Friday, 30 December 2011
Hello once again my friends, and welcome to the last post of 2011!
I'm pleased to see that Christmas hasn't interfered with anyone's kinky pleasure, as my pageviews have, somewhat to my surprise, wandered past 10000.
In honour of this auspicious occasion I thought I'd post another Miss Robinson story; on rereading it some of the writing here is a bit rough, but the story is kind of fun.
And I've thrown in some random and totally inappropriate photos for your viewing pleasure too; a couple are from Richard Windsor's Vintage page, a couple from Cameron Dawn, and one I have no clue about!
Have a good New Year, and I hope to see you all soon.
Miss Robinson's Busiest Day
A School Mistress Story
Miss Robinson tapped her way down the empty corridor; having a student teacher in her class gave her much more free time than she was used to.
As she passed one of the full length mirrors that were placed at intervals around the school she paused to admire herself; her clothes were conservative but figure hugging, and her posture was fine. She stood straight as a yardstick, and did a slow twirl; she was, as ever, pleased with what she saw.
Noting that it was only ten minutes until break she continued on the path to her classroom; she would watch Miss Rush for the last few minutes of the session, and then they would be able to discuss her progress while the boys relaxed.
As she neared her room Miss Robinson was disturbed to hear the distant noise of unruly children; there was shouting and stamping and loud choruses of clapping. Who's class could possibly dare to act like that? Should she find out and offer her assistance?
Miss Robinson increased the speed of her progress, and passed several class rooms, from all of which exuded the air of calm that she expected.
Rapidly a feeling of foreboding came over her; was the noise coming from her classroom? Surely her pupils would not dare to indulge in this type of misbehaviour? Why, she had left them entirely unattended before now, and come back to find everyone quietly working at their desks.
She saw the door to her room in the distance. It almost seemed as though it were vibrating outwards, like a part of one of those stereo speakers. Her face grew red with embarrassment; how could they let her down like this, and in front of a student too?
In fact what was Miss Rush doing? It shouldn't have been hard to control the boys that Miss Robinson had taught; they lived in constant fear of incurring her wrath.
Reaching the classroom door Miss Robinson hurled it open; there was a loud bang as it bounced against the wall, and it would have swung shut again if not for Miss Robinson's carefully placed foot.
The room was in disarray; all of the desks were empty and boys danced around the room, whooping and thumping their feet on the ground. Two or three actually stood on their desks. One boy had taken advantage of the chaos and was drawing in chalk on the blackboard.
The noise stopped instantly; the sound of the door opening had shocked the rabble into silence. Even Miss Rush, who had been shouting from her perch on top of Miss Robinson's desk, was hushed.
“What is the meaning of this?” Miss Robinson did not need to raise her voice in order for it to cut through the room; Miss Rush looked flustered and began to climb down from the desk, whilst all of her pupils immediately ran for their seats.
“There's no need for you do that.” Miss Robinson continued. “I saw what was happening. You were all contributing to that ruckus. And you were ignoring your teacher; everyone one of you knows that we do not permit this type of behaviour at St Everett's.”
She turned to Miss Rush, who was looking rather shamefaced, and spoke, almost kindly, to her.
“Miss Rush, you may leave the room. Go and compose yourself. We shall discuss what happened here at breaktime.”
“No, but Miss Robinson...”
The senior teacher cut her off promptly.
“I said that we would discuss it later. Please leave now.” Her voice was firm, and Miss Rush felt herself propelled towards the door purely by its tone. She made one more try.
“I do think you should know...”
“I said later!” Miss Robinson hissed; several pupils jumped in an excess of pavlovian spirit. They knew what it meant to be on the receiving end of that voice.”Leave. Now!”
The door slammed shut, and Miss Rush found herself in the corridor; she made for the staff facilities, in order to freshen up before she had to confront Miss Robinson again.
Inside the classroom the air was pendulous with doom; there was a thickness to the atmosphere that threatened a heavy storm. Pupils cringed, awaiting the crack of lightning that was sure to come.
Miss Robinson glared at her class from beneath a frowning forehead; she tapped her foot angrily as she regarded them. None of those sitting uncomfortably in front of her could meet her eyes.
“I am terribly disappointed in you all. You have let yourselves down, and, more importantly, you have let me, as your teacher, and St Everett's, down too. Just imagine what tales Miss Rush will take back to college with her!”
Twitching like an irate mongoose Miss Robinson walked round to the far side of her desk, and opened one of the deep drawers that were attached below its left side. From it she withdrew a large dirty and quite used black plimsoll.
With arms crossed, and the plimsoll clutched in one white-knuckled hand, she returned to the front of the class, leaning back against the desk, where Miss Rush's feet had stood so recently.
“I'm sure that you all know what to expect. Form a line by the throne; single file, no pushing. I have time for each of you.” The sentence finished with a distinctly unpleasant sneer.
Several hands went up; Miss Robinson raised her voice.
“Put those hands down! I do not care to hear any excuses. There can be no excuses for the deplorable behaviour that I have seen here today. You will all line up and take your punishment quietly. If any of you are not happy with this plan of action, your bare behinds may discuss the matter with my senior cane during break. Any takers? No? Really? Are you quite sure? Well then, line up all of you. At once!”
There was an almost civilised rush to join the line that formed by the side of Miss Robinson's throne, which was a large straight backed wooden chair placed to the left hand side of her desk.
Miss Robinson waited by her desk, and admired the orderliness that she saw. Perhaps her class had learned something from her after all.
She left the boys standing for a couple of minutes, ensuring that even those at the front of the queue would have time to think about what was coming; then she instructed the line to reverse its order, so the boy originally last was first. She didn't think that she would spank the first boy any harder than the last, but if anyone were counting on it happening she would ensure that their gamble did not pay off.
The reorganisation was swift and smooth, and when it had finished Miss Robinson sat on her throne, the dark flat material of her lap beckoning the first victim.
“Well, Johnson, come on then. Over you go.”
She looked down at the young slightly plump bottom presented; his trousers were pulled very tight indeed!
She raised the plimsoll in her right hand, gripped by its heel, and walloped it down on the centre of Johnson's bottom. There was an answering gulp.
She moved her aim, and gave his right buttock two firm spanks; the rubbery sole bounced pleasingly back into the air after each blow, and Johnson huffed twice more.
Intending to ensure that the boy's whole bottom would sting she dropped two smacks onto his left buttock; each carried a jerk through Johnson's body, and he gave a low moan at the second one.
Miss Robinson hefted the heavy shoe one last time, and delivered a particularly stinging blow to the centre of Johnson's bottom once more, right across the fleshy sit spot. He yelped in reply, and wriggled on her lap. A job decently done, she thought.
“Alright then, Johnson. Up you get. Back to your desk until recess.”
She looked at the line of 15 boys awaiting punishment; several were already clutching their bottoms in anticipation. Miss Robinson felt quite light hearted; the exercise would certainly do her good, and she was sure to have absolute obedience for some weeks after this.
“Come on Harrison. Let's not waste time; I have other things to do today, you know. Over you go.”
The next backside was presented, this one rather thin and quite long. It was a much less inviting target but Miss Robinson dealt with it carefully, ensuring it was properly punished.
As Harrison scurried away clutching his burning bottom, Miss Robinson reached for the next culprit, and continued to spank away.
The bell for break went while Miss Robinson still had three boys to deal with, but no one moved an inch toward the door. The teacher looked on her class with satisfaction.
She delivered the last carefully measured blow and Bentley sniffed back a tear; he shuffled back to his seat but before he could sit Miss Robinson dismissed her class, telling them that they could have an additional 10 minutes as she had a couple of jobs to do.
The first among these was to complete the punishment book, detailing what each pupil had received and why. She was just finishing this when there was a hesitant tap on the door, and Miss Rush tiptoed in.
Miss Robinson turned to speak, but she was beaten to it as Miss Rush spoke, her words coming in a torrent that she had clearly rehearsed.
“Miss Robinson, I am so sorry for the noise the boys caused. It was entirely my fault; I.......”
The senior teacher waved a dismissive hand, and stopped her in full flow.
“Don't give it another thought. Boys can be high spirited; sometimes they can get out of hand, especially when they are dealing with an inexperienced teacher. You will find with time that you learn to see these....hmm, insurrections coming, and you can stop them in their tracks.”
Miss Rush nodded gratefully at all of this.
“But I still feel so responsible....”
“That does you a great deal of credit. But boys will be boys. Ultimately they only understand the use of force; a good hiding and they soon fall back into line. I'm sure this class will think twice before making such a fuss again. Still I am a little curious as to how it got started.”
“Now, wait a minute. I said it was my fault. You actually beat the whole class?” Miss Rush's voice had, peculiarly, become more forceful.
“Yes I did. Six each with the plimsoll. I'm sure it did them no end of good.”
“BUT THEY WERE DOING WHAT I TOLD THEM TOO!” Miss Rush screamed out.
“Uh, what....what?” Miss Robinson was stunned, both by the fact of the outburst and by its contents. “You told them to yell and dance around?”
“Well, yes.” Miss Rush seemed to regret her outburst, and the volume of her voice had dropped considerably. “We were talking about Red Indians, and I asked the boys to imagine what a war dance would sound like. And to, well, demonstrate.”
In response Miss Robinson's voice had become dangerously quiet, acquiring some of the sibilance that her pupils so feared.
“You asked them to dance around and shout? You asked them to? And I have just slippered all sixteen boys for doing as they were told?”
“You didn't give me chance to explain! I tried to but....”
“And how could I expect such an explanation? To think that anyone at this school would so stupid as to....I can't find the words. I just can't. Do you have no sense woman?”
“Well, modern teaching techniques....”
“This is the 1960's. Not the 21st Century. At St Everett's we employ tried and tested teaching methods. And we have every success.”
“Yes, but there is so much to be learned....”
Miss Robinson cut her off again.
“Yes, there is, and clearly you need to learn some things yourself. Tell me, Miss Rush, how old are you?”
“I'm twenty years old; nearly twenty one.”
“Practically a child yourself. Well, I can see only one morally proper way to fix this situation.” With these words Miss Robinson picked up the plimsoll that she had discarded on the desk when dismissing her class.
Miss Rush looked at her, and slowly began to back away.
“Erm, what are you.....keep away, Miss Robinson! I'm not one of our pupils...”
Miss Robinson grabbed the young woman by the arm and led her to the throne. She placed her own backside on it, and she placed Miss Rush over her lap. The student teacher was wearing a shiny fifties style skirt that had belonged to her mother, and it was a little too small; it pulled the twin hemispheres of her buttocks into stark relief, and provided a most inviting target.
Well, thought Miss Robinson, first time I've ever spanked a woman. Or a girl, really. You're never too old for a new experience.
She raised the plimsoll, ensured that her grip was firm, and whacked it, with all of her might, into Miss Rush's bottom. The young teacher howled at once.
“Come on now, Miss Rush; the boys made far less fuss than that.”
She continued to spank the plimsoll into the tightly sheathed target; each blow delivered a resounding splat, and most produced a howl from the wriggling young woman.
Outside the door to the classroom, Miss Robinson's pupils had formed an orderly queue, and patiently awaited entry. They listened, open mouthed, to the noises that came from within.
Mr Young, the school's Headmaster, wandered down the corridor. He paused, puzzled by the sounds that echoed down the corridor.
“Hmm, boy, Matthews is it? What's going on in there?”
“Sir, Miss Robinson and Miss Rush are discussing some disciplinary matters, I think, Sir”
“Oh, very good then. Miss Rush must be passing on some of those new techniques they learn nowadays. Remember that lads; you have to keep up with the times. Carry on.”
With that Mr Young trundled on, happy at the news that his school was adopting progressive methods.
The howls from within the classroom continued.
Saturday, 24 December 2011
Well, why wouldn't I? Pressies, food and booze. A fun time in the warm embrace of my family. Singing and joy to the World.
I hope that everyone out there has a wonderful Christmas, and eats and drinks as much as I do.
I'll be back in a few days with more reviews, opinions and stories for your spanking pleasure.
All the best to you all, and thanks for visiting here over the last couple of months.
Your affectionate host
Friday, 23 December 2011
Just a quick note to remind anyone who has forgotten that the estimable Pandora Blake (and you all know how much I love her work) has finally gotten her new paysite up and running; it's at http://dreamsofspanking.com/
Go take a look around; it has a splendid preview section with lots of free videos and pictures. The rates are very reasonable too.
I will be posting a full review of the site sometimes after Christmas (it may actually be in the New Year, depending on how busy I am), but there's no excuse for not checking it out now.
Go on, click the link!
Merry Christmas to you all!
Wednesday, 21 December 2011
Hello again and welcome back my friends; this is the fourth of my model appreciation series, and the first to feature an American model, the fiery but fun Allaura Shane.
What do we know about Allaura? Well, not all that much I'm afraid. She's originally from Arizona, where she did a number of photoshoots, before moving more recently to Denver.
She's 24 years old, and stands 5 foot 8 inches tall; she has short dark brown hair and a considerable amount of body art in the form of tattoos. She is very proud of this aspect of her appearance.
She refers to herself as having "buns of steel".
Whilst she is available for fetish shoots it appears that she has only shot spanking videos for Firm Hand Spanking, where she has mainly worked as a bottom, although she does appear in 2 series as a top.
So what do I like about Allaura? It's all attitude baby! Allaura is a compulsively bratty motor mouth, who never hesitates to talk herself into trouble.
She writhes around whilst being spanked, often struggling to get away from her spanker. She never stops talking whilst being punished, often egging her disciplinarian on to greater lengths (see especially her videos with Alison Miller).
Of course Allaura looks great, with dark somewhat smouldering looks, and an easy infectious grin.
She brings a massive enthusiasm to her worker, whether as top or bottom, and she can really take a good spanking.
Take a look at these pictures, all but one from Firm Hand Spanking. The other picture is from Allaura's page at Model Mayhem.
Wouldn't you want to spank her?
Tuesday, 20 December 2011
Well, as I've often said, whilst I am primarily a spanker, I am also a little bit switchy, and that hasn't been particularly well supported by this blog.
So, bearing in mind yesterday's list of reasons that I like to spank, here I present the reverse argument.
Sorry if this isn't your thing, but there are also some nice pictures; ignore the bottoms and concentrate on the lovely lady spankers. So, as the Ramones would have said, Hey, Ho, Let's Go. These are the reasons that I like to be spanked:-
1. the weakness in my knees as she calls me to her
2. the strength in her hands as she guides me across her knee
3. the pressure of her hand against the small of my back as she holds me firmly in place
4. the tension in my buttocks as I suck them in, awaiting that first smack
5. the sound of her palm falling, displacing the air that lies in its path
6. the thud as the first blow strikes, rocking me forward against her thighs
7. the squirmy feeling in the pit of my stomach as my aroused member rubs itself stiffer with each spank
8. the beginning of heat in the centre of my bottom, reflected by a deeper warmth in the centre of my being
9. the conflicting feelings of emotional security and physical peril I feel when I am treated as a little child (although I was never treated this way as a child)
10. the way my buttocks hum to me as the spanking builds in force, a song of pleasure and pain
11. the shiver of overwhelming desire I fell as she brushes my dick whilst taking down my trousers
12. the waft of cooling air against reddened skin as I lie unprotected across her lap, waiting for my punishment to resume
13. the sharper sound of her slaps as they fall against bared flesh
14. the (I'm almost sure) imaginary suction of her hand as she pulls it away from my just compressed buttocks
15. the distinct feeling of heat as the initial tingling begins to grow into a mild sting
16. the small sharp explosions of pain each time she strikes, like the tiny nip of a razor toothed animal
17. the gradually spreading pain as the rouged patches on my cheeks begin to meet up
18. the release in finding my voice, and crying out against the pain, as the spanking reaches an echoing crescendo
19. the residual ache, deep into the muscles of my bottom, that remains long after the sting has died away
20. the remembrance of heat in my cheeks as I shuffle, a little uncomfortably, in my seat afterwards
So there you go; some of the things I like about being spanked; it doesn't happen very often (certainly not as often as I deserve) but I think it's wonderful to experience a spanking from the other side. Everyone should try it!
(Images mainly from Strict Women, a website that I plan to review soon; the other image as marked)
Monday, 19 December 2011
Welcome back to the third in my model appreciation series; this is my somewhat delayed peon to the stunning and generous Leia-Ann Woods.
So then, what do we know about Leia-Ann? To look at she is the quintessential English rose, demure and graceful, raven haired (most of the time) and a genuine switch.
She entered the scene at 19, began doing some modelling work and eventually graduated to video, which she took to like a duck to water.
She is deeply committed to CP.
In 2005 Leia-Ann began her own spanking paysite, Bars and Stripes, working with Michael Stamp of Northern Spanking fame.
Leia has appeared in videos for just about everyone, and is massively in demand. I have seen her in videos from:-
Triple A Spanking
Spanked Call Girls
Firm Hand Spanking
My Spanking Roommate
Spanked in Uniform
Sarah Gregory Spanking
I am sure that there are many that I have missed out.
So why do I like Leia-Ann? She is stunning to look at, with a wonderfully firm bubble butt that looks equally good encased in a tight pair of jeans or bare across a spanker's knee.
Her sense of mischief shines through; it's easy to believe that she is a brat who needs a good hiding in virtually everything that she does.
She is an accomplished actress, who both looks and sounds the part.
She is extremely gracious; when I manages to mangle her name in a website review she calmly pointed it out, and she was extremely understanding when I apologised.
Leia's blog is compulsive reading, and very brave; she really bares her soul for all to see, and then invites comments, to which she often responds. Check it out at http://leiasnewmusings.blogspot.com/
She is an active member of the spanking community, who is happy to meet her fans at both spanking parties and in one to one sessions; I think it's brilliant that it is possible to meet, and spank, one of our heroes.
She seems to be a genuine switch, who gets as much fun out of being dominant as being dominated; whilst I am primarily a spanker I dream of being across her knee, her knowing smile shining as her firm hand waits to fall on my quivering bottom. Hopefully one day.
I urge you to seek out videos featuring Leia-Ann, wherever you may find them; she is prolific and there is a lot of great stuff out there.
All the best until next time.
Much of this is really obvious but still, here I go!
1. the thrill as I say "get across my knee", and she obeys
2. the sight of tightly clothed buttocks presented across my lap
3. the wriggle of anticipation, shaking those twin mounds as I prepare to lay on that first smack
4. the tentative push back, or sometimes withdrawal, as I rub my hand across the target before beginning
5. the sharp tang of anticipation that I feel as my hand floats, shoulder high, fingers slightly splayed, teasing that first decent
6. the gentle whoosh of moving air as my hand descends
7. the first shock of contact as my palm strikes across the centre of the raised surface
8. the first gasp, a sharp intake of breathe as that first spank slams home
9. the echoing shock through my fingers and wrist, and back up my arm to my shoulder
10. the vibration of spanked cheeks beneath my hand as it rests for a split second before reversing its course upwards
11. the pleasure in choosing my next target; right buttock, left buttock, centre again? The peak or the trough of the underside of the cheeks?
12. the warmth growing in my palm as it smacks down again and again
13. the feel of a female body writhing and wriggling against my thighs
14. the small but growing sounds from my victim as the spanking grows in severity
15. the sense of hope that she feels as I pause in my task, before I raise her skirt
16. the smooth round cheeks, in sharper relief now that they're only covered by thin shiny panties
17. the changing sound of impact, as part of my hand now finds naked flesh
18. the growing pink tinge beneath the pants leg
19. the horrified gasp as I slowly begin to peel down her panties
20. the ultimate reveal, as both buttocks pull free of elastic material, and bound fully formed into view
21. the resounding splat as, for the first time, my whole hand finds bare bottom
22. the rapidly changing colour of her flesh
23. the growing protestations as the spanking nears its conclusion
24. the synchronisation of our panting breathes, hers in pain and mine in excitement
25. the satisfaction as she stands before me, well spanked, and ruefully rubbing her red stinging bottom.
All photos are copyright as marked.
Saturday, 17 December 2011
Now, is that the most boring sounding blog post title that you've ever heard? I try, I try. Really I do.
Anyway, I've been thinking about mainstream spanking, in television and the movies, and something that annoyed me in the past raised it's somewhat grubby head once again.
A few years ago I was watching a pretty crappy British sitcom (so unremarkable that I have no clue what it might have been, but I'm sure it wasn't one of the half decent ones). There was a married couple who were at odds (aren't they always?); the wife was at her front door, and her husband came marching up the front path towards her. He says something pleadingly, she snorts, and swings a solid punch at him, hitting his chin and knocking him down. The studio audience (or at least the laugh track) roar at this tremendous joke.
Because, you see, she's smaller than him. And women are the weaker sex. And women are docile and non-violent. She's turned the tables, do you see?
She has committed an assault without any real provocation; if the tables were turned and the husband had punched the wife there would have been no laughter, only shock and horror (two quite proper reactions). Even if the husband were a slight figure, and his wife of matronly proportions it would still have been unacceptable. The woman might be physically stronger but we acknowledge men shouldn't punch women.
Apparently it's fine the other way. Funny even.
I knew a guy a little while back who moved in with a woman, who subsequently became physically abusive. She hit him (stereotypically, I know) with saucepans on several occasions, causing cutting and bruising. He never hit her back, not because he was afraid of her, but because his upbringing forbade it.
Even if you haven't watched The Young and the Restless I'm sure that you must have heard of it. A couple of years ago they had a scene where a male character bent a female character, of roughly the same age, over, under his arm, and administered 2 or 3 spanks. They were well deserved by any reasonable measure, in response to a verbal attack on him.
True to form the woman was shocked, and she clutched her bottom in response to the pain, before asking if he was insane.
This is unusual in mainstream terms, as there are few M/F disciplinary spankings shown nowadays; the vast majority are for sexual purposes. What makes this case a little more relevant it the audience reaction to it. There was a mass of negative comment on the official show forum, many referring to the slaps as a sexual assault, for which the character should be reported to the police. There was genuine outrage, with many considering it inappropriate for a man to enforce his masculinity in that way.
Which character would be more likely to incur physical damage as a result of the blows they received? The punched husband or the spanked woman?
While I suppose you would need to see the scenes in question to absolutely determine the answer to this, I would guess that most of you immediately lean towards the guy being punched; a set of knuckles in the face is likely to cause bleeding and bruising; a handful of smacks on the butt is unlikely to cause anything other than a slight blush and a quick sting.
Somehow though as a society we consider a woman hitting her husband to be okay, while a man smacking a woman is not.
I'm not arguing that non-consensual spanking is okay; clearly it isn't. I don't believe in hitting children, and I don't believe in hitting adults either, whatever their sex.
I might be making too much of this but the only time I can remember a man punching a woman for comedic effect is in Airplane, where it is clearly shown in an absurd context, but I can think of several where the roles are reversed. I'm not saying we should have a PC society as such, but I would like to think we can have one where everyone is treated equally. Even when violence is involved.
(the top picture is from The Young and the Restless; the other is an outtake from The House Bunny, and is there just for fun).
Tuesday, 13 December 2011
So then, as promised, my second paysite review, and this time I'm looking at Firm Hand Spanking.
days of the site).
Abigail Whittaker, Madison Martin, Chloe Elise and Lizzy Madison have all featured, some on many occasions.
features as both top and bottom (although primarily as a spankee); she has also been involved in the production of a number of the clips. Alison is a bit newer, and she too is a switch who is shown predominantly as a bottom.
Monday, 12 December 2011
Hullo all of you blog readers out there in spanking land (ah, if only that were a real place - I'd be sending in my immigration papers this very moment). Welcome to the second of my pieces about models that I particularly like.
Her above mentioned blog is one of the most intelligent and thought provoking around; Pandora is extremely concerned with sexual politics, and expresses her opinions in a forthright and coherent manner.
Sunday, 11 December 2011
Hello my friends (I think it's fair to call anyone who bothers to read this drivel a friend). Here's a little tale for you all; it's a bit different from my usual stuff, as the beating takes centre stage, and the background is related by the spankee (well, the girl being caned) as we proceed.
The grain of the desktop meandered, Amazon-like, across it's finely varnished surface. I traced its path, my eyes glistening with unshed tears. I was damned if I'd give Hurley the satisfaction of crying.
My fingers were wrapped around the far edge of the desk, knuckles white with the strain as I held on as if for dear life.
The nearside of the desk dug uncomfortably into my stomach, as I bent across it; my legs were columns, pushing my bottom up into a perfect curve.
Sighing I placed my cheek against the cool surface; my breasts were crushed against my blouse as I allowed the desktop to take my weight.
Even stretched as my body I was, I could not prevent my buttocks tensing beneath my short pleated skirt; I was dripping with nervous sweat and my tiny black knickers were encrusted against my behind.
The wait was eternal; I aged a lifetime, over and over. Here, I thought, was the absolute proof of reincarnation, as I relived my life time after time.
I could hear Hurley pacing the floor of her study; now and again she swished her cane through the air. It sliced through the atmosphere, like a space capsule plummeting to Earth; soon the hum of it's progress would be joined by the crack of impact.
Miss Hurley cleared her throat; I could picture her, prim and tidy, not a hair out of place, as she held the cane against her long straight grey skirt.
“Adamson, I can't tell you how disappointed I am to find myself in this position again; usually when I cane a girl for bullying that is the end of the matter. But, only 3 weeks after the last time, here we are again.”
I didn't know why she felt it necessary to go through all this again; we'd already discussed the matter at length. She told me what had been reported to her, and I explained how I had only pushed that daft bitch Jenson, and that her fall and the cut on her head were total accidents. If she hadn't done them on purpose to get at me.
That went over about as well as the Sex Pistols at a Royal Garden Party; she looked at me like I had spat on her plushly carpeted floor.
“You well know that we have no tolerance for bullying here at St Grimley's School for Girls; we have a set of rules and they are enforced strictly. I cannot see why you would think it a good idea to pick on that poor girl, after our last conversation ended so uncomfortably for you.”
Which meant that she whacked my arse last time, and now she was going to do it again.
“I dislike employing corporal punishment, especially with my senior girls, but the rules of our school do not give me any option.”
It didn't bloody feel like she disliked it, not when she was lashing that whippy stick of hers against my bottom! It seemed like she was well into it.
“Bullying is an offense, not only against the girl that you terrified and hurt, but against the student body as a whole; our pupils can only excel if they are free to attend school without fear of being violently assaulted.”
Oh fine; what about the violent assault she was about to commit? How can you teach someone that bullying is wrong by hitting them? I felt pretty damn well like I was being bullied by Miss Hurley.
“This ridiculous story that you told, that it was Jenson's fault that you gave her that vicious shove, is a cowardly lie; it seems that your previous punishment made some impression, as you seem so desperate to avoid a repeat.”
Of course I didn't want to get caned again; it bloody hurt! And it was Jenson's fault; she had made out with my boyfriend, so she owed me her lunch money for a week. That was the standard cost. Not my fault the stroppy cow refused to pay up, and then insisted that Anthony had come on to her.
“In view of all this I shall repeat the dose, and hopefully this time the lesson will sink in properly; I will have no bullying in my school.”
Yeah, unless you're the one doing it, you hypocritical cow!
“Adamson, I trust that you are prepared to take your medicine?” Great, now she thinks that she's a bloody doctor!
I assumed that this was rhetorical. It turned out that I was wrong.
“Are you ready girl?” she snapped, thrashing the air once more.
I couldn't see how anyone was ever really ready for six of the best (except maybe for Blake in 5C, who was always trying to get the boys to smack her arse) but I knew what was expected.
“Yes Miss” I piped in my most unconvincing voice; the words managing to catch in my throat and come out a bit more highly pitched than usual.
“Very well then. You will remain in place until I finish.”
I felt the stick being placed across my bottom; it brushed against me where I stuck out most, and she tapped it, two or three times, like a golfer addressing the ball with the odd practice swing.
You know that old Joni Mitchell song? You don't know what you've got 'til its gone? Well, it was like that. The absence of the cane against my bottom felt huge when she pulled back her arm.
Sound travels pretty fast, and I heard the cane swooshing towards me before I felt its impact. There was just enough time for an aborted shiver of fear before I felt its dull blow across my cheeks.
There was a moment of pressure, and then the cane was on its way back upwards. That had hurt less than I remembered.
The cane had just begun its second descent (the change in the noise it makes is unmistakeable) when the sting began to set in; a line of fire ants nibbling at a narrow strip of my behind.
I almost made the error of looking back to check what was happening, but a convincing distraction arrived just in time.
This time there was no pause before the sting took hold; it seemed to originate deep within the muscles, rather than on the surface where the cane had bitten me. The stroke had landed just below the first, but it was hard to believe they weren't just one great thick stripe.
Ah, damnit! I'd been distracted by the results of the first two strokes, and the third caught me by surprise, a sudden explosion across the dead centre of my bottom cheeks. I yelped, involuntarily, and jerked against the desk.
Shit, shit, shit! The strokes were now coming too closely together for me to process them; the initial sting of one was still flaring when the next arrived. Ever put your arse into a beehive? Me neither, but I think I have a good idea what it would feel like.
I looked at my fingers; the skin around my knuckles was cracking with the effort needed to hold on. I knew if I released the wood I'd cover my bottom with them, and that would be more trouble.
My feet did a little uncontrolled two step, and my bottom, without reference to the rest of my body, tried to beat a hasty retreat. This resulted in my frame going into an entirely futile wriggle; I must have looked like a stranded fish, struggling for breath.
That reminded me; breath! I panted; trying to distract itself from the intense burning in my bottom, my mind wandered. Do you think that birth training, with all that panting, would help make being caned easier?
My buttocks tried to suck themselves into the desk, which actually hurt more. Caned muscles really don't want to tense up!
Holy shit! The last stroke felt harder, and cut across the first two. How the hell had she poured lava onto my bottom, and so accurately?
This time I did the whole lot; gasping, panting, shuffling and jigging.
“Get up. And keep still Adamson.”
I obeyed half of this; I jumped to my feet, and my hands grabbed at my scalded arse, while my feet executed a creditable Irish jig.
Hurley let me get away with this for a few seconds; I didn't care for the smile she had on her face as she watched me struggling to control myself.
“Right, I'll just enter that in the book.” she said, reaching for the large red volume (bet it wasn't as red as my arse!) where she recorded her pupils' punishments. She composed a line of small neat letters, and then closed the book again.
“Okay Adamson; you may go. And remember, I don't expect to see you here again. You must learn to treat others as you'd wish to be treated. Go on now, back to class.”
I turned and shuffled through her solid oak door, closing it quietly behind me. Outside I repeated my jig, and devoted a couple of minutes to a firm but gentle massage of my hindquarters. I had PE later and all of the girls would want to see the result of my visit to the Head.
So then, I reflected, what had I learned? Well, if Miss Hurley believed that you should do to others what you wanted them to do to you, she was a closet masochist! And when I got Jenson back I needed to be subtle about it.
Oh yeah, I'd learned that lesson alright.
Good evening (well, it is here); if you follow this blog at all you'll be aware that, on Friday, I posted a review of the Spanking in Uniform website. Thank you to all those who contacted me about the review.
Friday, 9 December 2011
I'm not quite sure why, but my website review of Spanking in Uniform appears below my article on Amelia Jane; I did write it earlier and I saved it as a draft, but I only posted it about an hour ago.