Behind High Walls II

Remember the picture of  a couple watching a lady being caned which had a caption? Well I'd forgotten I posted a story attached to it (some may remember it) so I thought I'd do a re-post. This is the original picture without the caption.

.....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.

Bob  found the stories.

Ronnie
xx

Did you ever get the cane then?

A repost. Hopefully I'll be less busy next week.

"So what were you like then as a schoolboy?" She asked in a desultory fashion. I had a terrible feeling that I was boring her despite trying to appear interesting. I could hardly answer that I was in all probability even duller than I must appear now, so I did the obvious thing, I lied.

"Oh I was a bit of a rebel actually. You know always in trouble!"

She gazed at me, her dark eyelashes fluttering, her large baby blue eyes wide open as if attempting to see me in a new light. Whether she believed me or not I am not quite sure but at least she had stopped yawning and was now looking thoughtful. As we were leaving the car she asked.

"Did you ever get the cane then?"

That question I admit rather stopped me in my tracks. To be honest I had a thing about being caned and partly regretted that I had escaped that particular punishment. Boys were frequently caned but not boys like myself who slavishly followed all the school rules. In fact my behaviour was so exemplary I was never punished at all. My reputation, if I possessed such a thing, was as a blindly obedient boy who did exactly as he was told. Nevertheless I had got the bit between my teeth and was busy rewriting my own legend.

"Oh yes, I should say so. We had this form mistress, Miss Taylor. She was only a young woman but dreadfully strict. I must have had six of the best from her at least a dozen times!"

I shrugged my shoulders and affected an air of heroic fortitude. Miss Taylor indeed had a reputation for strictness, she frequently sent to the Head with a hand written note and I'd once witnessed her cane two boys in my class for bullying. The incident lingered still in my memory. I was almost envious of the bullies as I was in the stock room next door doing my good deed for the day and returning some text books when the punishment took place. Each boy received four strokes of the cane. The first boy took his punishment in silence, all you could hear was the cane falling on tightly stretched trouser seat. However, the second boy was crying even before it started and after each stroke of the cane let out a desperate howl of pain. Not that the boy's tearful pleading stopped Miss Taylor carrying out the punishment. Susan had a most disconcerting way of staring, she was now gazing at me as if I was suddenly a person of great interest.

"Really, how awful. It sounds like something Charles Dickens would write about! They never had anything like that at the girls school I went to!" She said almost enviously. Yes, she was definitely seeing me in a new light. In fact I was seeing myself in a new light and feverishly hoping we weren't going to meet anyone who remembered me as I really was. I pointed out the cricket pitch and the nets which still hadn't been taken down despite the term ending. Then the swimming pool, which was always freezing cold I remember. However it seemed Susan was much more interested in the disciplinary practices of the school.

"Did it hurt dreadfully when you were caned?" She enquired. As we were walking she inserted her hand in mine which was rather a nice surprise.

"Well some chaps used to make a fuss but I just used to grin and bear it! No it never really bothered me being caned. Just an occupational hazard of being a bit of a rascal I suppose! You know how it is, you do the crime you accept the punishment!"

This was a bit rich since the one thing I have always been incapable of is suffering in silence. She was now looking at me with something like hero worship in those large blue eyes. Unless I was very much mistaken, Susan had more than a passing interest in corporal punishment herself. Well we certainly now had something in common at least.

We were standing in the shadow of the schools main entrance but I didn't want to risk going in so I was quietly attempting to lead Susan back to the car.

"Shall we go inside? Aren't you curious to see if it has changed at all?" She asked. I was just about to say no, not in the least, let's go back to the car, when an attractive well dressed woman seemed to appear from nowhere. It was Miss Taylor! I could feel the colour draining from my face.

"Are you aware that this is private property and you are trespassing?" She asked with intimidating politeness. Her face was tired but still unquestionably, undeniably beautiful. Obviously she didn't recognise me, after all it was six years since we had last seen each other. I don't suppose quiet well behaved boys are all that memorable anyway.

"I am terribly sorry we are just going," I said. Stress had made my voice rise an octave. I lurched towards the car still clutching Susan's hand. Glancing at Miss Taylor over her shoulder she said,

"James used to go to this school many years ago!"

"Come here!" She commanded. Her voice still had the ability to freeze the very marrow in my bones. I turned I was still hoping to make it back to the car before she recognised me. Suddenly a smile of recognition illuminated her severely attractive features.

"Oh yes, I do believe it's James Anthony Mortimer!" She said brightly. Inwardly I groaned, the only thing to do now was make sure our chat was as brief as possible. The last thing I wanted was a trip down memory lane.

"Miss Taylor," I said, "allow me to introduce a friend of mine, Susan Catesby! We were just passing but we really must be getting back now!" I glanced at my watch and smiling nervously said.

"My goodness, is that the time?" I started edging back towards the car park. Susan had a bewildered look on her face as if she couldn't understand my sudden hurry. If only I had been truthful with Susan. Better to have been a bore than a teller of tall tales.

"Nonsense, of course you have time to come to my study both of you and enjoy a cup of tea!"

So I really didn't have much choice in the matter. Fate had conspired against me and before I knew it, there I was, perched on the edge of my seat, waiting to be exposed as a fraud, a young windbag, a one time teachers pet! The blow was not long in coming. Susan sitting on the sofa next to our host, accepting her cup of pale fragrant tea said enthusiastically,

"James, was just telling me how he was always in trouble at school!"

Miss Taylor's eyes seemed to widen perceptibly. A smile hovered for a brief moment on her soft red lips.

"Really!" She said. She sipped her tea smiling it seemed at my discomfiture, in a moment I should be revealed in my true colours. Susan, however was not finished yet.

"And you gave him six of the best a dozen times!" She laughed, as if sharing an amusing joke.

Miss Taylor's eyes seemed for a moment to twinkle with merriment.

"I don't think that is true!" She said, sternly. That's it, I thought, put me quickly out of my misery. I waited for the fatal blow to fall.

"No, I am sure I caned him much more than a dozen times and you know the funny thing was!"

Susan, glanced at me in admiration. I heaved a huge sigh of relief as Miss Taylor continued.

"That he never seemed to really feel it!"

I grinned weakly and wished desperately that someone would change the subject or the ground would quickly open and swallow me up. Miss Taylor was now beaming at me as if I was her favourite little rascal.

"Do you know I never did cane you for putting that mouse in my desk on the last day of term!"

Susan clapped her hands in admiration, laughing as if it was the most amusing practical joke. Of course it wasn't me, everyone knew that it was Edwards, I am sure Miss Taylor knew it was Edwards. Her sources of information I seem to remember were always impeccable. I could hardly spill the beans though, so I grinned weakly and played the part of the unrepentant rascal. I wished fervently the tea wasn't quite so hot.

"Oh he was a naughty boy wasn't he! The funny thing is you would never guess it, to look at him, I mean!" laughed Susan. Her face was looking bright and cheerful for possibly the first time that day.

"How very perceptive of you Miss Catesby! This young girl is a shrewd judge of character I can see. You are very fortunate to have her as a friend James!" Purred Miss Taylor. Her eyes seemed to be shining with mischief. She continued, her smile quite terrifying.

"Yes, I think we can safely say, Master Mortimer has hidden depths!"

"I bet your happy Miss Taylor hasn't got a cane in her desk now!" Chuckled Susan, as she sipped daintily at her tea. I glanced at Miss Taylor a little nervously, who was to say what she had in her desk. I wasn't at all sure I liked the way this conversation was heading.

Miss Taylor, crossed her slender legs on the settee and laughed,

"James would know of course that the cane was never kept in my desk!" Miss Taylor was obviously enjoying herself greatly.

"Of course I remember!" I said, nervously. For a brief moment there was an uncomfortable silence before Miss Taylor said brightly.

"Oh yes! I used to keep it in that large cupboard by the bookshelf as you will no doubt recall James! In fact it's still there now, although I haven't had reason to use it for a week or two!" Desperately I blew on the tea, the quicker we were on the road again the happier I would be.

"I don't suppose it would be possible to see it?" Asked Susan in a thrilling voice.

"Oh indeed. Why not. I am sure it will bring back many painful memories for James though!" Miss Taylor showed no sign of moving.

"James would you be a dear and fetch the cane!" As I put my tea cup down my hand shook, and somewhat nervously I walked over to the large cupboard, Miss Taylor smiled at Susan who laughed. I opened the cupboard door which creaked noisily. In amongst the piles of text books and rolled up maps I could see a thin yellow cane. I picked it up. It felt strangely light in my hand, almost as if it weighed nothing at all.

"Painful memories!" I heard Susan titter. I could feel my cheeks beginning to blush as I handed it to the still seated Miss Taylor. She looked up to me with those merciless bright blue eyes and said jokingly, whilst tapping the cane against her palm.

"It was you that put that mouse in my desk on the last day of term, wasn't it?"

Susan laughed, noisily. A look of horrified delight on her pretty face. I was temporarily deprived of the power of speech and stood there foolishly in front of the two woman seated on the sofa.

"Why don't you sit down James. You look uncomfortable standing there!" Said Miss Taylor, smiling gently and winking at Susan who responded with another peal of laughter. I could feel my cheeks burning as I sat down. One of the disadvantages of being fair skinned is people can easily tell when you are embarrassed.

"For a moment there, I thought you were going to cane him for putting that mouse in your desk!"

Giggled Susan, looking rather pink herself. Miss Taylor and Susan seemed to be getting on so well I seemed almost superfluous.

"Why, would you like me to?" Asked Miss Taylor, She had stopped laughing and then Susan stopped laughing too. Suddenly there was complete silence in the room.

"It might be amusing, I mean just for fun!" She said after a seemingly endless pause. Susan looked even paler than usual as she sat there in a state of nervous anticipation. Miss Taylor turned to me, smirking like a cat that had swallowed the canary. She stood up to her full height and swished the cane menacingly through the air.

"It's only a bit of fun, James! So I mean why not, after all it would be nothing new to such a naughty boy as yourself!" There was that twinkle in here eye again.

She knew I had little choice but to play along. The butterflies in my stomach certainly seemed to be working overtime as I stood up from the chair. Susan had her mouth hidden behind her small pale hand as if she might scream in equal amounts horror and delight at any given moment. Her blue eyes seemed larger than ever.

"Bend over the armchair will you Mortimer! I think Miss Catesby will agree with me that you will benefit greatly from six of the very best!" Said Miss Taylor sweetly. Susan sat on the very edge of her seat as if she was about to witness the changing of water into wine.

The use of my surname had unsettled me still further. Surely this was only going to be a "bit of fun" as Miss Taylor put it! I tried a cheerful smile and failed miserably. Reluctantly I walked over and slowly bent over the armchair. A few moments later I felt the cane tapping gently across the tightly stretched thin cotton of my trousers.

"The thing is when you cane a boy!" Explained Miss Taylor. "You must do so firmly!"

Whack

It felt as if a explosion had recently taken place across my buttocks. Susan was looking directly into my eyes, a rapt expression on her face, as the cane bit. I attempted a brave smile as the excruciating pain made my body arch in agony. Susan's smile grew wider with her eyes.

"Otherwise..."

Whack

I made a gulping sound. My smile by now was that of the condemned man as he draws his last breath and I am sure I did little to convince Susan I was enjoying myself. Nevertheless she smiled back reassuringly.

"..there is no point to it!"

Whack

After that one I nearly dived over the armchair. It felt like someone was holding a barbecue on my behind. I could feel my smile turning into a rictus grin. The next blow came a little quicker with a little extra zest as if Miss Taylor felt she was beating a particularly dusty carpet.

Whack

"Aaaaaah!" It was a new language I had recently invented. The language of untold agony!

Whack

It was definitely getting harder. God it was awful. I suddenly gripped my bottom with both hands and howled like some wounded animal.

"Aaaaarghh!"

" Oh dear! You have moved your hands I am afraid! That one will not count which is a pity!"

Explained Miss Taylor with infinite patience. I was about to complain when the next stroke landed and all my thoughts were suddenly concentrated in one place. Nothing else mattered other than the pain in my backside. Right then if you had told me I had won a fortune I shouldn't have cared less.

Whack

"Please no!" I begged. Miss Taylor took a step back smiling and affected not to hear. I was going to get an extra stroke whether I liked it or not. She put plenty of beef into it!

Whack

"Ah nooooooooooooooooo!!"

It felt as if my bottom had been sliced in quarters, as if the skin had been taken off. It is was all I could do not to burst into tears which were welling up in my eyes! I was still bending over, when Miss Taylor said brightly.

"You may get up now!"

She was still smiling hugely as if she had won first prize in a beauty contest. She turned to Susan whose smile was even wider than Miss Taylor's. Neither of them were offering the slightest sympathy despite my pitiful groans.

"That is how it's done! I do hope you were paying attention my dear as I am sure, if you intend to remain together for any length of time, James would benefit from an occasional good hard caning to remind him... of his schooldays!"

They both laughed as if it was the best joke they had heard in years. But the look on Susan's face as we walked back to the car, me wincing every now and again as some new sharp after-shock reminded me of the ravaged state of my bottom, told me she had taken Miss Taylor's 'joke' far too seriously. When we got in the car and started off, Susan turned to me and asked.

"Where do you suppose someone might acquire a cane like Miss Taylor's, James? I should have asked her before we left, shouldn't I. Just out of interest I mean."

I didn't answer because I didn't know, but I got the impression that Susan was planning for the long term.

A reader sent me this story. I enjoyed it so sharing with you.  Anon said he found it on one of the true experience websites but can't remember which one. So please, if it is yours, let me know so I can give credit or remove if that's your wish.

Story by Arthur James at malespank.

Have a fun weekend.

Ronnie
xx

Hotel visit with a difference

Will someone please tell me where the days are going. Can't believe it's April 1st.

Had a busy week and no time to write so here's a little story. Let me know if the story or pictures are yours so I can give credit.


.....When she arrived at her husband's hotel room no time was wasted on small talk, she was there to be spanked. Her coat was removed to reveal she was already prepared for her ordeal, she'd been spanked before like this and enjoyed it.

Being prepared meant silk underwear, stockings and not much else under her cashmere coat. She enjoyed it when David was masterful. He was several years her senior and had introduced her to spanking after a party at which they'd overheard and then peeped into one of the bedrooms where a girl was receiving an OTK spanking. Jane had been shocked and fascinated by it and mentioned it several times during the rest of the evening, wondering what the poor girl must have felt like!

Her curiosity was satisfied later that evening when David gave her the first spanking she'd ever had.

This afternoon was different though. She'd phoned David at his office and told him she'd been watching spanking clips online during work time and made herself so horny she couldn't get on with her work.

David told her she'd better leave her office and report to him at a local hotel, he gave her a room number and told her he would soon cure her of her distraction.

David arranged a neat pile of pillows on the bed and ordered Jane to bring him the implement he'd planted in the desk drawer. She'd already guessed what it would be but still gasped as she withdrew it. She was not unacquainted with the cane.

She had initiated something she always regretted at this last minute and she could feel butterflies in her stomach as her husband told her to lie with her hips over the cushions, bottom pushed upwards, as he took hold of her panties and lowered them to her knees.

Tender cheeks presented to her husband's stern countenance, Jane felt every bit the naughty girl she'd watched on the Internet and certainly as deserving of punishment. In spite of her fear as David calmly lectured her, she was subconsciously willing the first stroke across her bottom when suddenly Swisshh..!! it arrived unannounced and shocked her with its ferocity and awful sting. 

After several minutes and more strokes than she could count, Jane was wriggling against the cushions and blubbering promises never to watch naughty Internet sites again.

 

Her caning stopped as abruptly as it had started and she lay there recovering her composure, waiting for an instruction. The heat spreading through her bottom was unbearable and she wondered how she'd feel later when she had to return to work and sit with clients! She didn't think her mind would be fully on the job, she knew she was wet between her legs and she knew there would be no immediate relief, it was the way they liked it. And the pain in her derriere would keep her on tenterhooks for the rest of the afternoon.

David's voice interrupted her thoughts. He made her get up from the bed and go stand against the wall with her panties down and her well marked bottom on display. He told her he'd made the special purchase of the genuine school cane for this occasion and, seeing how effective it had been in establishing her contrition, he fully intended to keep it and apply it on future occasions. Jane smiled to herself, she knew there would be future occasions.

After several minutes David came over to her, patted her bottom and told her it was time to get dressed and back to the office. She resisted the urge to grab him, she knew that would come later and the wait would be worth it.

Coat back on over her expensive underwear, hair fastened back, her composure returned, Jane was every bit the professional businesswoman as she left the hotel room to return to her legal practice.

Her mind drifted back to the stuffy client meeting she would attend in less than an hour, she smiled as she thought how their blood pressures would go off the scale if they knew what had just happened to their legal advisor.

Have a fun weekend.

Ronnie

xx

Traditional vs Modern

Well which is best? I'm not taking a side or drawing any conclusion or trying to make a case either way. What got me thinking was the other day I was surfing and came across a couple of new blogs (spanking related of course) and just loved the style of writing and the subjects covered, they were fresh and punchy and observant and daring, romantic too and they clearly attracted like minded readers, I could tell from the comments and followers. The blog rolls linked to similar stuff, much of which I hadn't seen before.

I enjoyed them so much I thought right, must change my wallpaper, colour scheme, template etc....change my writing style too, shorter lines, shorter posts:)  But then I thought about it and decided no I wouldn't do any of those things (well I might do one day but not because of). Why? Because if I did, and if we all did, we'd all be the same and that wouldn't do at all. There's room for everyone and that's what keeps it interesting. Still, I was definitely impressed with what I saw so if you detect any subtle or, worse, unsubtle, changes in my online behaviour give me a quick slap (metaphorically that is) and restore me to my default style.

Having said all that I don't have a spanking to report. Sigh. So I'm reproducing a story I posted a few years back, it's set in a time gone by, in a large country household with domestic staff, lady of the house and of course master of the house, titled naturally. It's old fashioned stuff, but not any less erotic for that:-    


Lady Barclay stood in front of her husband's desk, it was huge as befitted a man of his station. Lord Barclay sat the other side, upright, stern, finished signing some papers before placing them in a drawer, desk top clear save the small black and white portrait of the two of them on their wedding day. He looked up at his wife, she was still in her jodhpurs after her morning ride, she was a handsome woman, make any man proud he'd often thought, but he would not have her usurping his authority or abusing the privileges her position as his wife afforded.

''Penelope,'' he said, a bad sign as Penny was his preference, ''I've called you to my study because I've heard reports that yesterday an incident occurred with one of the grooms, the new boy, Tobias I believe, and that you saw fit to intervene on my behalf and take certain disciplinary action. Would you care to elucidate?'' Lady Barclay shifted uneasily from foot to foot, dinner had passed uneventful last night, their guests had gone, she'd thought of the incident as private, she doubted if the boy Tobias would have raised the matter, perhaps then one of her friends had tittered innocently to her husband and he had seen fit to inform Lord Barclay. No matter for now, it was done and an honest answer was required. Lord Barclay's study was no place for untruths; she had learned before their marriage, in their courting period when she'd had her backside reddened more than once, that her husband to be was not a man to trifle with.

Lady Barclay summarised the incident, making sure everything she said was true but not recounting everything which had taken place, she had no idea how much her husband already knew. There had been an incident with the new boy, Mr Stevens had reported it to her and that he had refused discipline, she had decided the matter was serious and in her husband's absence to have the boy brought before her, confront him with dismissal or a summary flogging from her, the latter of which he had reluctantly accepted.

''I'd heard as much, Penelope, and it's as well you've told me candidly. But you know there are strict rules in this household, they are in place for the benefit of us all and I won't have you going off and flouting them. You know well enough that Stevens is permitted to administer spankings at certain levels, but other than that staff are referred to me unconditionally where corporal punishment is required.'' He spoke as he rose and turned away from his desk to the walnut cabinet in the corner of his study, where he kept a small selection of canes.''I'm going to thrash you for undermining my authority as master of this house,'' he removed a straight cane with a bound leather handle and closed the cabinet door,''and I hope it will make you think twice before taking matters into your own hands again.''

Lord Barclay turned from the cabinet and faced his wife.''You know the procedure, madam, across my desk if you will.'' Penelope felt her stomach somersault and her knees weaken as her husband approached. She lowered herself until the smooth polished edge of the desk nudged into the tops of her thighs and then stretched fully across, reaching the opposite edge with her fingers and pulling herself as far as she could. Her high waisted jodhpurs moulded to the womanly globes of her bottom, accentuating the fullness of her cheeks and separating them provocatively. Under different circumstances her husband could have been inclined to mount her but he had very different responsibilities to perform, no less intense but certainly more painful. For his wife at least.

She felt his hand rest briefly on the small of her back pressing her further against the wood and inlaid leather of the desk. ''Relax your legs, let your weight fall into the desk top,'' her husband ordered. She responded, knowing that as soon as he saw her thigh and buttock muscles release he would lay on the first stroke, she went to say something in mitigation of what she'd done but the dreadful swishing sound of the cane in flight told her she was too late. She gasped as the initial sting registered, the shock temporarily anaesthetising her from the pain, long enough for the second stroke to land wickedly close, followed by the deep burn overlapping from the first stroke, causing her to cry out from the shock of pain invading her flesh and fear of what was to come. Four more strokes followed in rapid succession and had her squirming against the solid desk, her knuckles white from her grip on the far edge, determined not to rise until told.

''Get up, madam, turn and face me.'' his voice was flat, he stood barely a pace away, cane resting across his hands.''Head up, let me see that pretty face.'' She looked him squarely in the face, her eyes were moist, hers legs quivering from the after shock of the beating, she desperately wanted to rub or to move around or both.

''Now, Penelope, have you omitted anything about the incident which happened yesterday, anything you may have forgotten or considered unimportant, hardly worth the telling?'' Oh God she felt weak, how could he possibly know? Did he know? Was he bluffing to test her? She couldn't imagine that any of her friends would have betrayed her knowingly, and surely the boy would not have complained about the lewd act she'd made him perform. ''Sir, everything I've told you was true I swear it.'' she said.

''That was not my question and you know it,'' Lord Barclay's tone indicated some impatience, ''my question invited you to make a clean breast of things. Is it not true that you had your friends in attendance when the incident was reported, and is it not true that you allowed them to witness your interrogation and subsequent punishment of the boy from the open door of the adjoining room?'' ''And is it not true, madam, that you humiliated the boy in addition to the thrashing you meted out, by probing his sexual experience making him answer questions totally unrelated to the matter at hand? In order to amuse, titillate and show off in front of your friends?'' His cane was tapping impatiently against his thigh, his temper was up, that she could see. But mercifully it seemed he was unaware of the act she'd had the boy carry out so exquisitely in his innocence and naivety.

''It is true, husband, but I beg you to see it not in the worst light, my thought was to act swiftly to uphold the discipline you have always so evenly maintained, it was a matter of expedience to remove my guests to the next room, their amusement or otherwise was of no concern to me. The questions I subjected the boy to were just to take him down a peg as he exhibited a most unseemly pride, even after his thrashing, almost challenging to my perception.''
''All the more reason then, madam, for you to leave such business to me. But from what I've heard the afternoon was more of an entertainment than you would have me know. I will not have my staff so abused. Nor will I have my wife conceal or withhold information from me. Lower your breeches Penelope, I believe you caned the boy twice, I shall cane you twice also and you shall receive your second caning on the bare, it will deepen both sting and humiliation and be a lasting lesson to you.''

Lady Barclay hadn't the stomach or conviction to further argue her case, she had erred, she should be grateful the full extent of her corruption was apparently not known. She unfastened and lowered her jodhpurs, turned and prostrated herself without commotion. She heard him move close behind her and then his thumbs hooked into the waistband of her satin knickers. ''These too, madam, when I say on the bare I mean it.'' She shuddered as they were pulled down roughly to her thighs, then the tail of her silk shirt flipped up over her waist causing a brief whisper of cool air. She sensed her husband stand aside, she whimpered instinctively anticipating what was to come and then the white hot streak of pain seared into her flesh this time atop the welts she'd already earned, and she cried out. The second stroke landed mid cry, it swiftness and severity shocking every sense she had and twisting her cry into a grotesque guttural scream which resonated with wild fluctuations through three further strokes when he paused, allowing his wife time to recover her senses and absorb the collective pain which was undoubtedly suffusing through every nerve in her writhing derriere. He relished for a brief moment the prospect of spearing that lush and sensuous part of his wife's anatomy, the ultimate mastery he mused briefly.

''Penelope, I trust you'll remember this the next time you're tempted to take matters inappropriately into your own hands for the spectacle and amusement of your friends.'' Lady Barclay was sobbing with great heaving breaths, her tears flowing freely, before she could muster a contrite response her husband delivered the final stroke of the cane, landing wickedly across the lower fleshiest parts of her cheeks. Lady Barclay's 'yes sir...' mutated into a piercing unintelligible scream as the pain from this harshest stroke further outraged her livid senses. Lord Barclay watched as the quivering bottom, now purple and red, recovered from the stroke, the flesh refilling the indent caused by his cane, his wife's scream subsided to heavy sobs and gulping breaths, he walked to the corner cabinet and replaced the cane shutting the door with a precise clip and then strode to the leather winged chair where he sat heavily, an action his wife was unlikely to be doing for some time.

Penelope had not looked up but she knew it was over, she lay sobbing, her face wet against the tears which had collected on the green leather inlay of the desk. ''When you're ready, madam, you may get up and restore your modesty, I shall order tea for us in the drawing room but first you will attend to me as my wife and we shall put behind us this unfortunate matter. Penelope heard the fly on her husband's twill trouser unzip and the leather chair creak as he adjusted position. She stood slowly, her bottom flesh was tight, it felt swollen and raging from the assault, she bent to retrieve her knickers and breeches, winced as she pulled the delicate satin into place and then spluttered into renewed sobbing as the unyielding fabric of her jodhpurs, now two sizes too small, encased her buttocks in their own heat after a painful struggle to re fit them. She stood a while. When she turned to her husband she was crying and sniffling spasmodically, her face flushed and shiny on one side from the pool of tears on the desk. Lord Barclay thought she looked magnificent, she had learned her lesson he was quite sure, and now she would demonstrate her contrition and acquiescence.

When Lady Barclay knelt at her husband's lap and released his manhood from the confines of the heavy material it lunged forward, the purple cock head glistening, drops of pearly pre cum rolling from its eye. Penelope stretched painfully forward and took it dutifully, submissively, perhaps even gratefully, between her lips whilst her husband tenderly wiped away the tears which trailed down her cheeks.

Have a good week.

Ronnie
xx

Does This Dress Make Me Look Fat?

"Does this dress make me look fat?"

"No."

"No? You're just saying that, aren't you." She frowned at his reflection in the long mirror.

"What?"

"You're trying to spare my feelings. Admit it."

"No I'm not."

"Oh. So you don't care if you hurt my feelings," she sniffed.

"Yes. Yes, of course I do," he said tetchily.

"I'm going to ask you again. Does this dress make me look fat?"

"No. Well ... not really."

"What?! What do you mean by that?"

"Not really fat. You're not really fat - just ..." he fought for the right words. "Just pleasantly plump."

"No!" She was horrified. "Pleasantly plump? Pleasantly fucking PLUMP?!"

"So? What's wrong with that?"

"It's the same as being FAT!" she wailed. "You just called me a fat blob."

"I did not."

"You did too! I'm not going to forgive you for this. Ever." Her lower lip trembled.

"Stop putting words into my mouth. I didn't say you were a fat blob."

"You did."

"I did not."

"As near as damn it! That's what you meant."

"Sheesh. I can't bloody win."

The sales assistant hurried towards the fitting room. "Is everything ok? Can I help?"

"It seems I need this dress in a big fat blob size."

"Oh." The assistant hid a smile.

"Ignore my wife. She's a drama queen. In fact, I'm not going to take any more of this silliness. Penelope, if you DARE say another word about being fat, I'll tan your bare bottom and I don't care who sees me do it."

"Godfrey! How DARE you say such a vile thing. How dare you! I'm divorcing you this very instant. You perverted, selfish, mean, nasty bastard."

"It's what you need, woman. A bloody good thrashing would make a proper wife out of you."

"Enough. I'm never going to speak to you again. You'll be hearing from Daddy's solicitor tomorrow."

"Huh!" Godfrey rolled his eyes. "Anyone would think you didn't want a good spanking."

"Never!" spat his wife.

"I'd like one," said the sales assistant.

"What?"

"What?"

"Yes please. I'd really, really like a good spanking. Bare bottom - I want a proper one." She looked at Godfrey hopefully.

"Happy to oblige," beamed Godfrey. He sat down on the sofa in the fitting room. "Get over my knee my dear. I'll give you a proper one."

He did too. He raised her skirt and pulled down her knickers and spanked her bare bottom. He spanked and spanked till it wobbled like a jelly and turned bright pink. And then he spanked it some more. The sales assistant shrieked and kicked her legs. She kicked so hard her knickers flew through the air.

"I say. What's going on in there?" A middle aged woman peered through the gap in the changing room curtain. "Oh my! Me next!" She went inside and began to undress.

"Oh - I'll have some of that!" said a young blonde. "I'd love a bloody good spanking."

"I detest spankings, but the after effects are divine," said another shopper.

"Is there a queue?"

"Is it a special promotion?"

"Hurry up! We want a turn."

And very soon, there was a very long queue of ladies waiting for a bare bottom spanking. Godfrey was in heaven! All those bare bottoms! He had not been so excited for years.

It wasn't long before Penelope realised what she had been missing out on. She decided not to divorce Godfrey after all. She opted for regular bare bottom spankings instead.

by flopsybunny/Lucy Appleby.

Thanks Lucy. Make sure you stop Lucy's blog as she has some great stories and a couple of new books out.

Have a fun weekend.

Ronnie
xx

Be Careful What You Wish For

Marriage guidance counsellors, psychologists, relationship therapists, doctors - the young couple had tried them all in their quest to make their dream come true. Dissatisfied and frustrated, they came at last to the narrow alleyway leading to the ramshackle dwelling of Levi Westron. The cracked and weathered sign swinging above the door said, 'Wizard and General Handyman. I can fix your plumbing and make all your dreams come true.'

"Hey - this sounds exactly what we're looking for, Betty."

His wife peered wide-eyed at the sign. "Oh Arthur - do you really think he can make all our dreams come true?"

"There's only one way to find out." Arthur knocked on the door.

A voice from within bade them to enter, so Arthur pushed open the door and into the dim interior they went. A tall, bearded figure rose from a chair by the hearth, and the glowing embers of the fire illuminated his gaunt and shadowed face. Dark eyes glittered in the gloom. The figure stepped forward, its form enveloped by the folds of a swirling cloak, and perched on the top of his head was a pointy hat.

"He looks like a wizard," whispered Betty.

"Well of course I do," snapped Levi Westron. "What did you expect me to look like - a plumber?" He shook his head. "There's not much demand for plumbing these days. Most of my work is wizardry, with a bit of gardening now and then. So - what can I do for the pair of you?"

"Can you really make dreams come true?" asked Betty.

"It's my speciality. Tell me more."

Arthur cleared his throat, shuffled his feet, and began. "Well, not long after we got married, Betty realised she, er, preferred women to men. She lusts after other women most of the time, especially the ones with big bottoms. She also longs to spank them, you see."

"It's true," said Betty. "I can't help it."

"So what do you need the services of a wizard for?" Levi Westron stroked his beard and looked carefully at his visitors.

"It's simple. Make me into someone my wife will love and spank," said Arthur.

"Hmmm," said the wizard. "I can do that easily enough. But are you absolutely sure that's what you want? Because once the spell is cast, it cannot be reversed."

"Oh yes, please!" enthused Betty.

"That would be perfect," beamed Arthur. "Just as soon as you're ready, if you please."

"Very well. It will cost you five pounds and half a dozen duck eggs. I'm very partial to duck eggs."

"Sounds very reasonable indeed," said Arthur, handing over the money. "Betty - be a sweetie and nip to the shop for the eggs, will you?"

Betty hurried away to buy eggs, leaving the wizard muttering to himself as he made up a potion for Arthur. Arthur crinkled his nose in disgust.

"By Golly, that stinks something awful. I hope I don't have to drink it."

"If you want the spell to work you must drink the potion. Come on now, be a man and knock it back." The wizard handed over the potion to Arthur.

"Ugh!" Arthur pinched his nose with one hand to avoid inhaling more of the foul stench. Tossing his head back, he swallowed the potion down in one big gulp. "What happens now?"

"We wait a minute for the potion to take effect," said the wizard. "It will be quite painless." A wolfish smile creased the corners of his mouth. "Come and sit by me on the sofa." He seated himself and patted the vacant space next to him.

"I don't feel anything yet," said Arthur, taking his seat next to the wizard. "Oh - I say - my voice sounds a bit funny. It's all squeaky."

"Nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure? Oh! My voice sounds very peculiar!"

"It's just the spell starting to work," reassured the wizard. "Sit still and let it do its job."

"Eeeeeee! What's happening?" Arthur jumped up and began waving his arms about frantically. "I'm itching all over. This is terrible!"

"That's quite normal. You'll feel a whole lot better if you remove your clothes."

Arthur hopped about, disrobing and scratching and squealing all at the same time. "My skin feels different." He scratched some more.

The wizard nodded. "It will do. It is different."

"Good heavens. I have a pain in my chest. I must be having a heart attack!" wailed Arthur, scratching his nipples. "Oh - and now my arse is prickling. It feels like an army of ants. Ow! I don't like it!"

"You're making good progress. Almost finished now," said the wizard, licking his lips at the sight that had unfolded before his eyes.

For there stood Arthur, and he was transformed from a thick-set middle-aged man to a woman in her early forties with strawberry blonde hair and a cute smiling face. She had a gorgeous hourglass figure - big boobs crowned with pretty pink nipples, a narrow waist that flared into the generous curve of her shapely hips, and a pair of lovely legs that went on forever.

Arthur's eyes bulged as he looked at himself. "No! It can't be!"

"You've turned out even better than I thought," said the wizard. "Turn around a little. Let me have a look at that arse. Oh yes. Oh yes, yes, yes."

Stunned, Arthur turned and showed his bottom to the wizard. He waved it from side to side, his buttocks full and round like two giant ostrich eggs, tantalisingly swaying in front of the wizard's face.

"What an incredible arse you have. I simply must spank it," announced the wizard, as he grabbed Arthur and hauled him over his lap.

"Hey! You can't do that!"

"Want to bet?" quipped the wizard, and began spanking the luscious orbs.

Arthur kicked his legs and wriggled and howled as the wizard peppered his backside with a staccato symphony of spanks.

"What's going on?" demanded Betty as she confronted the pair on the sofa. "Who is that? Wow - what an amazing arse. And where is Arthur?"

"I'm here dear," said Arthur. "Damnable spell has turned me into a woman."

"Perfect!" Betty danced about the room clapping her hands. "Darling - how can I not love you now? You look exactly like me!"

Betty stripped off her clothes and pulled Arthur to his feet. She looked into his eyes and saw herself reflected there. "You are the most gorgeous woman, Arthur. I think we'll call you Andrea from now on. Ohhhhh I can hardly wait to get my hands on you," she purred.

"Really?" said Andrea Arthur.

"Yes really." Betty snatched up one of the wizard's old carpet slippers. "Get over my lap at once. I'm going to spank that bottom of yours until it glows. And then - oh boy - then, we are really going to have ourselves some fun."

"Hey - mind my duck eggs," said the Wizard.

But it was too late, for Betty sat on them as she pulled Andrea Arthur over her lap for a sound slippering. The first blow thwacked onto the naked rump in an immensely satisfying way. Oh well, thought the wizard, a small sacrifice given the unexpectedly entertaining afternoon in store. He sat back to watch the show.

Flopsybunny/AKA Lucy Appleby. Be sure to stop by, Lucy has some great stories.

Thank you Lucy.

Have a fun weekend.

Ronnie
xx

Scheduled post.

Wille Trump and the Telescope

Willie Trump lived with Penelope Jane, his wife of thirty years. They resided in leafy suburbia in one of the large detached houses in the north of town. Being a retired army officer, Willie appreciated precision, order, and discipline - which is why he married Penelope Jane. An affluent, middle-class housewife, she liked nothing better than to keep the house immaculate, and she had an unbreakable routine of polishing, dusting and hoovering.

Life was pleasantly uneventful until one fine day in late Spring when the new neighbours moved into the house next door. The Johnsons seemed a fairly innocuous pair - Jeffrey was a university lecturer and Claire worked part time at the local junior school. But it wasn't long before Willie became acquainted a little more intimately with the couple. It happened quite by accident.

He was upstairs in his den - the spacious airy attic at the top of the house. It had large windows set in to each of the four walls, and was a perfect place in which he could indulge his hobby of amateur astronomy. Willie had invested in a rather splendid telescope. He never intended to spy on the Johnsons, but when his eye caught sight of a big pale rounded object, he knew immediately that it wasn't the moon. No. It was Mrs Johnson's bare bottom.

"Good Lord!" Willie couldn't believe his eyes. He had another look.

"Oh I say - quite magnificent. What an arse!"

And then, much to Willie's surprise, Jeffrey came into view, carrying something that looked suspiciously like a cricket bat.

"Oh yes? What's going on here?" wondered Willie. It certainly wasn't a game of cricket.

He didn't have long to wait, and watched entranced as Jeffrey raised the bat and whacked it down on Claire's bare bottom. Immediately, a big blotchy pink splat appeared across the expanse of those glorious buttocks. They flattened under the impact, and then wobbled delightfully back into shape.

"Cor," breathed Willie. "What a treat!"

He increased the magnification of his telescope so that he could see every last detail of that magnificent bare bottom. Mesmerised, he watched as the bat rose and fell, landing on the well-rounded target, which was by now taking on a most becoming shade of red. Oh boy - this was exciting stuff! Willie felt his old man rise stiffly to attention - a rare feat these days - so he decided to make the most of it. He hurtled down the attic stairs and burst in to the bedroom.

"Trump? Is that you?" mumbled Penelope Jane.

"Oh yes! And I have a BIG surprise for you my dear," said Willie proudly as he switched on the bedside lamp. "Aaaaaaaargh!" he exclaimed in horror, for his wife had turned into some sort of mutant troll woman. Her hair was covered in tight pink curlers, and her face was a ghastly fluorescent green. "Good God! That's horrible."

Penelope Jane tried to explain that she was wearing a rejuvenating facial mask, and she had to leave it on for an hour before rinsing. But the mask had set as tightly as concrete, and she had great difficulty speaking. So all Willie heard was a series of muffled grunts. Alas, his big moment came and went - his old man shrivelled in fright to the size of a shrunken walnut. Willie stomped off to the kitchen to make himself a cup of cocoa, then changed his mind and consoled himself with a rather large snifter of brandy instead.

"What a beastly shame," he said, chastising his flaccid old man. "It could have been a night to remember, old boy." But then he remembered the tight pink curlers and the green face and decided he had had a narrow escape - which called for a second snifter.

Of course, the decent thing would have been not to use the telescope for the purposes of spying on the antics of his neighbours. But I'm afraid Willie Trump was hooked. Over time, his fascination with spanking veered towards the obsessive. He spent more and more time up in the attic, snooping on Mrs Johnson's bottom. And then he would watch the rumpy-pumpy which frequently ensued after the spanking. His spectacles steamed up so frequently he was forever polishing them!

Penelope Jane became deeply suspicious, and when her husband had an evening out with his ex army chums, she had the notion to go up into Willie's den in the attic. And there she discovered the telescope. Was it pointing towards the moon and the stars? No it was not. It was pointing into next door's bedroom.

"Hmmmn," thought Penelope Jane. She peeked through the telescope just as Mrs Johnson walked into the bedroom. "Oh yes - has my Willie been looking at Uranus?" she pondered.

"I bet he has. The dirty old goat!"

Later that evening, Penelope Jane began to understand how Willie had been spending his time. He was a voyeur, a voyeur of lewd behaviour, bare bottom spankings, and outrageous sex! "How utterly disgusting," said Penelope Jane. She went downstairs to make a cup of tea, returned to the attic and spent the next hour watching her neighbour get spanked, tawsed, strapped, caned and rogered so ardently that she could clearly hear Claire's orgasmic screams resounding through the triple glazed 20-year-guaranteed windows.

Willie Trump enjoyed a convivial evening with his friends and returned home shortly after eleven.

"Is that you, Trump?" called Penelope Jane from the sitting room.

"Yes, my dear."

"Did you have a good evening?"

"Oh yes indeed," said Willie as he strode into the sitting room. "The old fellows were very jolly. I had a splendid time.
 I - Good Lord!!" Willie's eyes widened in shock. Here was Penelope Jane, welcoming him home. She was wearing her best shoes, and a pair of silk stockings, along with some sort of wicked-looking corset contraption that she last wore 30 years earlier (when she was 30 pounds lighter). Her hair
had been expertly coiffed, and she was wearing lipstick.

"I say, old girl. What's got into you?!"

Penelope Jane smiled thinly. "Do come in, Willie. I have a surprise for you."

Willie stepped into the sitting room, and then Penelope Jane, her hands on her hips and her feet apart, began chastising him in a tone which she had never used before.

"You despicable little man ... you perverted swine ... you dirty voyeur. I'll give you amateur astronomy! I'll give you telescopes!"

"Oh my," gulped Willie. "It looks like my little secret is out. 

Let me explain -"

"Too late for explanations," said Penelope Jane. "Trousers down, and bend over the back of the sofa. I'm going to deal with you properly, Trump."

"Ooo er .. I can't ... I mean -I couldn't possibly do that! It's quite outrageous," protested Willie.

"You will do as I say or I will go public with your proclivities in the parish magazine. It will make very interesting reading indeed."

"Oh dear, oh dear," muttered Willie. He wasn't quite sure why, but he let his trousers slide to the floor and bent over the back of the sofa as instructed.

"Pants down too," ordered Penelope Jane. "We're going to do this properly."

"Heaven forbid," said Willie, fearfully. "Are you having one of your funny turns, dear?"

"I'm going to turn your bottom scarlet," she said, producing one of his thick leather belts. "And then we'll see just how funny that is."

CRACK! Went the belt as it splatted on Willie's bare bottom.

"Aaaargh!" he yelled. "Aaaaargh!"

"Oh, I think I'm getting the hang of this spanking business," said Penelope. Her arm rose and fell repeatedly, and her aim was perfect. "You're starting to colour up nicely, Trump."

Willie squealed as the belt criss-crossed his buttocks. He jumped up and down in pain, managing to kick off his trousers so that he was dancing around in just his socks and shirt. The belt bit hard and fiercely. His backside felt lacerated to ribbons.

"Oh! Stop! Stop! I'll be raw as a hamburger soon!" he pleaded.

"Nonsense, Trump. I have only just started." Penelope continued with the treatment, getting a nice steady rhythm going, punctuated by Willie's wailing and yelps.

Five minutes later and Willie was experiencing a most unusual sensation. His bottom hurt like blazes, but, strangely, the sensation had become almost pleasant. His old man thought so too - it sprang out, hard and thick and elongated, demanding to be noticed.

"My word," blinked Penelope Jane. "Now there's a sight."

"By the blazes!" concurred Willie. "Mrs Trump - I do believe tonight is your lucky night!"

"I do believe you are right, Trump!"

The sofa got a thorough hammering and pounding, and the Trumps began an exciting new phase in their lives.

Flopysbunny (aka Lucy Appleby) kindly sent me the story to share with my readers. Thank you Flopysbunny. 

Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

Ronnie
xx

Her Bottom Spanking Machine

A story from a new blog (well new to me).....

.....There was just the merest space between the bookshelf and the chest of drawers. Just enough to slide a few sheets of paper between them. Or wedge in a ruler.

She called it her Bottom Smacking Machine.

Though that name did somewhat overstate its complexity.
Bottom Smacking Contrivance would have been more accurate, if much less catchy.

She’d thought it strange when he’d first instructed her to search her house for a narrow gap between two heavy objects. The gap had to be narrow enough to hold in place a few sheaves of paper, and have space to stand either side of it. And two sides of the gap had to be more or less flush with each other.

Eventually she found one.

When she reported back, he instructed her to wedge her plastic ruler into the gap - just up to the 8 centimetre mark, and leave the rest jutting out. And put it just below waist height. Suddenly, his intentions became very clear.

She had been so very, very naughty. And he was such a long, long way away. Some means of discipline would have to be improvised.  Or standards would slip. And that would be just unacceptable.

One night alone, her phone chirped. A new message.
From him: pronouncing her sentence.

A visit to her bottom smacking machine. 30 whacks on each cheek. She cursed his strictness, but wished he was here to discipline her himself.

She was well rehearsed with her punishment protocol by now and began to make her preparations. 
First, she had to decide on a setting, and dress accordingly.
She had considered donning her pyjamas, and acting out a bedtime spanking before being put to bed. She also thought of wearing her skinniest thong bikini, and pretending to be a Roman galley slave, being whipped under a merciless sun.

In the end though, she decided to wear her school uniform, and to imagine herself reporting for after-school detention to find her teacher holding a ruler. She lay on her bed, a hand inside her panties, imagining all the details. Joining the back of the queue, she would watch her classmates being called forward, one by one, to pull down their knickers.

In her mind’s eye she’d look on timorously - but fascinatedly - as they yelped in response to the ruler’s slaps. Then, skirt up, knickers still down, each girl would be sent to sit down, wincing as her sore bare bottom met the cold hard wood of the desk benches. 

Her dedication to fleshing out her fantasy was commendable.

She opened her eyes, looking across her room to stare at the ruler, now hanging in the air 

She closed her eyes, and found herself standing at the front of the queue. There was only one desk in the detention room still empty: hers. Her rubbing quickened, knowing it was her turn next. Behind her eyelids she heard her name being called. She managed to stop rubbing - just in time - and rose from the bed feeling every inch the naughty schoolgirl, a throbby, achy unresolved heat inside her knickers.

Her legs were trembling as she walked towards her appointment with the ruler.
She stood in front of it, continuing to play out her punishment fantasy.

“Oh no sir! Please don’t spank me! Not on the bare!” she pleaded, to her empty room.

But there was no one to hear, no one to grant her reprieve.

She turned around. She could almost see her pink bottomed classmates in front of her, sitting uncomfortably on those crude wooden benches, each girl so wanting to rub her sore bottom but with their hands cruelly occupied by writing lines instead.

She reached down to her hem and raised her skirt, tucking it into her waist.

“Oh sir…” she whined, “not on my bare bottom!”

She let her fingers linger inside her knicker elastic. With no disciplinarian to keep waiting, she could enjoy the skin-tingling sensation of slowly lowering her panties as they slid down her legs. Once fully exposed, she started to bend over, shuffling backwards until she felt the cool plastic on her bum.

In her fantasy classroom, she imagined him scolding her.
“Disgraceful behaviour! 60 whacks for you, girl…”

She reached back, pulling the plastic ruler away from her.
She felt its tension building on her fingertips.
By now, she knew just how much to bend it.
Too little, and she’d receive an avuncular pat.
Too much, and the ruler would snap.
Just enough gave a delicious slap.

She imagined him, standing behind her, poised with his ruler, about to strike.
She felt the ache between her legs.
She let the ruler slip from her fingers…
It sprang back in an instant, delivering a smack that made her bottom quiver.

“Ooooo! I’m sorry, sir” she whispered.

She pulled the ruler back a bit further this time, her fingers trembling.
The ruler sprang back again, smacking the spot where the first blow had landed.
She yelped, feeling her bottom smart.
Bending over fully, she touched her toes, savouring the fiery pain until it ebbed into a warm tingle.
She shuffled slightly, so the next blow would strike a different spot.

“Oh, sir…” she whispered as she reached behind again, “I’ve been such a naughty girl…”

The ruler twanged again, and again; she gasped as it corrected her.

Soon, the dispassionate ruler had turned one of her cheeks pink.
Her instructions were unequivocal.
She turned around, and stood on the other side of the ruler, shuffling until she felt the cool plastic on her unspanked buttock.

“Oh please sir, I promise I’ll be good…” she begged, but her pleas fell on no ears at all.

She reached behind her with her other hand, pulling the ruler back.
The smack made her mew in pain, but she showed herself no mercy. 
He had sent her to the bottom smacking machine to be punished because he cared, and she had deserved it.
The ruler twanged again and again, until her whole bottom was pink.

Faraway, inside his jacket pocket, his phone cheeped.

A new message.

A photo. Of her.

Her bottom glowing.
Her hands on her head.
Her school skirt still raised.
Panties around her ankles.

She stood astride the ruler, its edge just parting her pussy lips.

She’d even included a message.....

.....“Thank you, sir, for disciplining me.”

Her obedience made him smile. Standards did have to be maintained. 
On her next infraction, maybe he’d have her replace the ruler with a whippy cane.

“Good news?” asked his dinner companion.
He pocketed his phone, smiling back, “The best.”

Hope you did enjoy it. From the blog -  Spanking Theatre.

Have a fun weekend.

Ronnie
xx

Please let me know if pictures two and four are yours.
Third pic from Spankingblog.