was a bare butt spanking, not a few swats
like you'd get in school.  An she had no intention of cutting it short.

            After 10, I was fairly dancing in a desperate attempt to avoid
the sting of my Aunt's vicious little paddle.  She put her hand
squarely and firmly on the small of my back to anchor me and
kept paddling my butt  SWAT!.....SWAT!.....SWAT!  on and on!

            "I want you...  SWAT!...  to understand  SWAT!...  you will get
the paddle...  SWAT!  SWAT!... each and every time you disobey
an adult in this house.  SWAT!  SWAT!  You will learn to
cooperate without argument if I have to paddle your butt every
damn day.  Do you understand me, Michael?"   SWAT!  SWAT!  SWAT!

            "OWWW!  OHHH!  Yes, ma’am!  OWWWW!  I'll be good... OHHHH!  OH,
please stop!"

            SWAT!  SWAT!  She said nothing, just kept ON!  I squirmed
mightily and cried and whimpered and yelled, but she just kept on
with these unrelenting swats.  My butt was an inferno and each
swat brought tears and an involuntary jerk of my whole body, but
she kept on spanking.

            Finally, she pushed a little harder on the small of my back, and
again sped up the spanking, giving me twenty or so hard swats
very fast.  "AAAAANNH!" I wailed ... it hurt so bad!

    Then it stopped.

            "That will do for now... if you keep your promise to cooperate
cheerfully, and obey your mother, your Aunt and me, you won't
have to get the paddle again, so remember that.  Now stay put,
I'll apply some alcohol to your butt to prevent an infection."

            "Alcohol?"  I thought, as I rubbed my torn-up butt, still
flaming hot and SO sore I could hardly believe it.  But what
that meant I didn't fully realize till I felt the wetness of her
hand on my left cheek, then Zow!  The stinging of the alcohol
was like 20 more swats all at once!  I knew she did this on
purpose.  Oh God!  It stung!  She applied it to the other cheek,
then more to both sides.  I kicked and wiggled and cried out it
stung so bad.

            "Calm down, Michael, this is necessary to make sure you don't
have any infections.  Now stop squirming."

            I was still bent over, my fiery red ass exposed.  She put her
hand back on my back and SLAP!  She spanked me with her hand
again!  SLAP!  SLAP!  SLAP!!  She gave me about ten VERY hard
slaps, which I didn't expect at all.

            "That's for good measure, young man.  You have to remember that
whenever you screw up, talk back, or disobey, you WILL BE
SPANKED.  Now put your clothes on and go to your room and stay
there till bedtime.  And I will be checking on you... if you
come out, except to go to the bathroom, you'll get another
spanking and I don't think you want that after what you've just
had, do you?"

            "Oh, no, ma’am," I said, and trundled off to nurse my beaten ass.

            I didn't find myself hating her for beating me so hard; maybe
on some level I knew I needed it.  And I really did try to do
what she wanted and avoid getting paddled and spanked the rest of
the four months we lived there.  My mom looked at me funny the
next day, but I never mentioned Aunt Faye's spanking me, and
nothing was ever said.  If she didn't want her sister laying
into her son like that, she didn't say.   And I did get paddled
just as hard several times more by my Aunt, who had a justified
reputation as a strict disciplinarian, as I found out when she
spanked her own sons, one of whom was 21, and me, all at the
same time...but that's another story for another time.

Friday, August 29, 2014

The Prodigal Bride

Today I have Rayanna Jamison on board to showcase her book, The Prodigal Bride. What fascinates me about this book is that it involves DD relationships in the context of a plural marriage. So I have to think, what would that really look like? How would I as a husband manage such a domestic relationship, and how would my wives deal with it. Can a blended family in this type of social compact be happy with such an arrangement?  As you might imagine the scenario seems ripe with plot possibilities for DD enthusiasts in particular. In fact would this be the logical way to handle conflict, jealousy, negligence and all of our other human foibles in a plural marriage context? So I asked Rayanna a few questions about this.

Rayanna, how did you hit upon the idea of writing a spanking romance about a plural marriage?

I moved from the Pacific Northwest to an area that was rampant in polygamy. There are many different polygamous sects, each with very unique beliefs, and all of them within about an hour or so from where I live. One sect in particular, is very easy to spot, because of their style of dress. I see them every day, everywhere I go. I began to watch different reality shows and documentaries about the different sects. One in particular caught my interest with their unique take on marriage. This is the sect I base my books off of. I have no experience with polygamy other than that, but I have learned quite a bit about it since moving here, and feel I know more than the average person who has no real life experience with it.

Is DD a common practice in real life plural marriages?

I do not know this for a fact. In my experience within the DD community, I met a man who counseled couples in DD both online and in real life. He implied many times in different conversations that this was true, and that he knew many polygamous families that practiced Domestic Discipline. As the most prominent polygamists here keep to themselves, I have no way to be certain if this is true or not- but I believe it to be plausible.

Do you plan any more books involving plural marriages?

The Prodigal Bride is my second book in my Love Multiplied Series, and I know for sure there will be at least two more.

Great. Well, here are the book details:

Sophia Randall had no intention on returning to her home in the polygamist community she grew up when she left Hiram Jefferson just hours before their wedding. Though she cared deeply for Hiram and his family, she was young and impulsive.

Ten years, two children, and one monogamous marriage later, returning to Green Valley after the death of her husband is the only option left.

Hiram was devastated when Sophia left him at the altar. With everything already on his plate-- between his job as the district superintendent, his large family, and one sick wife, the last thing he needs is the headache of Sophia being back in town.

When his wives go behind his back and form an alliance with Sophia, what is left for him to do but show them the error of their ways with a little old fashioned discipline. But what will happen when he finds out the true reason Sophia left him in the first place?

Here is an excerpt from the book:

"If you were my wife, you would be joining her in the corner to await your punishment.

However, since you're my employee—" he dragged the last word out sarcastically, "you can just sit there and watch while you think about the spanking you have coming."

Then, he actually had the audacity to wink at her!

She met his eyes, and wondered how long he planned to draw this out. Every second felt like a full minute, and every minute felt like an hour. Couldn't he just spank someone already?

As if he read her mind, he tore his gaze from hers and turned his attention to the task at hand. Sophia watched as he carefully and methodically lowered Lucy's pale pink lounge pants to her knees, and then slowly lowered her white panties to rest just below her bottom, so as to afford her a small bit of modesty.

Embarrassed, Sophia looked away, her focus coming to rest on Lucy's face. She was shocked to see that her friend looked completely nonplussed, as if she wasn't bare bottomed across her husband's knee for an audience about to receive what promised to be a very sound spanking.

Sophia kept her gaze low, focused on Lucy's face, comforted by the calm she saw there.

Whap! Sophia squeezed her eyes tightly shut at the unnerving sound of wood against flesh. She hadn't expected it to be so loud. She knew, even though Hiram hadn't specified, that watching the punishments administered to her friends was part of her punishment. She forced her eyes open once more, willing herself to watch so as not to make it worse for anyone, herself included.

Hiram was a thorough spanker, working the spoon up and down and across Lucy's heart shaped bottom in a flurry of rapid-fire swats. No area was safe from the unforgiving path of the spoon, and soon her whole bottom was a soft pink glow that matched her lounge clothes.

Throughout this whole ordeal so far, Lucy's face had remained calm, only wincing occasionally when the spoon would strike twice in the same spot. Other than those times, she seemed completely relaxed.

Suddenly Hiram paused, jutting his left leg up, to rest on the bottom rung of the chair.

This movement caused Lucy to fall forward at such an angle that put her nearly face to face with the Oriental rug below, presenting her bottom crease to Hiram for a better angle.

It was then, Sophia noted that her friend began to look truly uncomfortable, and also a bit nervous. With a mighty crack, and a much fuller swing than he had been using previously, Hiram began to spank in earnest. Sophia watched Lucy's tender flesh flatten with each thwack of the spoon. It would bounce back up, slightly redder than before. Then, within moments Hiram would bring the spoon right back down to cover the same spot, moving his assault slightly every two or three swats, continuing until Lucy's lower bottom was covered in dark pink circles from the impact of the spoon. Lucy, whose hands were resting on the floor beneath her to keep balance, was sobbing loudly.

Sophia was sure Hiram would stop when he heard Lucy's cries, but he simply returned his leg to a flattened position with both feet on the floor and turned his attention from her bottom crease to her pink cheeks. He resumed spanking, laying a barrage of stinging swats down all across her rosy globes, until they too, were covered in dark pink circles, and Lucy was crying out her apologies and begging Hiram to stop.

Sophia was just about to cry out herself when he calmly set the spoon on the floor beside the chair and began to massage Lucy's glowing behind as he whispered to her. "Good girl, shh, you took your spanking so well. I know it's been a long time honey, but you did so well." He whispered encouraging words over and over until her sobs turned to quiet whimpers. Then he helped her to a sitting position on his lap and gently wiped her tears. She buried her head into his chest, and balancing his chin atop her head, he stroked her hair.

Sophia was mesmerized by this quiet intimacy, much more than she had been by the spanking itself. She couldn't remember a time she had felt an intimacy like that with Robert, not that her and Robert's relationship had lacked in intimacy—it hadn't. They had had a wonderful marriage and had been best friends. It just seemed different. Perhaps there was something to this spanking thing after all or maybe she was just feeling vulnerable in an unfamiliar situation.

Her train of thought was interrupted by Hiram's commanding voice. Apparently the quiet moment of comforting was over, and it was Phoebe's turn to receive her spanking. Sophia had assumed that Lucy would be joining her on the couch, but instead she crossed the room and took Phoebe's place in the corner. Standing there, she lowered her pants to rest just below her bottom, her flaming red backside on display.

Buy links:

Amazon, Blushing Books

Thanks, Rayanna for a look at a fascinating subject.

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

A Judicial Birching Story

One of the things that fascinates me is the judicially sanctioned punishment scene. I frequently incorporate such scenes in my own stories, and I'm always on the lookout for good ones written by others. One author I found fairly early on who was really good at this was Lupercal. He wrote a number of stories detailing scenes of  court-ordered floggings and a few can be found in the archives at LSF. Here is a story of Lupercal's, written way back in 1999 and posted to USENET. It's called:

In The Approved Manner

 Art by Paula Russell 

The Oakwood Public Safety Act of 1969, in Section Two (dealing with
corrective procedures, and, in particular, with the corporal punishment
of adult females), is notably single-minded in its old-fashioned,
authoritarian style, indicating that such punishments shall be administered
with ".. judicial severity sufficient to fully and demonstrably
chastise the offender of her grievous and culpable iniquity." Accordingly, the
casual reader is admonished that the following story is a graphic
fictional account of the judicial correction of a mature woman in the
'approved manner', and thus may cause distress to persons of fragile

The Oakwood Islands were granted virtual autonomy in 1957, after nearly
a century of squabbling between the five thousand or so inhabitants and
their British masters. Whilst nominally a 'protectorate' under the
Crown, in practice, the governor and the city fathers, known as the High
Council, were granted full sway over the Islands' political and legal

The unexpected tourist boom of the late 60's and 70's, with its influx
of young ideas and styles, seriously challenged, however, the
islanders' inbuilt sense of quiet superiority. This, combined with a general
feeling of righteous moral certitude, provided much of the impetus for the
re-introduction of corporal punishment in the early nineteen-seventies.

In those dim, but not-so-distant times, the imposing edifice of the old
colonial gaolhouse could still be seen towering over the eastern end of the capital, Kingstown. For more than three-hundred years, before its
demolition in 1985 to make way for a short-lived theme-park development, the grey sandstone fortress had watched like a sentinel over the
fiercely conservative, tight-knit island community.

It was here in this historic setting, on August 25th 1972, that, by
order of the Municipal Sessions, and with the approval of the governor and
most of the island populace, one Penelope Anne Spender - a lady of some
standing we are informed - was, as the evening papers put it, "..
formally chastised with an old-style prison birching," for crimes she had
committed in a mindless, drunken rage at a discotheque known
affectionately to locals and tourists alike as The Dungeon.

The Oakwood Islands Public Safety Act, 1969 (as amended) states that,
"Whereas a female has been judged guilty of an offence under this Act, a
magistrate, or his appointed deputy, may order that she undergo
corporal punishment, provided that :

a) the offender is aged over 18 years;
b) the court deems her to be unsuitable for rehabilitation;
c) the offender is able to comprehend the nature of her offence; and
d) she is physically fit and able to withstand the punishment." 

The controversial Act came into effect in February 1970 after a spate
of violent incidents centred around Kingstown's booming tourist and
nightclub precinct. Later that year, amid international outrage, two
sisters aged 18 and 20, along with their 23-year-old male companion, were
punished for soliciting and theft. By the middle of 1971, and despite
continuing uproar, the number of women who had been sentenced under the
legislation had risen to over twenty. The practice of judicial birching
was officially discontinued in 1976, due mainly to its phenomenal success
in reducing crime rates amongst the trendy crowd of under-twenty-fives
who continued to flock to the resort in steadily increasing numbers.

Penny Spender was, however, not your average high-spirited teenage
rapscallion. Recently separated from her affluent, well-connected spouse,
the unrepentant Miss Spender had, according to Chief Stipendiary
Magistrate, Iain Treloare, come to Oakwood, with ".. too much money, too much
free time, and a bad attitude all round." So, for her part in the
nightclub affray and the rampage which had followed, the headstrong,
independent twenty-eight-year-old was duly sentenced and handed over for
chastisement in the 'approved manner'.

A murmur of approval rippled through the packed courtroom as the stiff
sentence was handed down. "Hear hear!" a loud voice said, and heads
nodded in the public gallery as she was led from the dock. The next
morning, shortly before nine, she was taken from her cell by two constables
and frogmarched down the long corridor to face her bitter penance.

The drill hall at the Kingstown Municipal Correctional Facility was a
large, brightly-lit area roughly the size of a tennis-court. The space
had originally served as an assembly place for troops and convicts - in
the days when there were troops and convicts to assemble - but now, the
whole south end of the room was dominated by the presence of a low
wooden podium, raised nine inches or so from the surrounding floor and more
than broad enough to accommodate the punishment detail with it's grisly

Spender was to be 'horsed' over the waist-high timber trestle which
stood at the rear of the platform. Her wrists and ankles would be fastened
so that she was presented in an 'on-all-fours' position with her hips
and bottom thrust up prominently to receive her punishment. A coarse
woollen blanket had been draped about the top of the cruel perch to afford
the prisoner some small protection from the rough-hewn beams and the
crude apparatus had been bolted tightly down into position, presumably as
a contingency in case a struggle should ensue. 

A long wooden bench had been placed in front of the podium for the warden and the court Bailiff, along with a number of officers and official witnesses. When the prisoner was led in, flanked by the uniformed guards, an expectant hush fell immediately over the small gathering. Penny
was straightaway brought forward and made to stand facing the bench. 

"Penelope Anne Spender, brought by order of the Bailiff," the senior officer declared to no one in particular, then produced a bundle of keys from his jacket. The warden, a prim, mousey woman named McNally reached over and accepted them without comment, placing them carefully on the
bench in front of her. She turned then to the lean, blue-coated man who sat beside her. "A most un-cooperative little madam," she said. "Your prisoner, Sergeant." 

Staff Sergeant Maxwell Thorne nodded curtly, rose from his seat and,
eyeing intently the woman whose chastisement he would presently oversee,
made his way to the front and stepped onto the platform. "Bring her
here," he said, and the burly constables promptly manhandled the squirming
girl up onto the deck. 

Under normal conditions, she would have been thought an attractive
woman, though today she would not have readily agreed. She was dressed in
the same diminutive blue miniskirt and cream cotton blouse she had been
arrested in two nights earlier. Worse, with her belongings confiscated
and with no mirror to dress by, her long brown hair had been left
unbrushed and her makeup unattended. so that she appeared bedraggled and
unkempt in the extreme. "Let me go!" she snarled, baring her teeth in

"Settle down!" Thorne said sharply, raising an admonishing finger. "Sod
you!" she spat back and aimed an untidy, half-hearted kick at his
groin. Thorne fixed her with a glowering stare. "I'll warn you once." he
hissed. "One more such outburst, madam, and you will find yourself back
before the court for assaulting a police officer and resisting lawful
restraint. Do I make myself clear?"

Penelope blanched. "I .. I .."

"Do you understand me, girl?!" the big man demanded. Penny jumped
visibly and a deep blush came over her ashen visage. "Yes, Sir. I
understand, Sir," she said softly, lowering her eyes, shamefaced and apparently
resigned now to her ignominious fate. "Hold out your hands, then," he
ordered, and, when she had done so, the younger constable, a man in his
early twenties, removed the steel cuffs from her wrists. "Has the doctor
seen you?" Thorne enquired. Penelope shuffled nervously, staring at her

"I asked you a question!" the gruff sergeant barked. Penny winced at
his renewed show of anger. "She.. I.." she stammered. "She.. she.." With
a frustrated shrug Thorne turned his back on the babbling convict and
addressed a lumpish, red-faced little woman at the bench. "Matron! Has
the prisoner been examined?" he demanded. "Yessir, she has," the surly
old nurse replied, and detached herself awkwardly from her chair. "She's
as fit as a fiddle, Guv. I dare say the .." She would have gone on but
the sergeant interrupted, unconcerned with details. "That will do,
Nurse Grimes!" he said. The fat woman bristled,  giving him a sour look.
"Hmmmph!" she snorted and flopped back heavily into her chair.

"Right, you men! Let's have her over," the sergeant continued, and
Penny was taken across to the big trestle. Immediately she had been
positioned, the senior constable knelt to secure the heavy buckled restraints
about her ankles. The other fellow then took her by the collar, and,
placing his free hand between her thighs, tipped her headfirst over the
whipping-horse. Penny let out a startled cry but the constable ignored
her. "Hands flat on the floor!" he ordered. 

Sergeant Thorne, meanwhile, had taken advantage of this interlude to
consult with Warden McNally, who produced a number of canes and birches
from a steel bucket by the door. Selecting the sleekest and most supple
of these and quietly thanking the warden for her trouble, he stepped
back up onto the podium.

Thorne regarded both policemen gravely. "Senior Constable Clark. You
will carry out the order," he said, handing him the doleful weapon. The
designated officer then moved to a position facing the prisoner's right
side, while the younger man stepped back a pace. The staff sergeant
called out, "Mister Bailiff! The warrant, please," and, at the far end of
the bench, a portly man in a dark, double-breasted suit rose and began
to leaf through the items in front of him.

"Ahem .. yes. In the warrant of execution before me .." he said,
selecting one of the documents and quoting from it in a starched, lugubrious
baritone. "For diverse acts and offences detrimental to good order and
governance, namely, riotous affray and wilful damage to property,
assault with intent to cause injury, in addition to drunkenness and
offensive behaviour, the prisoner, the woman called Penelope Anne Spender, is
sentenced hereby that she shall, at a time and place convenient to the
court, be chastised formally to the order of eight strokes to her naked
posterior; the said punishment to be administered in the approved
manner and in the presence of such individuals as the governor deems proper
to attend. His Worship notes also that the prisoner has drawn
particular attention to herself by her flagrant disregard .."

"That's enough!" Thorne cut in. "This is a punishment parade, not the
Globe Theatre!" The Bailiff drew himself up, nonplussed and not a little
put out by the interruption. "Er.. yes .. well, that's all then,
Sergeant. Carry on." Fuming, he returned to his seat and busied himself with
his papers.

"Take up her skirt," Thorne instructed, and the young constable stepped
forward again and began to draw the tight-fitting garment up over
Penny's hips. She gave a bewildered little squeak, "NO!!" and started to tug
energetically at her heavy bonds. Penny gasped. She could scarcely
move, let alone stand. The constable finally got her skirt up around her
waist and stood back waiting for the next order. Penny's face was a mask
of fear and mortification at what was about to take place.

"The panties as well, please," Thorne continued and the big fellow
grinned then carefully hooked his fingers inside the waistband of the
woman's briefs. Penny squealed and wriggled about madly but, in her
jack-knife posture, she could not hope to keep it up for long. Knowing this,
the young man took no notice of her tantrum, which he patiently allowed
to run its course. Then, with a snap of elastic and the slither of nylon
over silky-smooth skin, her scanty undergarment was peeled down to
expose the broad expanse of her mature feminine posterior.

The plump, rotund globes had flattened out firm and hard with the
stricture of the horsing and the delicate skin had been drawn almost
drum-tight by the unnatural angle of her body. The downy cleft had, in
consequence, opened wide, exposing the entire region, while between her parted
thighs the soft pink of her pouting sex could be seen peeping coyly out
from behind the coarse dark tufts which sprouted there in tangled

"Senior Constable Clark!!" the sergeant said loudly, his voice suddenly
taking on a stern, formal tone. Penny gave a terrified sob and a look
of sheer panic crossed her face. Whimpering with fright, she recommenced
her erstwhile efforts to free herself from the awful contraption to
which she had been bound. As if to make her misery complete, her knees had
begun to quake violently and were trying to give way beneath her. But
Penelope was strapped firmly in place, unable to flee the coming pain.

Clark watched the woman's voluptuous, involuntary contortions with a
sneer of disgust and swished the birch menacingly from side to side,
testing its weight and balance. The instrument was nearly thirty inches in
length, with a fine four-inch spray at the business end, and was bound
at its handle with black cloth tape. It had been completely stripped of
leaves then soaked overnight to prevent the canes splitting under the
protracted strain of the whipping. Indeed, the tight bundle of slender,
tapering rods appeared so incredibly supple that it resembled as much a
light, multi-thonged lash as it did the bushy-tailed instrument we tend
to associate with the public school tradition.

Clark looked over at his sergeant, signalling his readiness. "Eight
strokes," Thorne said bluntly. "To the buttocks only. Proceed!" 

Abruptly, the senior constable swung the birch up and over his head.
Then, taking quick aim, he lashed it down again with all the strength he
could bring to bear. There was a loud, meaty "thhwwaaack!" and a
sudden, violent shock passed through the woman's well-padded bottom and
thighs, throwing her forward on her mount. The whole of her fleshy rear had
jumped and juddered with the sheer force of the blow and, as the pain
of the stinging impact began to take hold, a keening wail
issued out from beneath her mop of long auburn tresses and her hips arched
forward in a powerful spasm. 

"Nnnnnnnggggggg... !! 

Then the tense, twitching buttocks suddenly relaxed, bucking and
writhing with the swelling, scalding agony. She tossed her head furiously
from side to side and her long hair thrashed wildly about her face,
getting in her mouth and eyes. "Ohhh God!" she spluttered, groping for
breath. "God! God! Ahhh..." Without further pause, the big policeman swung
the birch around again and brought it whistling down a second time.

"Nnnnnnnnggggggggggg ... !!!"

In colonial times the birch had been employed to cool the lust of the
so-called 'naughty women' who frequented the taverns and bawdy-houses of
the seamy Kingstown waterfront. These whippings were often carried out
in full view of any who cared to attend, the shame and humiliation of
the degrading ordeal being thought a fitting addendum to the proper
chastisement of 'strumpets and unchaste women.' The last woman to be
publicly flogged at Oakwood was a certain Siobhán Milligan, who, in April
1903, received twenty-five lashes for what the records describe as her
"lewd and indecent dealings with certain gentlemen known to the court."

The Public Safety Act of 1969, however, limits the number of strokes to
a safe maximum of twelve at any one session. Punishment is administered
to the prisoner's bare buttocks by a suitably experienced officer drawn
from the all-male R.O.C., the Royal Oakwood Constabulary. The appointed
officer will be expected to deliver the thrashing with the full force
of his arm and, according to prison authorities, the more severe welts
will often persist for several days.

Penny Spender's behaviour under the birch, however, was as stubbornly
defiant as had been her insolent, undignified performance before the
chief magistrate the day before. It is true she gasped and cried out when
the punishment began, and, it must be said, she had been justifiably
horrified at the ghastly, indecent exposure of her bare bottom before the
officers and the official witnesses. Yet, for all her suffering and
humiliation, she did not plead nor weep so stridently, nor struggle so
earnestly as one might have expected under such forceful castigation.
Indeed, the lass seemed to take her thrashing with a sullen, white-knuckled
resolve not to succumb at all willingly to its punitive vicissitudes.

A third time the constable swung the birch down on Penelope's helpless,
trembling rear and a great tremor racked her entire frame. Again she
gave out her strangled, mewling cry.

"Nnnnnnnnnngggggggggggggg ... !!!!!"

Predictably, her recalcitrance and lack of contrition served only to
arouse the man's righteous wrath, and, after a fourth stroke had been
given without eliciting the desired level of remorse, he turned and looked
impatiently at the sergeant, folding his arms over his chest, and
saying, "She resists correction, Sir." 

Sergeant Thorne nodded sagaciously. "Give her two at the top of the
thighs," he said. "That should make her see sense." Clark wheeled about
and strode across to continue the punishment on the relatively unscathed
surface of her opposite flank, laying the birch squarely across that
part which the sergeant had indicated. The effect of the man's impressive
demonstration of strength and accuracy was immediate and spectacular.
Penny let out a tremendous yelp of pain and her hips jerked forward
violently. Then, as the terrible sting continued to rage and swell the
woman screamed incoherently and her trembling, whip-marked bottom rose
sharply in the air, bucking and writhing uncontrollably.

Clark stood by impassively while his howling victim performed her mad
tarantella of pain and penitence, then, without warning, swung again
with all his might, coming on at that same sensitive place where the birch
had previously struck. Penelope shrieked and commenced another
astonishing volley of jerks and gyrations. Her hips arched up lewdly and,
seizing the moment, Clark brought the birch down for a seventh time across
the taut, apple-hard globes of Penelope's writhing, upthrust derriere,
and once more her frightful ululations rent the still morning calm of
the near-empty gaolhouse. Her lithe body twisted painfully as she
strained to break free of her restraints, and, begging for mercy, she flung
her hips from side to side in a vain, frantic effort to avoid, or perhaps
simply delay, the next agonising stroke. "One to come!" the sergeant
shouted over the raucous din. 

Penny tossed her head back, sobbing hoarsely. Her eyes were wild and
her face contorted with pain. "NO!!" she shrieked. "No! No! Nooo...!!!"
Clark waited till the convulsion had subsided then slowly raised the
birch. The jiggling buttocks tensed. The tender globes appeared raw and
ruddy under the harsh electric light of the drill hall. Indeed, the whole
of her shapely posterior was ridged and scored with long, ragged weals
where the slim, whippy birch had coiled itself about her bottom and
upper thighs.

With a dramatic, ostentatious show of ceremony, the senior constable
then swung the birch around in a wide arc and brought it slicing down.
There followed another great howl of pain as the final stroke lashed
across the burning, plum-red tapestry already emblazoned on Penelope's
churning rear. A great spasm of pain coursed through her body and her
desperate struggles commenced anew. 

"Undo her," the sergeant said, when, after a minute or so, the frenzy
of her chastisement had spent itself. All the fight, it seemed, had
deserted her and she had collapsed limply across the trestle, sobbing her
very heart out.

The young constable then moved around and began to unfasten the
manacles from about her wrists. "Don't try to stand up too quickly," he said,
placing a hand at her shoulder and easing her up gently.  "Oh God.. Oh
God.." she moaned. "Easy, Miss," the lad said. Penelope moaned again.
"Oh God.. Leave me alone." 

Wincing painfully, she managed to right herself and, reaching behind
her, pulled the panties up from around her knees. The senior man had,
meanwhile, discarded the birch, and now proceeded to release her ankles
from their leather restraints. Penny was still blubbering and sobbing
weakly, though the worst of it was over. She would spend a very restless
night, face down, no doubt. "Come on, lass," the younger constable said,
straightening her skirt, and together the two men led the woman,
vinegar faced and dishevelled, down from the platform. 

"What will happen to her now?" one of the official witnesses asked as
the documents were being signed to confirm the execution of the
sentence. "She will be released," Mrs McNally said matter-of-factly. "What! In
her state?" the astonished witness cried, looking dubiously at the
punished woman who stood gazing about her with a pained, bewildered look.
"Of course," replied the warden. "We like to make an example of these
lawless vandals."

The man considered this for a moment and said, "You're right, of
course. If it weren't for the birch we'd be overrun by the young savages.

Copyright (c) 1999 by Lupercal
All Rights Reserved

Friday, August 22, 2014

F/M Spanking Special -- Master's Thesis Pt 1

I've noticed that some of the most popular posts here are of F/M stories, so to thank my loyal lurkers (You guys never comment. That's ok, I get it.) I'm making a weekend of it with a story of mine about a very wicked lady and a curious and impressionable young man. This tale is from Strict Ladies and Naughty Boys Volume 1 available at fine ebook stores everywhere. Amazon USAmazon UK;
Blushing Books

                                     MASTERS THESIS 
Part 1

No doubt about it, it was her. Tall, voluptuous and well proportioned. No change there. She had a broad face and arching eyebrows that framed big brown eyes. A formidable woman. She towered over Perry even without the heels. In them she probably had six inches on him. Probably now in her late 30’s or early 40’s, she was still hot. After all, the last time he had known her, he'd been 14 years old and in the eighth grade. He thought she had been hot then. The tight skirt, the high heels and the stiff white blouse had caused a stiffening in his lower regions even then. More so now. The strict looking outfit could not hide the underlying attractiveness even for what Perry thought of as an older woman. But Perry appreciated older women. They were more mature, more sure of themselves than the flighty 20-somethings with whom he was frequently fixed up by his sister and her pals. No, as a studious budding masters candidate in sociology, Perry preferred the calm demeanor and intelligence (and worldly experience) of an older female. Such women sometimes wanted to mother him, and on occasion, Perry played up to that. Perry had what many women refer to as “boyish charm” which meant that he was glib and mischievous and appeared younger than he was. In other words, a cute smart aleck.

His reverie for the charms of Miss Kincaid were interrupted by her question. “How can I help you Mr.Conroy?”

When he made the appointment he hadn’t known that she was now the principal at St. Andrews. She clasped her hands on the desk, her desk, in her office, where she had agreed to the interview. Then she stopped, eyeing him intently.  “Do I know you?”

Perry just grinned.

“I do know you,” she said with a look of sudden recognition. “You’re Perry Conroy. Yes, you are, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged, ma’am. It’s me. How are you Miss…er Mrs….Kincaid? I guess your name may have changed. You’re still Miss Kincaid to me.” He said smiling, extending his hand. She took it, giving his hand a warm clasp.

“No, no, it’s Miss Kincaid…I was married but readopted my maiden name after the divorce. You may call me Nora. No need for formality now.”

“Thank you Nora. It has been a long time.”

“You were in --what? My 8th grade class at Colwood Elementary school? My, my, just look at you now. How time flies,” said Nora shaking her head in amazement. “And to think that one of my old students has come calling…” She let the thought trail off. “So how are you, and what brings you here to my domain?”

Perry told her about his college career and his work on his masters thesis, which was the reason for the interview. Nora Kincaid was suitably impressed. “It’s nice to see a former student succeed,” she offered.

“Well I guess I should tell you what this is all about,” he said. “I’m going for a masters degree in sociology and I’m writing my masters thesis on cultural attitudes toward corporal punishment in the home and in school and it’s relation to juvenile delinquency. I’m conducting research to see if the use of corporal punishment on young people reduces juvenile crime or aggravates it. I’d heard that it was still in use at St. Andrews so I thought I’d interview the principal and, wow, it turned out to be you.”

 "Yes, it’s me. I was hired three years ago. And yes, being a private religious school, there is no reason why we can’t use corporal punishment. We did back at Colwood years ago. They banned it there just after you graduated.” She gave Perry an amused look as she reminisced. “You managed to stay out of trouble most of the time, I recall. It was your friends who found themselves on the wrong end of my 

Perry admitted they did, and rubbed his butt for effect, joking, “Whew! I bet they still can feel it.”

“Go on now. You’re a horrible tease. I only paddled students when they absolutely needed it.” And Perry was one who had definitely needed it. He thought he’d had her fooled but she knew better. He was just a bit too clever to get caught. There had been many times back in that classroom when she’d suspected that he was the real troublemaker and his pals had taken the blame or had been too stupid to cover their tracks.

Perry’s opinion was that it was debatable that any student “needed it” but he let it slide. Miss Kincaid had been one teacher who had not been reluctant to pull out the standard two foot maple paddle. The school district had been adamant that discipline was to be enforced in the traditional manner. This meant that the school paddle was approved for use if necessary. Each teacher was given some leeway in her approach to using corporal punishment, and most of them did use it, at least on occasion. Miss Kincaid’s procedure was to quell disturbances on the spot. She would fix the miscreant with a steely glare and pull open the drawer that held the paddle. The sliding sound of that drawer opening was one that Perry vividly remembered. With the paddle gripped firmly in hand she would order the culprit out into the hallway for half a dozen stinging licks applied firmly to the ‘seat of the problem’ while the unfortunate student leaned over, hands against the wall. She always left the door open so the class could hear the sharp crack of the paddle and an occasional yelp as the discipline was meted out. Tearful eyes and hands rubbing a smarting seat were often the result observed as the punished kid was ushered back into class.  

Later Perry reflected that these incidents had aroused sexual feelings, especially when girls got it. He could imagine them in the hall, bent over, bottoms out, taking firm swats from Miss Kincaid.  Perry had not been paddled that year. He’d been a cut-up in class and had deserved it, but he was never caught.

Perry had to admit that such feelings had not been too far from his consciousness when he had chosen the topic for his thesis. To Perry it was a fascinating subject. Now here was a prior proponent of its use ready to tell Perry all about it.

“Well, thanks for agreeing to see me and I guess, uh, I need to ask some questions. So like you said you still use corporal punishment. So tell me about it. How and when?”

Nora leaned back. This was interesting. This attractive young man wants to know all about corporal punishment. He seems fascinated by it. She had a thought and an idea formed. He is an attractive young man, she thought, and he certainly deserves a long over due comeuppance. Then she then began. “The ‘when’ part is spelled out in our handbook on discipline but mainly it is numerous tardies, skipping out during the day, disrespectful behavior, insubordination, smoking. There are a few others.”

“Does it happen often?”

“Less than you might think. We try other methods mainly. Detentions on Saturday with busy work is what we mostly use as a behavior sanction. But, I’d say about 3 or 4 times a semester someone gets in trouble and might have to take ‘licks’. We are a boarding school too, as you know, and so we act sort of in loco parentis for our boarders. To some of these kids we are surrogate parents, so lights out shenanigans can get kids in trouble too.”

“How does it happen?” Perry was avidly taking notes. She noticed his body language. This whole subject excites him, she mused.

“At the start of every year we send a packet home that contains a permission form for us to use corporal punishment if we deem it necessary. Parents either sign it or they don’t. If during the year we think it necessary, for those students whose parents have signed, we carry it out. If not, we send a permission slip home and they sign it then or not. We’ve found that some parents want to decide this on an ad hoc basis.”

“If they do agree, what is the, ah, procedure?”

“You are rather interested in this, aren’t you, Perry?” asked Nora raising her eyebrows. That look made Perry squirm. “Did it seem interesting to you in the eighth grade?”

Perry felt that Nora could see right through him, and he shifted uncomfortably. “Well, yes, but now it’s academic research,” said Perry, maybe a bit too defensively.

“Of course,” said Nora with a knowing smile. “All right,” she continued, “the student hands in the slip, or if there is previous permission we call them to the office. They must go and change into PE gear then and report back here. The PE gear rule insures that both boys and girls are treated equally and that there are no differences in clothing covering the, ah, target area. See it doesn’t matter if you wore a wool skirt that day or corduroy pants, you get it in your PE kit. And that’s only fair, wouldn’t you agree?”

Perry nodded yes. That made sense, but wow, thin PE shorts and underwear wasn’t much protection.

“Once the student is here and properly attired I call in a witness, usually another teacher. We go into that anteroom. Would you care to see?”

Perry said he would so they got up and Nora opened a door that led to an adjacent room. It was filled with file cabinets along one wall. Otherwise it was bare except for a handrail, like a ballet barre, along another wall and a pair of heavy chairs. A varnished wooden paddle hung from a nail on the opposite wall.

“We keep student records in here, but it’s also the dreaded inner sanctum to those unfortunate students who are summoned here. You will notice that along the floor we have three strips of tape in front of the rail. Depending on the student’s height he or she toes one of these lines and bends over, grabbing the rail. This braces the student and ensures that the buttocks are presented properly for application of the paddle. The tape adjusts for that. The student must hold on to the bar. If he or she lets go, that swat may not count. The student can express himself or herself verbally, but no profanity is allowed. If there is cursing or vulgarity, that swat will not count.”

Perry regarded this and flushed. Nora noticed.

“Er, how many swats do they get?”

“Oh, it depends on the offense. Between 3 and 10. Usually 5 or 6 for most offenses. For some of the younger girls, though, I just spank. I sit in the chair and spank the child over my knee. This is usually for the younger boarders for whom we are really surrogate parents. It’s more intimate, and we feel, actually nurturing. The girl has a good cry afterwards and gets a big hug.”

“What does it feel like? How do they react?”

Nora chuckled. “What does it feel like? What a question. It hurts, of course. Have you never been paddled?”

Perry shook his head, no.

“Really. Now there’s an experience every young man should have, in my opinion.” Nora put her hands on her hips and cocked her head, grinning. “God knows, you should have been paddled. I know you got away with a lot in my eighth grade. I recall now it was you and Louis Hedly and Todd Rimsohn. I know I took Louis and Todd into the hall that year but somehow I never caught you. Am I right?”

Perry’s blush told all.

“I knew it. I should have tanned your tail too. And in answer to your question, it burns like fire that just gets hotter and hotter and you can’t turn it off.”

“Can I see the paddle?”

“Surely.” Nora unhooked the instrument from its place on the wall and tendered it to Perry.

Perry gripped it by the handle and tapped his palm, lightly, then harder. “Ouch. Yeah, I guess this could hurt.” He handed it back to Nora.

“It’s a foot and a half on the business end, four inches wide and half an inch thick plywood. Our handyman made it. It’s sanded down to remove all the sharp edges. As you can see all the corners are rounded. I think he did a good job.”

“It’s… formidable,” said Perry. He could imagine the impact against a thinly clad bottom.

Perry was silent for minute, trying to imagine the scene. He caught Nora staring at him intently, a knowing smile on her face. It was a bit unnerving. He felt like he needed to say something to break the uncomfortable silence but Nora spoke first and her words were startling.

“So. Would you care for a demonstration?” Nora smiled and tapped the paddle against her leg.

“What?” Perry was taken aback.

“Clearly, you are curious.” Still that intent look and the Cheshire Cat smile.

“I….I..don’t…” Perry could only stammer.

Nora raised her eyebrows. “The way I see it, you can’t really write about this subject in an authoritative way unless you experience it. I think you need to see what it’s like to get a paddling from the principal---so you can have some empathy with those who have had this sort of discipline. You should find out what it’s like before you draw any conclusions. I mean, you did say this was research, right?”

Perry nodded dumbly.

“Well sometimes research includes fieldwork. Surely you know that. Don’t they teach you that you have to immerse yourself in the environment? See how the subject lives?”

“But…but a real paddling?” Perry was sweating under his collar. And blushing.

“You’re not afraid of a few swats on the fanny are you? After all, you’re a man of the world now, not some 12 year old. You did say your thesis was to be on corporal punishment, am I not correct?”

 His stomach was in knots. What had seemed titillating earlier now seemed to be spinning out of control. “But, ah, I’m in graduate school and uh,… but won’t someone…see ?” said Perry jerking his head around. All his excuses sounded lame.

“It’s after hours, Perry. Staff have gone home. It’s just you and me.”

Although he was nervous, Perry felt an undercurrent of excitement. Did he really want this? And here was one of the objects of a boyhood obsession, still looking beautiful, taking that commanding tone that had both chilled and excited him as a boy.

Before he could think he said, “Well, yes. Ok, I suppose. If it is for research, I could see…”. Actually he didn’t know what else to say. He felt trapped, cornered. She was so logical about it. What could he say? Laugh it off as a joke?

Nora smiled. “It’s only right Perry. Remember, you were very naughty in my class and I never took you to task.” She was wagging the paddle at him for emphasis.

Good God, was this really going to happen? Trying to stay somewhat calm, Perry licked his lips and asked, “Uh, how do we…?”

“We’ll do it just like you’d been sent to me for some serious infraction. Come on back out here and sit down.”

They retreated to the office and Perry sat in front of Nora’s desk again while she took her seat behind it like a queen on her royal throne. “Now, if you had been sent to me for something serious I’d now say, ‘Mr. Conroy you’ve been cutting up in class way too much and your teacher has complained. Simple detention will not do. I think, young man, that your poor behavior warrants a paddling. Your permission slip has been previously signed. So for your punishment, I’m giving you six swats. ”

“Uh six? Nora, isn’t that….?”

Nora shut him off. “It’s Miss Kincaid, Mr. Conroy. And until we finish you will address me as such. It will be ‘yes ma’am’ and no backtalk. Do you understand?” Gone was the friendly demeanor. This was the Miss Kincaid of old.

“Er, yes ….ma’am,” stammered Perry. He felt a growing sense of panic, but this thing was now a runaway train that he felt powerless to stop.

“All right young man, let’s go,” she commanded, getting up from behind the desk. Perry stood on shaky legs. She gestured with her hand for him to enter the room.

As she ushered Perry into the anteroom, she said. “Take off your coat, Mr. Conroy, and place it over there.” She pointed to a hanger. While he hung up his coat, she retrieved the paddle from its hook on the wall. Perry could not understand it, but watching Miss Kincaid in her tight skirt, high heels clicking across the floor, approach him paddle in hand, was giving him an erection.

“Now,” she said, “assume the position, please, toes on the middle line.”

Perry gulped. “Yes, ma’am.” He lined up on the tape and bent forward. As his hands grasped the barre, his buttocks were thrust back. It made him feel exposed and the posture was humiliating. This was unreal. Was he really going to go through with this?

“Hmmm,” said Miss Kincaid. “Stand up a minute.”

Perry stood, now confused.

“You are wearing wool slacks. That won’t do. It wouldn’t be the same. I need you to take down your pants.”

“What?” Perry exclaimed, now clearly alarmed.

“I think for you to get the full benefit of this you need to have not so much padding. So take your pants down.” She emphasized this point by pointing her finger in a downward direction.

“Wow, this is embarrassing,” said Perry.

“Just think of it as part of the experience, Mr. Conroy. A little embarrassment is good for the soul. Go ahead now. You do have underwear on, right?”

Yes he did, but they were thin blue nylon briefs, not boxer shorts. Perry grimaced as he undid his belt buckle and let the pants fall about his ankles. He bent back over and gripped the bar. Miss Kincaid tucked the paddle under her arm and lifted his shirt in back which had fallen over his rear end. Nice, she thought. The young man had nicely formed buttocks and they were barely covered by thin blue briefs. She’d been expecting boxers. Hints of bare bottom peeked out from the edges.

"Let's make this real," she said. "Drop your briefs."

Perry gasped. But he was too far in now. The air was charged with an electric tension. Shame competed with arousal. He did as she commanded.

“Now, Mr. Conroy, I’m ready to begin.” She took her stance at his side and pressed the paddle against his bottom. “Are you ready?”

“Er, yes, ma’am.” God this was embarrassing, thought Perry. His heart was beating like a trip hammer and his knees were shaking. 

Nora Kincaid brought her arm straight back to shoulder height then delivered a  smooth downward stroke. It impacted the boy’s bottom with a crack! that sounded like a pistol shot in the airless room. Perry reacted immediately. He yelped in pain and let go of the barre, straightening up. His hands flew to his bottom cheeks. My God! That stung. He’d had no idea.

Nora clucked in disapproval. “We do not allow the student to let go or stand up, Mr. Conroy. If you do that again the swat will not count.”

Perry couldn’t believe how much that hurt. After all this time, now he knew what his pals had told him to be true—it hurt like blazes.

“Back over, Mr. Conroy. Grip the barre.

Perry gritted his teeth and bent over again. Whew! He now knew this was going to be an ordeal, but he was too ashamed of what Miss Kincaid would think of him if he begged off. He had wanted to impress her, for her to think of him as a man. So he wanted to react like this was no big deal, but the reality was, it hurt like hell.

Perry braced himself. Miss Kincaid lined up then delivered another swat right on the plumpest part of his bottom. It landed with another loud crack! and burned like fire.

“oh..oh…oh.” Perry sucked in some air and tried to keep himself under control.

 She hesitated a few seconds to let that sink in then applied swat number three. The paddle cracked against Perry’s bottom creating a dark red band that was now visible on the bare cheeks of his behind. Perry held on for dear life. His eyes were tearing up. This was awful, more awful than he had ever imagined.

Nora lined up swat four. Perry was almost shaking. Whack! She brought her arm down in a fluid motion applying a little wrist at the end.

“Shit!” yelled Perry. “Ow…ow…ow..!” He stamped his feet.

Nora stood up. “Mr. Conroy, you forgot our rule that we do not allow the student to use profanity. I’m afraid that that one will not count.”

Perry looked back at her with a look of pure anguish.

“Back down Mr. Conroy.” Nora had to admit to herself that she was enjoying this more than she thought she would. There was something about having an attractive young man, not a student, but a younger peer, an adult, under her power. And to be able to mete out such a humiliating punishment. It was, frankly, somewhat arousing.

Whap! Swat number five made him hiss through his teeth and stamp his feet.

Swoosh…crack! “Aieee….yeow!” He couldn’t help it. The yelp just came out. After swat number six she could see he was gripping the barre with white knuckles and struggling not to rise. 

“One more for the profanity, Mr. Conroy.” Perry groaned but held on. She tapped once and drew back her arm. The last swat hit him square on the underside of his sit spot. He jerked and he let out a howl.

Nora Kincaid stepped back and contemplated her work. He was one paddled lad. It had been a salutary licking. “Ok, Mr. Conroy, you may now rise. Pull your pants up and compose yourself. I’ll await you in the office.” Perry watched as she hung the paddle back on its nail and retreated to the outer office.

Perry walked stiffly back into the outer office.

“Would you like a tissue, Perry?” His eyes were full of tears and he was blinking rapidly.

“Uh, yes, thank you Miss Kincaid.”

She smiled at him, handed him a tissue and said, “Well now that it is over, I’m just Nora again. I hope there are no hard feelings. You did want to go through that experience, right?”

Perry nodded. His seat burned white hot. Still, he felt the erection returning.

“And I think you’re the better man for it, if I may say. Now you can write with authority. Your thesis will have come not from just a dry academic perspective, but from real world experience.” She beamed at him with approval and something else Perry could see. Interest, maybe? Perry thanked her and left, somewhat embarrassed by his growing erection.

She slumped back in her chair after he left. Interesting wasn’t the word for that interlude. She shook her head. I guess he found out what he wanted to find out. She wondered what he would say when he found out that corporal punishment had been abandoned as a policy at St. Andrews long before she had arrived. They’d explained to her that they had kept the old barre and the colored strips and the paddle on the wall as a reminder of times past. They said it shocked and maybe scared a few students who came into that room. They told their friends and the word spread. The dreaded paddling room---an urban legend. Just a reminder that you’d better be good. We can always go back to the old way---that was the implied threat.

She wondered if she’d hear from him again and decided that if he called she would see him. He was attractive, polite, well presented, and oh so very malleable. And had that been an erection she’d seen as he rose to take his leave? Very interesting. Maybe she’d even offer to help him with his thesis.

Part 2 Sunday