Behind High Walls II

Do you remember me posting these two pictures a couple of weeks ago? I'm sure you do.

Well there's an interesting story that goes with them.....

.....DEEP in the leafy country-side, behind its high protective walls, Balcombe Manor basks in the languor of a drowsy English summer afternoon. The sun is shining out of a clear blue sky and it would be too hot if it weren’t for the gentle breeze which is keeping the air pleasantly fresh. The four young women, Mrs Blackett’s pupils, are in the garden for their Tranquillity Period, in the rose garden beneath a magnificent Albertine rose from which pink petals now and then fall gently down.

‘You’ve some petals on your hat,’ Felicity tells Annabel. ‘But leave them; leave them for your husband. His rose adorned with rose petals; isn’t that poetic.’

Annabel smiles. All four young women, as usual, are wearing wide-brimmed hats against the sun and are in calf-length dresses of an elegant bygone age – the middle 1930s perhaps. Under those dresses each girl’s form is tightly held in that ultimate of feminine discipline, a tight-laced corset, a garment which is worn at all times at Balcombe Manor. Annabel’s smile hides a certain nervousness. Today, this afternoon, her husband is visiting her for the first time.

Annabel is excited yet apprehensive. She has been here a week and a week can be a long time, especially a young woman’s first week at Balcombe Manor. As is usually the case it has not been as easy adjustment. Modern girls are simply not taught to accept submission and discipline. In particular they have had no experience of being regularly caned on the bare bottom. So when a young woman in her early twenties is sent to Balcombe Manor there is an ingrained behavioural pattern to be broken.

It is always a shock for the new pupil but Mrs Blackett’s methods are tried and tested and she is also a strong, dominant personality. Mrs Blackett and Balcombe Manor are invariably successful in remoulding a modern young wife into traditional feminine ways, but the remoulding, especially at first, is painful.

‘Lucky you,’ smiles Felicity. ‘You are allowed a whole hour alone with him in your room, you know.’ She giggles, as do the other two, Susan and Rosalind. Annabel flushes slightly.

It will be marvellous to see Roger again, to be with him, but at the same time… Annabel wonders if she dare ask him to take her away – as she has told herself all the past week she will. She suspects that even if she dares it will be quite useless – and could even make matters worse. Mrs Blackett could very well ask Roger if Annabel had made such a plea, and it would be very difficult to lie to Mrs Blackett. And then… it would simply be more of that cane, from Mrs Blackett herself or from Gillman, the head servant.

That dreadful cane. Annabel has had it every day, scything mercilessly into her tender bare nates. Yesterday an eight-stroke session and a six-stroke one. 

Read the rest of part II here but you may want to go and read the first part here. Both on the Janus website.

Thanks has to go to Bob who found the stories for us.

Have a fun weekend.

Ronnie

xx

The Thing in the Greenhouse

The first time she saw it, it was in the greenhouse. Bella remembered the occasion clearly. Less than two weeks ago she had been happily pottering, transplanting seedlings, when she detected a small movement from behind a plant pot on the bench. She jumped back, startled. If it was a spider she would run away shrieking. If it was a mouse - well, she could cope with that. She rather liked mice.

Armed with a trowel she stepped cautiously towards the bench. All was quiet. She could see nothing unusual. A row of golden headed marigolds smiled at her. She reached out to brush away a crumpled leaf. And then she saw it, and hurriedly stepped back, squealing.

It was small and green, the size of a tennis ball. It had a big head with protruding eyes that bulged from beneath a jutting forehead. It had a squab nose and an orange beak, and a pair of almost comical legs ending in splayed webbed feet. What was it? Some sort of frog? But no - it couldn't possibly be a frog for it had wings; and below the wings were tiny arms with balled fists. A flying frog? Experiencing a tingling blend of curiosity tinged with fear, Bella rubbed her eyes and stared at the ungainly creature.

It stared back, regarding her calmly. And then it jumped. It jumped up and down as though it were on a pogo stick. Bella yelled out in surprise and ran out of the greenhouse. She didn't dare venture back in until a few days later. Having left the door open, she fervently hoped that the creature had got out into the garden and been eaten by a cat.

No such luck. It was sitting on the top shelf stuffing its face with her marigolds! Its cheeks bulged as though it had food stored in pouches like a hamster.
"Oi!! Don't you dare eat my plants!!" yelled Bella. She picked up a garden fork and brandished it menacingly, then strode purposefully into the greenhouse. However, she exited quickly when she realised that the creature had more than quadrupled in size. It sat on the top shelf of the greenhouse, contentedly munching, an idyllic expression on its face.

"Shoo!" Bella stabbed the air with the pitchfork.

The creature regarded her fearlessly and rammed another marigold flower down its throat. It made a slobbery noise as it chewed.

"Disgusting thing! Get out of my greenhouse! Go on - shoo!"

It made a soft angry clicking sound and squinted at Bella defiantly. Bella was angry and yet still too afraid to touch the thing. How on earth was she to get rid of it before it ate everything in sight? An idea sprang to mind and she smiled and went to find next doors cat.

Tibbles was easily bribed into the greenhouse with a niece piece of boiled ham. Once he was in there, Bella slid the door shut and went inside the house for coffee and biscuits. She smiled in satisfaction as she heard the angry mewing and screeching. Good old Tibbles.

But alas, Tibbles was no more. For on entering the greenhouse again, Bella saw a big clump of Tibbles gingery fur sticking out of the creatures beak. And horror of horrors - the creature was now the size of a small dog. Bella screamed and ran next door, her fists flailing and pounding on Uncle Herbert's front door.

He wasn't her real Uncle, but for all their spanking games she addressed him as such, and he in turn regarded her as his wayward niece Isobella.

"Ohhhhhhhh, Uncle Herbert," wailed Bella, real tears sparkling on her flushed face.

"Why, whatever is the matter? What's wrong?" Uncle Herbert ushered her inside into the sitting room and deposited her on the sofa.

"Its a creature - I thought at first it was a frog, but it isn't. Its a green thing. Its eaten all my plants and now its gone and eaten Tibbles!"

"I see," remarked Uncle Herbert, arching his bushy eyebrows.

"Poor, poor Tibbles," sighed Bella.

"Indeed," said Uncle Herbert, a distinct note of sarcasm in his voice. He rose and strode to the sideboard at the opposite end of the room. From the top drawer he took out a hefty looking leather tawse.

"Now Bella - what have I told you about telling fibs?"
"But Uncle Herbert - I'm not telling fibs! I'm not!" Bella stamped her feet crossly.
"Let me be the judge of that, young lady. Now, lets have those knickers down and give that naughty bottom of yours a damn good seeing to."
"Nooooo," said Bella. "This isn't a game. There really is a nasty creature in the greenhouse, and its growing bigger and bigger, and its eaten poor Tibbles."

"Nonsense, girl," snapped Uncle Herbert, and upended Bella over his sturdy lap.

He raised her skirt and lowered her knickers, admiring the plump well-rounded rump that greeted him. He gave it an affectionate squeeze and then proceeded to demonstrate what happens to naughty girls who tell lies. The tawse rose and fell and Bella squealed and hollered and wriggled as her bottom reddened nicely beneath Uncle Herbert's diligent ministrations. He delighted in the meaty thwack the tawse made as it disciplined her wobbling cheeks, and because the naughty minx showed no sign of contrition or truthfulness, he thrashed the tender area on top of her thighs.

Bella screeched and yelled even louder, the fate of poor deceased Tibbles banished from her mind by the searing pain that welted her thighs. As she lay panting and whimpering, Uncle Herbert went to fetch the cane, and made her bend over the arm of the sofa as he wielded it expertly. Twelve cutting strokes later, Bella was sent home in disgrace and ordered to go to bed.

Still sniffling and whimpering, Bella rubbed her swollen bottom and tried to get herself comfortable in bed. Meanwhile, the thing in the greenhouse had woken up to the fact that it had a taste for protein, and went out in search of more. It snuck up behind Uncle Herbert and gobbled him down greedily, while Bella drifted off to sleep and dreamt about giant man-eating yellow marigolds.

Flopsybunny (aka Lucy Appleby) kindly sent me this fun story to share. Thanks Flopsy.  It did make me laugh. Hope you all enjoyed it. 

Have a fun weekend.

Ronnie
xx

My Last Spanking

Our friend Hermione is the best at finding and sharing stories with us on her "From The Top Shelf" posts but I found this little spanking scene that I wanted to share with you.

It's taken from the "Memoirs of Dolly Morton - a young women who takes part in the struggle to free slaves. She is caught, beaten, tortured and raped before being taken by one of the landowner who uses her for his own purpose and is forced to become his mistress and mistress of his plantation.

The spanking takes place in New York where Randolph (the landowner) takes Dolly and gives her the news that he's leaving for Europe but not taking her.....

I took a poke from him whenever he chose to give me one, but I never tried to get him to embrace me. I had a number of admirers myself, and could have had plenty of poking had I wished, but I was always faithful to Randolph, not from any feeling of honor towards him, but simply because I did not care for strange men. (At that time there was no necessity for me to allow myself to be poked if I did not wish to be. Captain Franklin was the only man who ever had had me with my own consent during the whole time I lived with Randolph.)

As the days passed, I saw less and less of Randolph, and, even when he was with me, he never touched me in any way. Meanwhile, his manner towards me became very cold, though he never was actually rude to me. I guessed what it all meant. He had grown tired of me, and I had a presentiment that he soon would turn me adrift. However, I always had known that our relations would come to an end sooner or later, and that then I should have to do what many a woman has had to do when she has found herself deserted by the man by whom she has been ruined.

Before long, Randolph gave me the news which I had been expecting.  He said: I am going to Europe with a party of friends, so I cannot take you with me. In fact, Dolly, the time has come for us to part altogether. But, though I am leaving you, it is not through any fault of yours. You have always been a good-natured girl and you have done whatever I asked you. Therefore I wish to do the best I can for you.  I intend to buy you a little house and to furnish it well for you. I also will give you a sum of money to start with. You are only twenty-two years of age, you have a pretty face and a very good figure.

It was a hard way of putting the matter before me and the tears rose to my eyes. But nevertheless I felt a certain amount of gratitude to him for what he intended to do for me. He had ruined me, but he might have cast me off with nothing at all. I thanked him, and he gave me a short kiss, saying that he would take me out next day to look for a house. He then went away, leaving me to think over my future prospects.

I shall not lengthen my story by telling you of our house hunting; it will suffice to say that eventually he bought this house, furnished it throughout. When everything was in order, Randolph brought me here one afternoon, handed over the title deeds of the house and gave me a thousand dollars. We then sat down and had a chat while he drank a glass of wine and smoked a cigar.

When he had finished, he rose from his seat, saying with a laugh.

You know, Dolly, that I am fond of whipping a woman’s bottom. Now I don’t suppose that I shall ever have a chance of doing such a thing in Europe, so you must let me give you a farewell spanking, a real smart one.

I did not like the idea at all, and a cold shiver ran down my back, for I knew that he would hurt me dreadfully. But I had not the strength of mind to refuse his farewell request, so, in a rather faint voice, I said: I will let you spank me, but do not be too hard upon me. You know that I cannot bear pain.

Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he tied my wrists together, a proceeding which alarmed me. Oh don’t tie me! I exclaimed.

He laughed, saying: I am going to whip you as if you were a naughty slave girl, so your hands must be tied to prevent your putting them over your bottom during the spanking.

Thoroughly frightened, I made some feeble remonstrances, but he seized me and, sitting down on a chair, placed me in the orthodox position across his knees. Then he turned up my petticoats and took down my drawers.

Now, he said, stroking my bottom, don’t make too much noise, or the servants will hear you.

Then, holding me firmly, he began to spank me very severely. Oh how hard his hand was, and how it did sting!

I burst into tears, wriggling and squirming about on his thighs. I could distinctly feel his stiff member pressing against my belly. Clenching my teeth and holding my breath, I suppressed for a short time the cries which rose to my lips. But at last the stinging pain became so intense that I began to squeal shrilly, kicking my legs about in anguish and begging him to stop.

He went on spanking me until my bottom burned and throbbed in a most agonizing way and I screamed out as loudly as I could. Then he stopped, and, laying me in a stooping position over the end of the sofa, he poked me while I was still crying and smarting with the pain of the horrid spanking.

When all was over, he untied my wrists and laid me on the sofa, while he stood beside it, looking down at me with a smile on his face as I lay with the tears trickling down my cheeks, all my clothes rumpled and my drawers hanging about my ankles. My face was red, but I am sure that my poor bottom must have been much redder judging from the way it was throbbing and tingling. (It was black-and-blue the next day.)

Bending down he gave me a kiss, saying laughingly: There, Dolly, that is the last spanking—and the last poke you will ever get from me.

It was very cruel of you to have spanked me so severely,» I said tearfully. I cannot understand why you should have taken pleasure in giving me such dreadful pain.

He was not a bit sorry for having spanked me with such wanton severity. He said: Oh, you soon will find that many other men besides me are fond of spanking a woman till she squeals. (I since have found that such indeed is the case: many men are very fond of taking a woman across their knees. I often have been asked to allow myself to be spanked, but I have never consented. Randolph is the only man who ever has taken me on his knees for a spanking.)

He went on, laughing at his own poor joke: You know, Dolly, when a man sets up a new establishment, he generally gives a housewarming. Well, I have given you a bottom-warming instead. I have always admired your bottom, and I shall always have a pleasing recollection of it as it appeared today. It looked very pretty while the plump white cheeks were blushing at the touch of my hand.

He then kissed me again on my tear-bedabbled face, bade me goodbye and calmly left the house, leaving me lying on the sofa, sore, angry and indignant. Fortunately, the servants had not heard the shrieks which I had uttered while being spanked.

I lay there quietly till the intense smarting pain of my bottom had somewhat subsided, then I fastened up my drawers and, going into the bedroom, bathed my flushed face, thinking to myself what an utterly heartless man Randolph was. There certainly had never been any sentiment in the relations between us, but I thought that he might have parted with me in a more tender way. However, I had no tender feeling for him after the way he had treated me, and so the only tenderness" there was about our parting was the tenderness of my sorely spanked bottom.

Randolph sailed for Europe the next day. I have neither seen him nor heard from him since. But I know that he remained abroad until the war was over.

Have a fun weekend.

Ronnie
xx

Tawses, Straps and Canes.....

The department store was one of the traditional type you don't see many nowadays, old but well kept building, no fluorescent sales posters, no weasel '(up to) 50% OFF' lures, sensible modest window displays, its only apparent self promotion was a framed plaque fixed to the wall by the entrance door boasting Johnson & Johnson had a department for absolutely everything, and they'd proudly provided discerning service and quality since 1810.

''Everything?'' I ask, back home. ''Everything.'' the man on the phone says, so I resolve to put them to the test and turn up first thing next morning asking for the 'discipline dept'..............to my surprise the assistant behind the customer services desk doesn't bat an eyelid and takes me to an elevator where she whispers something to a uniformed attendant, he stands aside courteously to let me in, the elevator stops two levels down and the uniformed man steps out indicating I should follow. ''But this is fabrics and household furniture,'' I politely point out, good stuff too from the look of it, arranged in small sections either side of a corridor walkway, each with matching or complementary displays. The man pauses, smiles politely and extends his hand in the direction of the corridor which seems to end at a tapestried wall. ''Please,'' he says. I follow.

I know quality, my eyes, ears and nose are filled with it. Silent footsteps on lush Wilton, unobtrusive classical music, leather, oak, silk, brass, I like it. Well dressed assistants, I can only see two, no customers so far but then I'm early. We get to the tapestry and the uniformed man stops, to the right appears to be more floor space and more displays, I think I see a couple of customers talking with an assistant along there. To the left is a conventional corridor with doors off each side, the man tells me I need the third door on the right, I should go right in, Mr Bellamy will be with me shortly.

The door leads into a panelled room, more thick carpet, portraits along the facing wall, I recognise some as noteworthiness of old, they all look austere. There's a large dark wood table in the centre, top inlaid with leather, matching chairs, some at the table and some along the wall to the right, it must seat a dozen easily. Several cabinets line the opposite wall, all closed, there's also a door, it's closed too.

No Mr Bellamy, no goods for browsing. I'm about to leave when the door opens, startling me slightly, ''Ah good morning madam, I'm so sorry to have kept you, I'm Mr Bellamy.'' He proffers his hand which I take, it seems right, he's well dressed, distinguished looking, his hand is firm and he's well spoken with a friendly yet professional demeanour. ''We don't have nearly as many clients for this department nowadays,'' he explains, ''not since corporal discipline was banned from the state education system, even the best private schools reluctantly complied eventually, at least ostensibly, and then all the fuss we read in the press about parental smacking and what's right and wrong, what's permissible and not, you know what I mean,'' he said. I detected genuine sadness in his voice, the passing of an era and all that, and I nodded understandingly.

Still, we do have our regular clients, city folk, business types, gentlemen of the land etc who still respect the old values, and of course we welcome new clients like yourself, modern thinking independent women who are interested less in political correctness than personal satisfaction.''

He smiled warmly, I felt flattered.

''So, er, where are the, ahem, sale items. Mr Bellamy?'' I ventured.

''Of course, how remiss of me,'' he said taking a bunch of keys from his pocket and moving towards the cabinets, ''Please.''

He opened them from left to right and I followed him, only as he progressed from one cabinet to the next, I stalled at the first. Transfixed. Eyes wide, heart pounding. The cabinet was lined with canes,

hanging neatly from hooks, each had a small hand written note fastened under its hook detailing it's length, thickness, origin, material, 'used' or 'unused' and so on. There were crooked handles, straight handles, leather bound, cord bound. long, short, extra flexible, junior, senior, I had never realised there were so many options. Mr Bellamy must have noticed me, perhaps he thought I was feeling ill. ''Madam?'' He said, indicating the other cabinets he'd opened for my inspection. ''Can I get you a class of water, or perhaps a coffee?'' I told him a glass of water would be appreciated and he told me he'd be a few minutes, leaving me to peruse his treasures at my leisure.

I browsed from cabinet to cabinet, it was astonishing, there were tawses, straps, paddles, rulers, books to record punishments in,

books about historical punishment, books explaining how to administer punishment, all in the cabinets to the left of the door. The cabinets to the right of the door contained soft suede floggers, riding crops, whips, handcuffs, blindfolds etc, sort of Ann Summers but in quality. It seemed stock to the left was for the traditionalists and stock to the right was for fun couples seeking added excitement. I was drawn to the left, it had the 'properness' of time, it had authority, it was compelling.

Mr Bellamy returned with my water and asked me if I'd seen anything which suited my requirements. I told him I preferred the cabinets to the left of the door and asked him if he had any more displays, perhaps through the as yet unopened door. No displays in that room, he said, it was bare all but its thick carpet, a single large desk and its heavy velvet drapes. I asked him if that was his office then, and he smiled and told me not at all, the room used to get quite frequent use from clients wishing to test items prior to purchasing, hence the heavy fabrics which provide wonderful sound insulation. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. It still got used, he assured me, just not as often.

I returned to the cabinets to break eye contact with Mr Bellamy and hide my excited embarrassment. I asked him where the prices were and if, say, I made a purchase of for instance a couple of long canes, how would I be able to carry them from the store without raising attention. He explained if I lifted the note against each item the price was underneath, and that long implements were packed discreetly in suitable plain boxes or could even be delivered for a small charge.

I took several more minutes and narrowed my initial interest down to five canes, a long double split tawse and four straps but I didn't want to buy all of them, I was dithering and Mr Bellamy sensed my dilemma. ''Perhaps madam would care to test the items to help her decide,'' he said matter-of-factly. ''But I don't have anyone with me, Mr Bellamy,'' I said, my heart thumping so hard I thought it must be audible. ''Madam,'' said Mr Bellamy, ''I believe my experience, after almost twenty-five years having helped many a lady and gentleman make the right choice, is at your service.'' With that his hand reach for his keys and the testing room door was opened.

If I was going to bolt now was the time, but I didn't and five minutes later I was bending over the large desk bawling my eyes out as Mr. Bellamy helped me evaluate my choices.

A sore bottomed but very well satisfied customer left Johnson & Johnson later that morning. I'd chosen to have my choices delivered, Mr Bellamy had said he'd do it personally.

No spankings for me to report this week. P's been busy but also after falling I haven't been too comfortable with my bruises and swollen ankle. Funny, I get a bruise on my bottom from a fall but hardly any from a spanking. Happy to report though the stiffness has all gone and the ankle doesn't feel too bad.

So that was a little fantasy fiction from the past. I've added pictures for the re-post.

Have a fun weekend.

Ronnie

xx

Last two pics from British Spanking Mag.

Perhaps I'm a slut then...

No I'm not a slut, but I can do 'slut' when it's appropriate. It was appropriate on Tuesday evening.

We were at the office waiting for a delivery to arrive from Alicante, it was well after hours everyone had left ages ago and our courier's ETA had passed. It arrived eventually, 6 heavyish cartons, I couldn't lift one, P and the driver brought them into the building using the back entrance because the front was locked. I made the driver a cup of tea, he looked tired, he'd been delayed by French Customs, P started moving the goods upstairs on his own to my little satellite office. Twenty minutes later he came down to see where I was, I was still chatting with the driver, P gave me a look and returned to his business (my business actually). The driver left minutes later after leaving me his firms card for dealing direct instead of paying an agent's commission, that pleased me because I like to save money like anyone else but also I know P likes to more than anyone else and I looked forward to telling him. I went upstairs.

"Ah, good of you to come up," said my husband, "only four cartons to check so we should be finished in about an hour if you intend to help, it being your business after all and me just giving up my evening to hump boxes about while you chat up delivery men."

Now I know my husband, I know he couldn't be seriously suggesting I was 'chatting up' as he put it, I'm not a flirt, just polite, anyway I got stuck in. Half an hour later we were finished or near enough and I said to P I'd buy him a pint in the pub across the road for helping me. He said he was surprised I hadn't taken the delivery man for a pint as I seemed to like his company. I told him no, I wouldn't encourage alcohol for drivers. Then I announced the card he'd given me, I reckon it will save me 20% on future deliveries, but P didn't seem impressed and asked me what I'd had to give in return. Was he joking or what? Sometimes I can hardly tell, maybe he wants it that way.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I didn't give him a blow job if that's what you're suggesting," and then as an afterthought, ".......although he was quite cute," and as an after afterthought, ".......and you haven't offered much for over a week now, since before I went to Paris in fact." I actually winked as I said this to make it clear it was in jest.

"I see," said my husband. Then he gripped my arm, marched me across to the only chair we have in that office, put me across his lap and spanked me hard over my jeans,

and I'm sure I was smiling like the cat that got the cream all the way through it although when he let me up I straightened and moved away from him rubbing my bottom and glaring.

He told me to finish off the last box no point leaving it almost finished, then he left the office without another word. It seemed I had pissed my husband off which was a pity because the warm glow in my backside was making me horny, even through my jeans his hand had been very effective. I quickly checked off the last few items and was about to lock the office door when I heard P coming up the stairs.

"Don't lock up," he called, he'd obviously heard the keys jangling. He appeared from the stair well. "We're not quite finished yet."

He'd been down to our main office and fetched his school cane, which still had a bit of packaging tape on it from where he sticks it under his desk, I thought it was funny and smiled a bit and was about to say something when he said "I'm so glad you think this is funny" and ordered me back into the office. He shut the door behind us and looked around then settled his gaze on my desk which was a bit cluttered but not with anything important and which he cleared to the side.

My desk sits against the single window which overlooks the roof of the one storey offices below and the park in the distance but of course at night time it's almost black and just reflects the office like a dark mirror. I've been spanked over it before but not like this. I saw myself led up to the desk, my husband behind me, I saw his hands move round the front of my jeans to the stud and zipper and I saw him pull them down to below desk height. Then he bent me forward and I saw my face get bigger as it got closer to the glass and my eyes were wide but not with fear and I saw P position himself to my left and I was excited and I had to strain to keep my head looking up so that I could watch myself as my husband caned me. God it was exciting because it was different, and painful and erotic and frustrating all at the same time. P caned me about ten or so times and each time I saw him about to do it and each time I whimpered before the stroke landed across my bottom and each time I missed the bit I really wanted to see in the glass...

...I wanted to see the look on my face the exact moment the cane landed on my bottom but each time it happened I instinctively scrunched my eyes shut so I missed it.

I was shouting out loud towards the end and then oohing and aahing when he put his hand on my bottom to feel his work. I still had my knickers on and I wiggled because I wanted him to put his hand inside or better still rip them off. He didn't rip them, fortunately for me as they're Elle one of my favourite pairs, but he did pull them down and I gasped which I nearly always do when I get my pants pulled down and then I made some disgusting low moaning sound

as I saw my husband unzipping his fly, I couldn't even see his cock spring out because he was directly behind me but the effect seeing him in the glass had on me was awesome.

I screamed in delight when he penetrated me

and tried with all my might using my hands clenched tight against the desk to push myself harder onto his cock I wanted every bit I could get as hard and deep and fast as possible. I came in less than a minute and P let out a great bellow at more or less the same time then slumped forward onto me and kissed my neck and whispered "Bet you don't think it's funny now". My answer was something like mmmmm.

When P stood up and pulled out of me with a plop, I wiggled my backside again, only because it made me shudder not being cheeky or anything. P asked me if I'd learned my lesson about dallying with delivery men, I said "What do you mean P, I don't dally, I just give them blowjobs", of course I was being cheeky now and we both knew it. I made to get up but my husband stopped me with a hand on my back and told me only sluts give blowjobs to delivery men. I said perhaps I'm a slut then.

"Then you'll be treated like one," said my husband. He took the cane to me again and this time I had my eyes scrunched all the time, it hurt like hell and although it was short it was very hard. When he stopped I sprung up and stomped the floor and said "P, I thought sluts just got fucked not caned".

He just said some sluts get both. When I pulled my pants and jeans up over my enraged bottom they seemed to have shrunk, I had to wriggle that last bit into them. Then we locked up and P said I could buy him that pint now and I had to go with him into the pub, he even got me to order at the bar too, I'm sure every man in the room knew I'd just been caned.

Or is that just my imagination:)

Sorry that was rather a long one but you know me:) Have a fun Easter weekend.

Ronnie

xx

Corporal Punishment

There was a programme on BBC the other week, part of a series about crime and punishment, I spotted the one about corporal punishment and tuned in expecting it to be entertaining. It was but no really salacious twists in fact only a couple of references by psychologists about sexual undertones where certain types of corporal punishment had been administered. What surprised me was the frequency with which it was used in schools, boys and girls, and the resistance from teachers and parents to its gradual withdrawal. Some of the interviews and accounts were funny, it was finally an EU directive which led to it being banned.

I googled for accounts of school punishments, there are rather a lot including some from 'reform' schools which were particularly harsh and there are lots which are obviously exaggerated beyond any possible credence. Here's a plain simple one I found in the Experience Project:-

* * * * * *

...my legs were shaking as I stretched myself over the desk. It was wide and I could only just reach the far edge with my toes on the floor, I still had my shoes on and felt ridiculous, it was not at all the way I'd imagined it when I'd heard of others getting it. I tried to make my grip as firm as possible and closed my eyes tight shut. I felt Mrs Tyler lift my shirt tail up and pull down my pants.

Oh christ this couldn't be happening.

I was concentrating so hard that I didn't notice any further movement by Mrs Tyler. Time was suspended then, suddenly, my bottom exploded in pain. It wasn't a line of pain it was my whole backside ablaze. I squirmed over the desk, holding on desperately, determined not to earn extra strokes. The awful smart got worse and worse. I still had three to come. Tears were squeezing out of my shut eyes. I had to be brave.

This time I heard Mrs Tyler move and tried to tense myself. The cane thrashed down again, and the awful pain in my rear went to a new level. I yelled out in agonised protest, trying to let the teacher know how much she was getting through to me but I'm sure she knew.

I held on although all my instincts were yelling at me to stand up and hold my poor backside. The third stroke landed lower than the first two, whether intentionally or not, it whipped across the tops of my thighs and stung like the devil. I screamed at the top of my voice and writhed over the desk. Somehow I managed to stay down and channel all of my efforts into holding on, but I was sobbing by then, no more pretense at being brave, as I awaited the fourth and final stroke.

Mrs Tyler kept me waiting for what seemed a long time, perhaps she enjoyed the sight of me sobbing over her desk my poor backside bouncing up and down trying to dissipate some of the sting. Finally it came. A whopper across the centre of my bottom. I howled out in pain again but kept my position.

The senior mistress kept me bent over like that for about a minute or so, crying, my bottom flooded with pain. Finally, she patted me on the back and told me to stand up. I can still remember my relief knowing it was over. I stood up slowly and I pressed both hands to my poor injured bottom, the embarrassment and humiliation coursed through me as I stood in just my blouse and shoes while my punisher returned her cane to the cupboard and then sat casually on the edge of her desk next to where she'd caned me.

"Uniform back on then."

This took a while, given the painful state of my posterior, my knickers and skirt were tight fitting and felt even tighter now. I could feel one particular mark, the one not being covered by my knickers as the others were, I thought it was swelling. Eventually I stood, still tearful, facing Mrs Tyler, waiting further instruction. My hands were carefully massaging my smarting rear, no point pretending it didn't hurt, she knew well enough.

Mrs Tyler passed me a box of tissues. She warned me to behave myself in future and told me that if I hadn't liked the cane from her I wouldn't like it any better from the headmaster and that's where I'd end up if I was caught fighting again. Then she dismissed me and told me to be sure not to dawdle going straight back to my class.

I walked unsteadily from her room and resisted the urge to stop at the cloakroom, she'd said straight back to class and that's what I did and of course all the others knew what had happened to me, I supposed my tear stained face and awkward attempt to sit naturally were dead giveaways. I just wanted to open the lid on my desk and hide my head in it and cry.

The incident led to better behaviour, I never got into the kind of trouble that could get me the cane again.

Ouch!

Ronnie

xx

Padded seats

I said I'd do it and I did, and it certainly worked.

Came back from shopping this afternoon, I went upstairs, fished out what I was looking for from P's drawer, you can see it's a small towel with a very clear message on it, it came with the pre xmas cane-iac delivery but P hadn't given it to me but I knew it was in his draw as I'd seen it. I stripped off and lay on the bed with the towel strategically positioned.

P called after a few minutes wondering where I am, Oh just trying to sort something out, could do with your assistance actually, I say.

Up he comes and into the bedroom, I'm lying on the bed, I've even placed his mobile on the pillow hoping he might take a pic for me.

I certainly had been VERY naughty, he was in no doubt about that, and VERY naughty girls get spanked VERY hard. Music to my ears. First he did the decent thing and obligingly snapped me with his mobile, then he took me into our little spare room office which is at the back of the house and noise doesn't travel, put me over his knee, I was totally naked, he told me he wouldn't have me brevitting in his drawer... SMACK... SMACK...he was going to give me the towel anyway but when he decided to....SMACK SMACK.....and I'd have to learn to respect little privacies.....SMACK....HARDER.....Ouch!......and not snoop about for my personal amusement....SMACK....dah dah dah...he'd warned me about this before and he was going to make sure...SMACK SMACK........Ooowww Please!!....I didn't do it again any time soon......SMACK....Ouch!! No!!.........well he spanked me long and hard, holding me with one hand spanking with the other, then alternating to give his hand a break. Unfortunately I didn't have a spare bottom to alternate, it went on for about 5 minutes and I was VERY satisfied my little towel ploy had worked like a dream; at the end he eased his grip and I lay there cooling down. Boy I was hot.

Then we returned to the bedroom and I ended up back on the bed but this time without the naughty towel over my bum, just his hands massaging, rubbing, kneading, working their way to where I had a different type of heat entirely now requiring urgent attention.......................which it got.

All I need now is a Sunday morning maintenance tomorrow and that will be a full set for the weekend Fri, Sat, Sun. Lucky girl, we're out for lunch tomorrow I can't remember if they've got padded seats.

Ronnie
xx