By
C. Allen
© 2012 by Blushing Books ® and CF Publications ®
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Allen, C.
The Education of Sarah
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62750-052-4
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Table of Contents:
Sarah Parkhurst had first seen the brick buildings as a little girl walking with her father. They sat on a hill at the outskirts of the town, surrounded by sloping lawns and stately trees. Her father had told her it was Ridgecrest, a school for proper young ladies who had the good fortune to be the daughters of rich families. He also told he couldn’t really say more, for the school was very exclusive and he—and by inference she—were not permitted to venture past its spiked iron fence to view its hallowed halls.
In later years, Sarah would always guess that this fatherly explanation was the seed of her anger. Why that seed grew and blossomed over the years, perhaps even Sarah didn’t understand. But whenever she would pass by the school or see its girls parading about town with their superior airs and fashionable clothes, her anger would fester and grow. And at night she would fret about the rich young ladies who thought so highly of themselves. Yet she knew they were no better than she, and in time she knew she would find a way to prove it.
Today Sarah was taking the first step to revenge. She was on her way for her interview. Ridgecrest was hiring a new instructor in mathematics, and Sarah—with teaching certificate newly in hand—had applied. In fact it was the only school where she had applied.
She had something to prove to herself and to the school’s young ladies. To that end she had studied with extraordinary zeal in college. And it was because she had graduated with many honors that she had been accorded the additional honor of an interview. It was now up to her, she knew, to make a suitable impression on Mr. Ambrose, the head of school. Her fate rested in his hands and his hands alone.
The town had grown since she was a little girl, of course, but the school had changed in appearance not at all. She slowly climbed the long paved driveway beneath the arching branches of the same oaks and silver birch and elm she had seen as a child.
As she approached, she could see the ivy clinging to the walls, the window glass wavy with age. Inside the main building there was more evidence of the venerable nature of Ridgecrest: heavy oak furniture, brass lamps, and portraits of men and women dressed in finery long ago relegated to the musty attics of one’s great aunts and uncles.
She stopped to study her reflection in a tarnished mirror secured in a gilded frame. She smiled at what she saw. She was very pretty, and she had gone to great lengths to make sure that her dress complemented her beauty with an aura of quiet competency. Who knew? If Mr. Ambrose was an old gentleman, he might be most influenced by her ability. But if he were young, then he might be taken more with her charms. In any event, she was confident that failure was not an option. Precisely on time she presented herself to Mr. Ambrose’ secretary.
“I’m Sarah Parkhurst, here to see Mr. Ambrose,” she announced with a boldness she didn’t necessarily feel.
“Oh, yes, Miss Parkhurst.” The woman coolly appraised Sarah. She saw an eye-catching young blonde woman of medium height, slim-waisted with a pert bosom. “I’ll see if he’s ready for you.” She got up and disappeared through the closed door behind her desk. Her name tag said Miss Lance. Sarah judged her no more thirty or thirty-one. She, too, was pretty.
After a few moments, Miss Lance reappeared and held the door for Sarah. “Mr. Ambrose will see you.”
“Be a good girl,” Sarah reminded herself. “You’ve worked hard for this opportunity and won’t get a second chance.”
“Miss Parkhurst. How good you were able to come. I’m Roger Ambrose.” The head of school stood up and came around his massive desk, hand extended. “Please, have a seat.”
The room was large and expensively appointed. All four walls were paneled in walnut. In addition to the desk there were several matching chairs and a sofa with seats and backs upholstered in red leather. A globe occupied a stand along one wall, flanked by glass-fronted bookcases, and a large cupboard hung between the two heavily curtained windows on the wall behind the desk.
Sarah took the indicated chair. Mr. Ambrose, as luck would have it, was not old. He was forty give or take, and he appeared very fit and trim. He wore a coat and tie. All in all he was a good looking man quite at ease with himself. Sarah was immediately taken with his wavy black hair and neatly trimmed mustache.
At first he told Sarah about Ridgecrest. The school was a finishing school, in effect a school for young women eighteen and nineteen years of age. There were one hundred fifty students, all of whom boarded at the school. They represented many of the best families of two continents. The curriculum was not stressing academically he confided, but Ridgecrest prided itself on maintaining the most rigorous standards of discipline. Its young ladies deported themselves well or faced the consequences of corporal punishment.
“Tell me, Miss Parkhurst,” he smiled, “do you find corporal punishment acceptable? Some don’t, you know.” He leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers.
Sarah felt a pleasant uneasiness at the question. She wouldn’t be interested in teaching at Ridgecrest if it were otherwise, yet she didn’t wish to appear eager. “Mr. Ambrose,” she said at length, “if that is the policy of Ridgecrest I would be willing to uphold it.” And then she added, “I’ve always felt that corporal punishment fairly administered could be an appropriate measure for young ladies of any station.”
“Does that mean that you wouldn’t have difficulty referring young ladies to me for correction with the cane?”
Sarah found his brown eyes penetrating. “No, Sir. Not if the girl is deserving. I could only assume that she would benefit from the experience.”
“Oh, our young ladies are a deserving lot, if nothing else, Miss Parkhurst,” joked Mr. Ambrose. “Few manage to avoid being whipped during their stay.”
“Nor would I shirk from applying the cane myself,” Sarah added with hope.
Mr. Ambrose almost leered. “Oh, I’m afraid that’s not allowed, Miss Parkhurst The faculty is limited to strapping naughty hands, nothing more. By tradition, tending to naughty bottoms is my business and my business alone.”
“A pity,” said Sarah. The leer was quite enough to tell her she would be hired. What she didn’t say was that she was quite prepared to make bottoms her business, as well. In good time, of course.
A week later she received a letter offering to make her Ridgecrest’s newest and youngest instructor. She accepted without a second thought.
In the fall, two weeks before the arrival of Ridgecrest’s students, Sarah reported for her indoctrination. She had much to learn about the school, its history and traditions. She also had staff and faculty to meet. As it happened there was one other new woman on the faculty, Miss Alexis Tuttle. Miss Tuttle was rather plain of face, but she was quite attractive in a womanly way. She was older than Sarah, but as newcomers they quickly took to each other. Sarah could also sense the possibility of a commonness of purpose in their coming to Ridgecrest, although nothing was said overtly.
Classes started in September, and for the first few weeks Sarah thought the girls rather too well behaved for her taste. They came to class punctually, did their lessons, and behaved like cultured young ladies should. Then came a day when Alexis excitedly came to her office after classes.
“It happened,” she gushed as soon as she had closed the door behind her. “In fourth period I sent Deborah to Mr. Ambrose for being tardy. It was her third day in a row.”
Sarah acted outwardly calm at the news, but she began to tingle in anticipation of hearing the details.
“And?”
“Well, of course I didn’t know exactly what to expect. I wrote a brief note and sent her off. She put up a brave front, but her hand trembled when she took the paper.”
“What did your note say?” Sarah’s fingers brushed one of her breasts as she leaned forward. The sensation was like an electric shock.
“Just the facts. I didn’t embellish anything. Once she left I resumed the lesson, but I could sense tension in the other girls.”
“How long was she gone?” asked Sarah.
Not more than a few minutes. Miss Lance escorted her back. Her face was ashen, and her eyes were red from crying. Everyone watched her walk to her desk. And of course she sat very gingerly. There were a few snickers and whispers, but when I ordered quiet it was instantaneous. No one else was anxious to go, I assure you.”
Sarah found she had been holding her breath. “Did you say anything to her?”
“I asked what she’d had. ‘Six with the cane, Miss,’ she said with obvious embarrassment. And I said, ‘Will you be tardy again?’ She was blushing by this time. ‘No, Miss, not ever.’”
“It’ll do her good to sit on those stripes for a few days, the little truant,” concluded Sarah with a rush of envy.
“Amen,” seconded Alexis.
It wasn’t many days after that meeting that Sarah had her first opportunity to send a girl off to the head. And then another, and another. The return to class of each girl—always with ample visible evidence of the cane’s effectiveness written on her face—held satisfaction and was soon shared with Alexis. However, Sarah’s desire to deliver punishment to the girl, rather than the girl to punishment, frustrated her.
Soon her prayers were answered in a most unusual manner.
Sarah’s office was scarcely more than a cubbyhole furnished with a wooden desk, two straight-backed chairs, bookcase, and filing cabinet. Afternoons after classes she could be found there preparing her lessons or helping with her students’ academic difficulties.
This day, two months into the term, she was preparing to leave for the day when there was a knock on her door. At her invitation two of her students entered. Both were suspiciously nervous.
“Fiona. Samantha. It’s getting late. What can I do for you?”
Sarah leaned forward and placed her arms on the desk. She already knew the two cute blondes well. They were in their last year at Ridgecrest and they were inseparable friends with a penchant for being in trouble. Both girls looked at the floor and fidgeted with their hands. Neither seemed inclined to begin and the silence quickly became embarrassing.
“Come on girls, out with it. Are you in trouble again? Well, Fiona?”
Fiona shuffled her feet, and then cleared her throat. “Well, Miss,” she began, and then fell silent again.
“How serious is it?” said Sarah. “Samantha? One of you say something. I’m leaving if you can’t find your voices.”
Fiona cleared her throat again. “We’ve done something stupid, Miss. If Mr. Ambrose finds out we’re in for it bad.”
“And what does this have to do with me?” asked Sarah. “Aren’t you as much as telling me you both deserve a good caning?”
“Yes, but we’d rather have it from you, Miss Parkhurst,” blurted Samantha.
Sarah stood and looked out the window. She could feel her excitement blossoming. Trying to remain calm she said, “I’m afraid I’m not allowed to cane you. School rules, you know. And if I could, why chose me? For all you know, I might be twice as hard on you as Mr. Ambrose.”
Fiona lifted her eyes momentarily, but said nothing.
“And if I did, won’t Mr. Ambrose find out just the same?” Sarah said, turning back to her visitors.
“No Miss, because you won’t tell him,” mumbled Fiona.
“Because I won’t tell him?”
Fiona looked up again and nodded. “You’re the only one who can give us up, Miss Parkhurst. Oh, please just do as we ask!” The words gushed out this time. “If he finds out who did it, he’ll be so mad he’ll give us a dozen each—on the bare.”
Sarah tried to calm herself. This just might work, she thought. Two deserving young ladies begging for a caning.
“Let’s start at the beginning. Just what did you two do that’s so terrible? And why haven’t I heard about it?”
Sarah looked from Fiona to Samantha. Finally, Samantha spoke. “Do you remember seeing us coming out of Miss Lance’ office yesterday afternoon?”
“Of course,” said Sarah.
“You were the only one who saw us.”
“And?
“Miss Lance wasn’t there.”
“Neither was Mr. Ambrose,” added Fiona. “No one was there but us.”
“And you did something wicked while you were there.” Sarah made a statement.
The two girls looked at each other. That neither could say what they had done was a good indication to Sarah of how awful their mischief had been.
“Out with it. Out with it, or I’ll take you both down to Mr. Ambrose this minute.”
“We…we broke his canes,” said Fiona so softly that Sarah almost missed the confession.
“And cut up his strap,” added Samantha equally softly. “He probably won’t find out until the next girl is sent in to him.”
Sarah smiled inwardly. Damn the school rules she thought. These two were hers and hers alone.
“You can imagine how mad he’ll be when finds out,” continued Fiona. “He’d probably punish us in front of the whole school.”
“With your panties down,” said Sarah with the intention of frightening the girls further. “I can see why you’re here. Tell me, what do you think is a fair punishment? After all, I don’t have a cane and my classroom strap is hardly up to such a serious correction.”
The girls looked at each other. It was apparent that they had already discussed this aspect of their proposal.
“We’ll get you a switch,” said Fiona. “It will be just as good as a cane. Some of the girls who have had both say a switch is worse …because of the sap.”
Sarah knew now that it was going to happen. At last she was going to have a chance to get in her licks. And two more deserving young ladies were not to be found at Ridgecrest. But all the questions had not yet been answered. Time and place still loomed large.
“Very well. I’ll go out on a limb for you. A dozen each. You know Mr. Ambrose will turn the school upside down looking for you when he discovers what’s been done. Are you sure I’m the only one who saw you?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” both answered.
“Then there are two additional issues to resolve. Exactly where and when are we going to make this happen? ”
“Write us a pass. We’ll come to your apartment after dinner,” said Fiona.
Sarah gave them the address and made out the pass. Her hand shook so badly that she was sure the girls could sense her excitement.
“Seven, then. Twelve each at seven, to be sure,” Sarah said. Then she added under her breath after they had gone, “Spoiled little bitches.”
If Sarah’s office was tiny, her apartment was scarcely much larger-especially given the evening’s task. There was a small kitchen area, a tiny bedroom, and the living room in which she was standing.
She looked around at the furniture. There was a couch, a matching armchair, and a small writing desk. A TV faced the couch from the opposite wall, and except for a floor lamp there was precious little else.
The girls were due shortly and she was as nervous as a cat. On one hand she was finally going to have her chance to soundly whip the bottoms of two deserving girls. On the other, if her unauthorized punishment of Fiona and Samantha were exposed, firing might be the least Mr. Ambrose would do to her.
She picked up her glass of wine and took several large sips. The alcohol enhanced the sensuality of the moment while dulling the perception of the danger.
She had decided how she would arrange things. The girls would move the couch to the center of the room. One would lie over each overstuffed arm, head and arms on the couch and feet on the floor. She might even have them hold hands. With this arrangement she could easily alternate between backsides. While the pain in one girl’s bottom was slowly waning, the naughty minx could focus on her friend’s impending painful stroke.
“Rather fiendish,” she said aloud, a self-satisfied smile on her face.
She replenished her glass and had half drained it again when she heard a timid knock. She smiled and finished the remainder of the wine.
“Come in.”
The door opened just enough for the two girls to slide into the room. Hesitantly, Fiona handed Sarah a long slim package wrapped in several layers of butcher paper.
“Take off your coats and put them on the chair. This won’t take long,” Sarah said. “Are you sure you’ve made the right decision?”
Both girls nodded as they stripped off their fashionable wool coats. Underneath they wore nearly identical sweaters and short, pleated skirts. Both girls were much cuter in street clothes than in their uniforms.
Sarah tore away the paper and freed two long supple withes. Both were quite satisfactory for making painful impressions on tender bottoms.
“I hope they’re OK,” ventured Fiona self-consciously.
“You can tell me after I’m through. Now pull the sofa out, and we’ll get this over with.” Sarah gestured to a spot in the middle of the room.
The girls struggled a bit, but soon the sofa occupied the intended position.
“Very well. Now skirts up and one of you over each end like this.” Sarah lowered herself momentarily over one arm of the sofa, making sure her hips were thrust up prominently. “It’s more comfort than you deserve. Come, come. Don’t make me angry.”
Fiona and Samantha both nodded and walked to opposite ends of the sofa. Both girls gripped the hems of their skirts, and then hesitated.
“Skirts up!” Sarah grabbed a handful of Samantha’s skirt and pushed her over the makeshift whipping bench. “Well, Fiona, am I going to have to do the same for you?”
Fiona shook her head and reluctantly bent over the other end.
“I’m going to alternate strokes. There will be no getting out of position or crying out. I do have neighbors. Remember, this is your choice.”
“Miss Parkhurst?”
“What is it Samantha?”
“May I have something to bite on, please?”
“Fiona? You as well?”
“No, Miss Parkhurst.”
Sarah disappeared into her bedroom and returned with a small folded handkerchief for Samantha. “Hold hands if that gives you any comfort.”
The two grasped each other’s hands and held on for dear life.
Sarah stepped back. The two young women before her were frightened out of their wits. And with good reason, for both knew pretty much what was coming. It was very unlikely, given their penchant for trouble that either was a stranger to a good whipping.
Lazily, she moved to where the switches lay and selected one. She slashed it through the air a few times, and then did the same with the other. Happy in her selection she went to Samantha’s side and laid the switch on the girl’s panty-covered bottom.
Tap. Tap. Swick. Sarah backhanded the switch smartly across Samantha’s rump. The poor girl’s reaction was predictable. Her body stiffened and she shook her head while mewling into the hanky between her jaws.
Sarah moved to the other end of the sofa, aware of the fearful look Fiona’s eyes. Again she tapped her target once, twice. Swick. Fiona reacted like her friend, her body stiffening as she fought to hold in her cry.
“I truly wonder what Mr. Ambrose would have in mind for you if he knew,” said Sarah as she moved back to Samantha’s side. Swick.
Samantha pointed her toes and whimpered.
Sarah moved back again. Swick. And again, Swick. Lazily to and fro.
“You girls made the right choice.” Sarah smiled. She was enjoying herself. The feeling of power was exhilarating, even intoxicating. Every lonely hour she had spent getting to this moment was worth it.
“What could be better than flaying two pert and very naughty backsides?” Sarah asked herself. And then the answer came to her. Two pert, very naughty, and BARE backsides.
Four, five, six.
“Half. But then I’m sure you know.”
Sarah felt cocky. She left the girls writhing over their respective sofa arms and refilled her wine glass. She sipped the wine, all the while taking in the misery she had created.
Samantha was sobbing quietly and kicking the floor with one shoe. Fiona rolled her hips from side to side and repeatedly clenched and relaxed her bottom.
Sarah reached out and felt Samantha’s welts through her panties. The ridges were hard and obviously sore as Samantha’s sobbing grew louder under Sarah’s prodding. Sarah removed her hand. Then throwing caution to the wind she hooked her fingers in the waistband of Samantha’s briefs and yanked them over her hips. Samantha squealed, but didn’t make an additional protest at the indignity.
Even as Fiona raised her head to see what was happening, Sarah moved the length of the sofa and yanked Fiona’s panties southward as well. Much to Sarah’s delight, both bottoms bore six angry crisscrossed weal’s turning from red to black.
“Please, Miss,” pleaded Fiona. “We can’t stand six more. We’ll not be able to sit in class tomorrow.”
“We had a bargain, Fiona. Besides, two healthy girls should take twelve without a fuss.”
Swick. Swick. Swick.
Sarah delivered three sonorous cuts to the underside of Fiona’s trim bottom. The girl buried her head in the seat cushion and wildly scissored her lovely legs. She came up gasping for air, a look of utter dismay frozen on her face.
“Nooooo,” begged Samantha through her makeshift gag as she watched Sarah step toward her. “Nooooo!”
“Of course I can!” said Sarah calmly. And to emphasis her point she repeated the triad of cuts across Samantha’s shocked bottom. “This is not designed to be a picnic, young lady. And for protesting, you may have the next three as well.”
Swick. Swick. Swick.
Sarah’s hand and the switch it held were a blur as she delivered the hardest cuts she could manage. Samantha’s eyes flew open and she twisted her hips wildly from side to side. At the same time her legs flew up and down and she mewled into the hanky.
With the same purposefulness she completed Fiona’s punishment, “You may get up now. And you may rub.”
At once both girls scrambled to their feet and began to dance, rubbing and kneading their welted bottoms for all they were worth. Lewdly, they pumped their hips as if the thrusting would shake out the terrible sting
Sarah sat on the sofa and watched in delight. Finally, the gyrations subsided and Samantha and Fiona stood still clutching their backsides.
“Samantha, come here and bend over my knee,” ordered Sarah.
“Oh no, Miss. You’re surely not going to spank us as well?” pleaded Samantha.
“Of course not. I merely wish to examine your stripes before I send you off.”
“Please, Miss. It’ so humiliating, Can’t we just go?” Samantha was still sniveling.
“After I’ve inspected. Now do you want more of the switch?”
“No, Miss.” Samantha reluctantly sidled over and bent uncomfortably across Sarah’s lap. Sarah traced the lines decorating Samantha’s bottom. “I did quite a job, didn’t I? I trust we’ll not have needed to repeat this soon.”
“No, Miss. I’ve learned my lesson.”
“And you, Fiona? Come here.”
The inspection process and catechism were repeated.
“Well, you may be off,” said Sarah as she helped the two into their coats and saw them to the door. “This will be our little secret, eh?”
Samantha and Fiona, their tear-stained faces wiped clean, nodded. Sarah watched them walk gingerly down the hall and out into the night. How superior did they feel at the moment she wondered. Money and station were wonderful assets, but a good whipping went a long way toward evening the score.
Back inside she picked up the frayed switch and gave her own bottom a halfhearted cut. She smiled at the sting, then reached under her skirt and pulled down her panties.
“What a wonderful invention,” she said. “Such a simple tool, yet it brings both pain….and pleasure.” She placed the switch between her legs and lay on her back. “Pain and pleasure,” she whispered as she started to work the shaft to her advantage in a most unladylike manner.
The next morning broke gray and overcast. By the time Sarah arrived at Ridgecrest rain was falling. Still glowing from the previous evening, she entered the school in a fine mood. It didn’t last. Immediately, she sensed a tension in the air which was new to her.
The students stood around in little knots talking excitedly, and the staff seemed even more reserved than usual. She was so pleased with herself that at first didn’t even think about the cause. It was only when she went into Miss Lance’ office to check her mailbox that she had an inkling of her role in the malaise.
Miss Lance sat behind her desk as usual, but quite out of character she gave Sarah a saccharine smile as she entered. “Ah, Miss Parkhurst,” she said with exaggerated bonhomie, “Mr. Ambrose would like to see you this morning after your second class.”
Sarah felt a cold stab in her midsection. She went to her mailbox, found it empty, and then turned to Miss Lance. “After second class? Of course.” She forced a smile. “Do you know what he wishes to discuss?” she said as casually as she could.
“I’m afraid I don’t, Miss Parkhurst.” The saccharine smile blossomed again. “But then Samantha or Fiona might know something. They both have already been in to see Mr. Ambrose.”
Sarah’s stomach churned. “Why….” She paused rather than say ‘those little bitches’ which was her immediate reaction. “Why, thank you. Yes, I’ll ask them if I see them.” She returned an equally insincere smile and went back into the hall.
Immediately, she slumped against the wall. She desperately wanted to go to her office, but her legs were wobbly and her heart pounded painfully in her chest. What had happened? How had she been betrayed?
She took deep breaths and tried to smile at everyone who passed. Were last night’s events all over school? What did everyone know? Had that pair of worthless girls given her up? But why would they? The last thing they must want was more attention paid to their already well-marked bottoms.
“Miss Parkhurst, are you feeling poorly?” asked one girl. “You’re very pale.”
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine, Belinda. Thank you for asking.”
Sarah forced herself to move toward the refuge of her office. She could manage a few moments to think there. Good heavens, she had class in less than fifteen minutes.
Finally safe behind her closed door, she collapsed into a chair and put her head between her knees. Eventually, she felt well enough to sit up. She could feel the beginnings of a headache.
“A clear head. I’ve got to have a clear head.”
She threw open the window and inhaled. The cool outside air made her feel better at once. She found some aspirin in her desk and swallowed two without water. The bitter taste made her gag.
“I have to function. Get control of yourself, Parkhurst. You’ve got two classes to teach. Then worry about Ambrose.”
Sarah kneaded the back of her neck to relieve the tension which gripped her. “Maybe I’m overreacting. No, Melissa Lance knows. And if she knows, it could only have come from Ambrose. All right, I can only wait and see what he wants.”
Somehow her little exercise made her feel stronger. She picked up her books and made her way to class. Yes, indeed, she was a Pollyanna. But she couldn’t fool herself completely—she was in trouble and there wasn’t to be an easy way out.
In retrospect Sarah didn’t remember what she taught in her first and second period classes. She could remember going; remember standing before the classes and talking. But she couldn’t remember anything she said.
At the end of the second class she did recollect briefly stopping back by her office, but only long enough to drop off her books and check her makeup. Then she headed to her meeting with Mr. Ambrose.
Her mind was racing as she tried to anticipate the directions the meeting might take. She might well be sacked on the spot. If it went in that direction, she knew she would plead inexperience and beg for a second chance. But what if he should offer punishment to fit her crime, a dose of the cane, for example? She supposed she could accept the immediate humiliation and pain, but doubted her comeuppance would long remain a secret. It was far too juicy a story not to quickly make the rounds. The gossip alone might force her out.
Outside the door to Melissa Lance’ office she gathered herself as best she could. She knew she would face the same knowing smile, the same patronizing attitude. Well, what could she do? She opened the door an entered.
“Miss Parkhurst! Mr. Ambrose was just asking your whereabouts.” Melissa Lance bounced up from her chair to escort Sarah into the head’s office. And as if to dig her claws in deeper, she gave Sarah a push in the middle of her back that sent her stumbling forward.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” Sarah managed.
“I did, Miss Parkhurst.” Harry Ambrose tilted back in his chair and looked Sarah up and down. “Miss Lance, please close the door and have a seat over there.”
Sarah looked around, uncomfortable that Melissa was not asked to leave.
“Is it proper for her to stay, sir?” Sarah asked.
“Oh, yes, Miss Parkhurst. Miss Lance and I have precious few secrets when it comes to school business. For the time being you may stand.”
Sarah spread her stance slightly and linked her hands behind her back. She was very uncomfortable, as she was surely intended to be.
“Miss Parkhurst, do you remember a discussion we had just before school began about limits on your disciplinary options with the students?” He was clearly prepared to enjoy what was coming.
Sarah cleared her throat. “Yes, Sir, I do.”
“Could you summarize those limits for Miss Lance and myself? As they pertain to corporal punishment.”
Sarah looked Harry Ambrose in the eye. “I have only the option of strapping a girl’s hands.”
“And for more serious punishment?”
“I am to send them to you, Sir.”
“And I’m to strap or cane their naughty bottoms. Isn’t that correct, Miss Parkhurst?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Quite right.” The head rose from his chair and began to pace slowly back and forth as if in deep thought.
“Tell me, Miss Parkhurst, what did you do last evening?”
Sarah stood quietly, her eyes now downcast. She could feel sweat running down her sides.
“Don’t be bashful. You weren’t bashful then. Please, tell us about Samantha and Fiona. They did visit you, didn’t they?” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “I believe this is the pass you gave them.”
Sarah nodded vacantly.
“Yes. And this pass let them come to your apartment last evening for “tutoring”. At least that’s what it says. Were they good pupils, Miss Parkhurst?”
“Yes, Sir.” Sarah felt as though she would faint.
“And you taught them what?”
The head of school loved the cross-examination. Sarah was not. She was being humiliated, especially with Miss Lance in attendance.
“I taught them a good lesson, Sir,” she said defiantly. “I gave them a whipping they’ll not soon forget.”
“I’m quite sure that’s true, Miss Parkhurst. They both report having more than a little difficulty sitting this morning.”
“They came to me and asked that I whip them. They told me what they had done. They were frightened you’d be so upset that you would punish them in public. They had it coming.”
Harry Ambrose chuckled. “Miss Lance?”
“Sir.”
“Have you ever known me to punish a girl in public?” he asked.
“No, Sir! That’s against school rules.”
He turned back to Sarah. “So you had them bring a switch to your apartment, and you gave each of them what? Six of the best? No, twelve. Twelve very hard stripes. Did you honestly expect I’d not find out, Miss Parkhurst?”
“It was to be just between the girls and myself.” said Sarah defensively.
“And what did you suppose those two little twits would do when they returned to school.”
“I assumed they’d do nothing, Sir.”
Harry Ambrose chuckled again. “You’ve got a lot to learn, my dear. Both Miss Lance and I could have told you that upon returning they would display their battle scars to ten or twenty of their closest friends. They were proud, Miss Parkhurst. And why not? No one at Ridgecrest has ever had twelve welts like that to show off. Why I suspect even you would be proud to have taken such a licking, eh?”
He leered at her, and then returned to his desk. Staring off into space, he appeared to be thinking. After a minute or two Sarah could no longer stand the suspense.
“What will happen to me, Mr. Ambrose?” she asked anxiously.
“Shall I show you what they did in here two nights ago?” he asked, ignoring her question.
He got up again and went to the cupboard behind his desk. Taking a set of keys from his pocket he opened the door. Inside was a jumble of splintered canes and mutilated pieces of leather. He picked up a broken rattan and tossed it on the desk.
“They were quite thorough.” He tossed several pieces of leather on his desk as well. “Canes are easy to come by, and they have no sentimental value. Unfortunately, I had a long and cherished affinity for my favorite strap.”
He held a strip of thick leather out to Sarah. “Take it. Perhaps you can feel the history?”
Sarah shook her head dumbly.
“My mother purchased it when I was five. Not for me, if that’s what you’re thinking. It was for my four older sisters. And it was seldom idle for long. The poor dears all knew it intimately. And now it lies in pieces. Pity.”
“Please, Sir, I’m sorry,” stammered Sarah, her nerve beginning to fail. “But…”
“But what is to be your fate? Tell me Sarah, what do you think is appropriate? I could just as well sack you. Or I might find something more suitable.”
Sarah looked about to faint. “I really wish to stay, Sir.”
“Well, that’s good, Miss Parkhurst. I wish to keep you. But then what is your penance to be? Miss Lance, bring me my new strap.”
Miss Lance scurried over with a parcel wrapped in cloth.
As he reverently unwrapped it, Sarah could see that it was an undamaged, perhaps virgin strap of thick black leather that glistened with oil.
“My original intention was to break this in on our two hapless culprits when and if I found them.” He pulled it through his fingers. “Unfortunately, your intervention made that impossible. Therefore I propose to have you stand in for them.” He extended the strap to Sarah. “Is that acceptable, Miss Parkhurst?”
Sarah took the strap as if mesmerized. “It’s so heavy,” she gasped as she fingered its split tails.
“Yes,” agreed the head, “and flexible enough to cling to a bottom as curvaceous as…well as yours, Miss Parkhurst. If you’ll simply step forward and grip these handles on my desk.”
Sarah looked dumbstruck now that she knew her fate.
“Come now. Yes that’s it.”
Sarah stupidly followed Harry Ambrose’s directions and grabbed the handles.
“Feet back. Legs straight. That’s good.”
He pushed down on her back, at the same time shamelessly patting her backside.
“What do you think, Miss Lance?” he said.
She came forward and lifted Sarah’s skirt and slip onto her back. Sarah shuddered and lowered her head in disgrace.
“What about her girdle and panties, Sir?”
He once more patted her bottom. “Do you think they should come down?”
“I do.”
“So do I. How do you feel about that, Miss Parkhurst?”
Sarah squeezed her thighs tightly together and took a deep breath. She said nothing, as if the final indignity were inevitable.
At a nod, Melissa reached out and very slowly worked Sarah’s girdle and panties over her hips. Sarah moaned in protest.
“It’s not right, Mr. Ambrose,” she finally said in anguish. “You shouldn’t see me like this.”
“Nonsense, Miss Parkhurst. Besides I believe a bare bottom strapping is the most effective means of delivering discipline. Now, let’s see. You’re due in your next class in ten minutes. I shall make sure you are on time. Are you ready?”
Sarah shook her head vigorously.
“Pity.” Harry Ambrose positioned himself and drew the strap back. “Don’t fuss,” he said, then swung the strap in a carefully calculated arc that wrapped it around Sarah’s plump bottom with a loud crack.
Sarah’s head came up, her eyes wide with surprise. “My god,” she managed between clenched teeth.
“It gets better, Miss Parkhurst. And please feel free to express yourself. Of course I cannot say who might hear.”
Crack.
A second devastating stroke wobbled Sarah’s bottom cheeks. Her grip on the handles left her knuckles white. Every muscle in her limbs seemed to stand out in relief.
Crack.
“I certainly hope that your desire to remain is sincere, my dear, for you will realize it only by continuing to welcome my new strap.”
“It’s awful,” Sarah wailed. “Please stop, Sir.”
Harry Ambrose laughed, and then answered her plea with yet another stroke. And another. And another.
Sarah fought to hold her position, waiving her striped bottom about with abandon.
“Forget your modesty and spread your feet, girl. And stick your naughty backside out more. More!”
Crack. Crack. Crack.
Sarah burst into tears and reached a hand back to protect herself. Her skin was already an ugly amalgam of deep scarlet stripes and even darker ridges where the stripes overlay one another.
“Back in position, missy, or your career is over.” His voice was low and threatening.
“But Sir,” Sarah sniveled, “it’s more than I can bear. Please, Sir!”
“Down! Now! Melissa, come and help Miss Parkhurst back into position.”
Melissa Lance jumped to obey, obviously happy at the prospect of bending Sarah to her will. In a trice she forced Sarah back in position. Then without being asked, she wrapped her arm tightly about Sarah’s midriff.
“There will be no more warnings, Miss Parkhurst. So exercise as much restraint as you can.”
“Yes, Sir. Oh God.”
Harry Ambrose now began a methodical strapping of poor Sarah’s bottom. He moved to her right and delivered several backhand strokes, then moved left and resumed his forehand lashes. Then he stepped back and strapped from side to side, only two or three inches of the strap biting into each haunch.
“Mercy! Please, Sir,” Sarah sobbed over and over. Yet she continued to push her bottom out for the next, and the next, and the next—resigned to outlasting her tormentor.
“Very good, Miss Parkhurst.” Harry Ambrose paused momentarily. “Now for your finale. I will give you twelve more, and you will count them. Don’t disappoint me.”
“No, Sir.”
Crack. Crack. Crack.
The strokes came but a few seconds apart—hard, driving strokes. And Sarah managed to count them through her sobs.
“One. Two. Three.”
And finally it was over. Melissa helped her to stand, Sarah’s shoulders heaving as she continued to sob.
“You haven’t much time, Miss Parkhurst,” said Mr. Ambrose sharply. “Your class meets in five minutes and you mustn’t be late.”
Sarah hauled up her undergarments, pausing to gently explore her battered bottom. “Yes, Sir.”
Melissa handed her a wet towel, which she used to wipe her face.
“Stiff upper lip, Miss Parkhurst,” said Ambrose cheerily. “Now off you go.”
Painfully, Sarah Parkhurst turned to leave, still in obvious agony from her whipping. “Thank you, Sir. I won’t disappoint you.”
With a hand on her tender backside she made her way out.
Harry Ambrose smiled after her.
That very afternoon Sarah met with Alexis Tuttle for drinks.
“What do you know about someone trashing Ambrose’ office.” Alexis asked even as they sat down. “I heard two girls broke in after school and caused a lot of damage.”
“What did you hear,” said Sarah noncommittally.
“There’re saying that the pair was caught and given a good hiding. Do you know a thing about it?”
“Samantha and Fiona,” said Sarah.
“No! As stupid a pair as you’ll find. But how do you know? I’m always the last to know everything.”
Their wine came, and Sarah sipped hers deliberately to prolong the tension.
“Well? Don’t keep me sitting on the edge of my chair,” urged Alexis.
“I saw them coming out of Melissa’s office night before last.”
“And you squealed on them. What did they do?”
“They broke into his cupboard and destroyed his canes and his prized strap. But I didn’t turn them in.” Sarah sipped her wine again. “They came to me and confessed. But before I tell you the rest, let’s powder our noses.”
“Go ahead, but don’t be too long.”
“You have to come.” said Sarah.
Alexis looked peeved. “Oh, all right. But this better be good.”
Sarah locked the ladies’ room door behind them.
“Why are you doing that?”
“Close your eyes. I’ll tell you when to open them.”
Alexis shook her head and closed her eyes. She heard the rustle of fabric, then he snap of elastic. “What is going on?” she said impatiently”
“You can look.”
Alexis opened her eyes and blinked. Sarah was bent over at the waist with her skirt and slip raised and her girdle and panties pulled down to show off her bruised bottom.
Alexis gawked. “My God, who did that to you?”
“Guess.”
Alexis put her hand out and felt Sarah’s rump. “Ambrose?” she said in disbelief.
“Let’s finish our drinks,” said Sarah as she pulled up her undergarments and straightened her clothes.
“And he sent you straight to your next class?” gasped Alexis. “My god, what a horrible thing to do. He’s an animal.”
Both of them were now working on their second glass of wine.
“I must have looked just like one of our students returning from a caning. I was in a state of shock, but nobody seemed to notice a thing.”
Alexis leaned closer. “Be candid,” she said. “Wasn’t it just a little”—she searched for a word—“a little, you know, exciting? I mean he is a handsome man, and you were…were a little exposed.”
Sarah sat back and sipped her wine. “I don’t think I can explain the feeling,” she said at last. “It has to be experienced.”
From the corner of her eye, Sarah could see Alexis’ staring at her.
“I see,” said Alexis, a hint of envy creeping into her voice. “Well, would you let him whip you again? I mean if you deserved it.”
Sarah tuned her head and met Alexis’ gaze. “Maybe,” she said. “How about yourself?”
Alexis blushed and dropped her eyes. “Maybe.”
Sarah knew Alexis would. Her eagerness was impossible to hide. In fact, she knew it would happen. When, why, and where were the operative questions. But perhaps the same questions applied to her as well.
The next two weeks passed uneventfully for Sarah. She came to school, taught her classes, and went home. Along the way she sent several of her girls to visit Mr. Ambrose. And to her satisfaction they returned with the usual red eyes, stiff walk and straight-ahead stare that meant their bottoms bore evidence of six of the best. Sarah also saw Alexis every day, but their meetings lacked any first person stories of misdeeds and subsequent whippings in the head of school’s inner office.
The ordinary turned extraordinary, however, one Friday in November. Classes were over for the week, and Sarah was about to leave for the weekend. She was in her office packing her satchel when Mr. Ambrose knocked on her door.
“Ms. Parkhurst, I’m glad I caught you. Do you have a moment?” He seemed agitated.
“I was just leaving. Is there a problem?”
“Something has come up. Normally, Miss Lance would handle it, but I let her go early today.”
“Yes, of course, if I can help,” said Sarah. “What would you like me to do?”
“If you could come to my office. I’m afraid that Miss Tuttle has….well, you see…she has gotten into a bit of mischief, and I would be remiss if I didn’t deal with it promptly.”
Even before he finished, Sarah knew what was up. She flushed with anticipation. She had suspected it was just a matter of time but hadn’t expected to be part of the drama.
“And what has Miss Tuttle done?” Sarah tried to sound innocent.
“I believe I’d like to keep that between Miss Tuttle and myself. I’m sure you can understand.” Mr. Ambrose held the door to Sarah’s office open in invitation.
“Certainly,” said Sarah.
By the time they reached Mr. Ambrose’ office, Sarah was well on her way to a state of arousal. There could be no doubt that Alexis was to be whipped, and that she-Sarah-was to be the witness.
When Harry Ambrose opened the door to his office, Sarah immediately saw her friend sitting with her back to them. Alexis turned, and upon seeing Sarah, frowned.
“I don’t want her here! This has nothing to do with her.”
Sarah slid into the same chair Melissa had occupied as witness to her own earlier “situation.”
“Miss Tuttle, it is my decision how I carry out discipline in this school. If you wish to avoid such situations, it is best to follow the rules. Miss Parkhurst is here as a witness, and should it be necessary, to assist me.”
He moved to the cupboard behind his desk and opened it. Sarah could see a number of canes hanging inside along with the split-tail strap he had so effectively used on her.
After a moment’s study, he took out a cane and swished it through the air repeatedly. Satisfied, he closed the cupboard door and turned to Alexis Tuttle.
“One dozen, Miss Tuttle. No more, no less. Please step forward and take hold of these handles.” He tapped the same handles Sarah had been made to grasp.
“Sir, again I protest the presence of Miss Parkhurst. I demand she be asked to leave.”
“I’m afraid you are not in a position to make demands, Miss Tuttle. Now, you have ten seconds to obey my order or Miss Parkhurst will become an active participant in your punishment.”
Alexis gave Sarah a scathing look. She reluctantly stood. “This is outrageous.”
“Five seconds, Miss Tuttle.”
“Very well. But I shall not forget this. I thought you were my friend, Sarah.”
“This is business, Miss Tuttle. Holding a grudge against Miss Parkhurst would be quite childish.”
Alexis bent forward and placed her hands on the handles.
The head of school gently tapped the front of her thighs with the cane. “Feet back. More. Good.”
He tucked the cane under his arm and lifted the hems of Alexis’ skirt and slip. As he raised them a pair of shapely legs appeared, followed by a tight pair of black nylon panties which contrasted nicely with her pale skin. Sarah could see Alexis grit her teeth at the indignity.
“That’s quite enough,” she said defiantly. “Surely my panties can offer no protection.”
“More than you shall have, Miss Tuttle.” He slid his fingers under the waistband of her briefs and lowered them rather too deliberately.
Alexis' bottom was firm and shapely. Lewdly, Harry Ambrose patted each cheek.
Alexis cleared her throat. “That’s not appropriate, Sir,” she stammered.
He smiled, and then with the cane tapped her on each ankle. Spread your legs. Good. Now hollow your back.”
He stepped back, affording Sarah her first unobstructed view of the partially naked Alexis. When she saw the display of Alexis’ charms, she put her hand to her mouth. Had she showed as much? She knew she had.
Harry Ambrose smiled at her and nodded as if he could read her thoughts. “Indeed,” he said. Sarah blushed crimson.
“Now, Miss Tuttle, we are about to begin. Should you fail to remain in position at any time, I will call on Miss Parkhurst to assist. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Sir.” The voice was suddenly timid, as if the reality of her situation was finally intruding.
“Good. Miss Parkhurst, please count each stroke after it is delivered.”
Sarah nodded, and then cleared her throat. She watched as Mr. Ambrose removed his coat and tie and put them aside. Once more gripping the cane, he stepped back and placed it across Alexis’ bottom.
Tap once. Tap twice. “Are you ready?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer he drew the supple wand back and laced into Alexis’ taut rump.
Swick.
Alexis stood on tiptoe and grimaced. At once a neat red line sprang up across her previously unmarked bottom.
“One,” called Sarah huskily. She could feel perspiration trickle between her breasts. Every nerve in her body tingled.
Again the warning taps. Again the dashing of the cane across the naked waiting flesh.
Swick.
“Oh!” exclaimed Alexis as she twisted her hips to and fro. “Oh, God it hurts!”
“Two,” said Sarah.
“We’re just beginning, Miss Tuttle.” Tap. Tap. Swick.
“Three.” Sarah licked her lips and twisted her hands in her lap, not daring to do more to satisfy the growing insistence she felt between her legs.
“Four.”
“Five.”
“Six.”
The well-spaced weal’s stood out in relief on Alexis’ hindquarters and tears stained her cheeks. Wantonly, she shook her hips in a vain attempt to soften the pain which was now the only reality in her life.
“That’s enough!” she wailed. “I can’t stand any more. Please stop.”
“Come, come, Miss Tuttle,” taunted Harry Ambrose. “You send your girls to me every day for six. Surely, a grown woman like you can handle twelve without a fuss.”
“I can’t. I can’t. For God’s sake have mercy,” she pleaded.
“Besides, you’re not being sent back to class. You’ve the whole weekend to recover. Take your medicine, Miss Tuttle.”
He reached out and ran his fingers over her welts. In the process he allowed his fingers to linger close to Alexis’ sex.
Sarah bit her lip and dug her nails into her palms to keep from touching herself. She had never known such desire. She knew that once started she would be out of control. And now he was smiling at her. He wasn’t a fool. He understood everything.
“Seven.” Sarah was conscious of a tightening in her groin at the moment of impact. Was it possible she could reach orgasm simply watching?
“Eight.”
“Nine.”
Alexis shot up and threw her hands behind her. Tears streamed down her face and she pleaded for mercy.
“Miss Parkhurst, if you would be so good,” said Harry Ambrose calmly.
“Yes, Sir.” Sarah rose quickly and stumbled to Alexis’ side. She immediately tried to force Alexis’ hands back to the handles.
“Nooooo! I won’t.”
“You’ll get extra,” promised her tormentor.
“Nooooo!”
Sarah tried again, but she wasn’t strong enough to bend Alexis to her will.
“Yes!” said Harry Ambrose. Angrily he threw the cane down and grabbed Alexis backward around the waist. Instantly, he lifted her feet from the floor and held there as she squirmed helplessly.
“Now, Miss Parkhurst, take the cane and give her six on the back of her thighs. And make them felt.”
Clearly, Alexis didn’t like the idea, for she began to wiggle and kick wildly. He tightened his grip and backed up to the desk for support.
“Do you hear me, Miss Parkhurst?”
“Yes, Sir.” Sarah scrambled to retrieve the cane.
“Do it, Miss Parkhurst.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sarah spread her legs for leverage and swung the cane as hard as she could across the back of Alexis’ bare thighs. Almost before Alexis could react, Sarah swung the cane again. And again. It took but a few seconds to deliver the entire sentence of six.
As soon as Alexis was set on her feet she grabbed at her stinging thighs, the stripes on her bottom momentarily forgotten.
“Sarah Parkhurst, you’re evil,” she wailed. “I won’t forget this.”
“You’re excused, Miss Tuttle,” said the head.
Alexis pulled up her panties and hastily straightened her slip and skirt, crying all the while. Then she was gone, slamming the door behind her.
“I should go after her,” Sarah said as she moved to follow.
Harry Ambrose reached out and put a hand on her arm. “She truly doesn’t want to see you now, Miss Parkhurst. I, on the other hand, do.”
He turned Sarah toward him and smiled down at her.
“I really….”
He pulled her close and she rested her head on his chest. She could feel his erection press against her.
“Mr. Ambrose,” Sarah teased. “I’m shocked!”
He reached under her skirt and pressed his hand to the wet crotch of her panties. “I doubt it, Miss Parkhurst. I truly doubt it.”
She stood on her toes and kissed him. She didn’t protest when he started unbuttoning her blouse. Nor did she object when he bent her backward across his desk.
Harry Ambrose took the call one day early in December. He had been expecting it.
“Victoria, you’re a bit late this year. I hope it’s nothing I’ve done,” he joked.
The voice on the line was pleasant, but demanding. “I’ve been occupied, Harry. Are we set to go?”
“I need a date, Victoria. And what about the invitations?”
“Saturday, the eighteenth. I trust the girls will be gone by then. And you needn’t worry about the invitations. It will all be taken care of as usual.”
“The eighteenth will be fine.” Harry assured her. “You know the school can’t thank you enough, Victoria.”
“I’m sure that’s true. And you Harry? Will you thank me as well?”
“Do you doubt it?”
“No, Harry, I don’t. Anything to look forward to?” asked the voice.
“I hope to have some new blood for you this year. Young and pretty.”
“I’m going mushy already, Harry. There might even be a bonus if I’m suitably impressed.”
“Have I ever let you down, Victoria?”
“See you on the eighteenth, Harry.”
As soon as the line went dead, Harry called in Miss Lance. “Let Miss Parkhurst know I’d like to see when she’s free, Melissa,” he said. He broke into a smile as soon as she turned to leave.
“Miss Parkhurst, Sir,” said Melissa an hour later.
Harry ushered Sarah into his office and closed the door. Immediately, he took her in his arms and they kissed.
“Sit with me, Dear,” he said as he led her to the hoary leather couch. He took her hand.
“What is it, Harry?” Sarah asked. “You seem preoccupied.”
Harry looked at her. He appeared uncertain where to start. Finally, he rose and stood in front of her.
“This is difficult to discuss with you, Sarah.”
“What, Harry?”
Harry put his head down, and then raised his eyes to look at Sarah. “Ridgecrest has an alumna who donates a substantial sum to the school every year. She also, how shall I say, “inspires” a wealthy circle of her friends to do likewise. In point of fact we’d be hard pressed to do without these gifts.”
“And there’s a problem?” asked Sarah.
Harry cleared his throat.
“Put delicately, she and her friends…share unusual interests. As it happens, my facilitating the realization of those interests is the basis for the gifts. Each year I arrange a little play for her to star in. She, in turn, invites her friends to watch its performance in our theater.”
Sarah looked puzzled. Harry cleared his throat again.
“The unusual interests, I assume they are not to be talked about in public,” said Sarah.
“She shares our interest, Sarah. Thanks to her years here she developed a keen taste for playing, how shall I say, the martinet.”
“And her friends?” said Sarah.
“Love to watch her perform.”
“Perform?” Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Surely you don’t involve the students?”
“Only graduates. Some of them develop a predilection for it while there’re here. That or they come with one. But we’ve not had any new faces for the past two years and she’s becoming impatient.”
“New faces. New bottoms you mean,” said Sarah. “Let me guess. You hope I’ll step in.”
“It would be for the school,” Harry said quickly. “I’m embarrassed to even bring it up, but your participation could mean so much to Ridgecrest. A substantial sum.”
“How much of a sacrifice am I going to have to make,” asked Sarah.
“No mistake, you’ll get a good thrashing. But your identity will be protected. You’ll wear a mask. A wig, as well, if you like.”
Harry proceeded to describe the schoolroom setting and a class of half a dozen “schoolgirls” of which Sarah would be one. Each would receive a whipping, the severity increasing as the evening progressed. Sarah listened quietly without interrupting.
“I might do it for you, Harry,” she said flirtatiously. “Are you worth it?”
Harry caressed her cheek. “Have I disappointed you yet?”
Sarah shook her head and blushed.
“Ridgecrest appreciates your spirit,” said Harry lightly.
Sarah could feel her heart hammering. She wasn’t entirely sure why.
Over the next few days Sarah tried without luck to pry the identities of her fellow “classmates” from Harry. One afternoon she visited the theater where she was to “perform.” She had been in the theater many times for school assemblies but had paid little attention to its amenities.
It was an intimate theater with the front of the low stage but a few feet from the first row. In fact, as she took a seat she felt almost as if she were on the stage.
One week before the eighteenth Sarah received a package containing a Ridgecrest uniform complete with plaited maroon skirt, white blouse, a pair of tight white briefs, garter belt and opaque black stockings. There was also a black eye mask and a note signed “Love, H” just above an unmistakable drawing of crook handled cane.
Sarah went shopping later in the day and purchased a long blonde wig. In the evening she dressed in the uniform and donned the mask and wig. In the mirror she found she looked quite young, a quite believable Ridgecrest girl. As an ultimate test she bent forward and flipped up her skirt. The panties stretched tightly across her rounded bottom. She was confident she’d provide the old geezers in the front row something to catch their attention—and Mr. Harry Ambrose’s as well.
As the week progressed Sarah could feel her level of anticipation growing. Sometimes she looked forward to her role; sometimes she felt more dread than acceptance. It wasn’t that she was bashful, especially given she would be disguised. She was, as she readily admitted to herself, something of an exhibitionist. It wasn’t even the scalding pain she expected to have to endure. But what it was, she didn’t know.
On Thursday, the girls were dismissed for the holidays and by noon Friday only a few faculty and staff still remained. Just as Sarah was on her way out, Harry stopped her.
“Nervous,” he asked.
“A little.”
“Good. I’m sure you’ll make a wonderful Ridgecrest girl in your debut. Tomorrow I’ll be by for you at ten o’clock. Be in costume.”
Sarah didn’t sleep very well that night. Saturday she found herself on pins and needles, unable to concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes. Minute by minute her “performance” crept closer. At dinner she nibbled at some leftovers and had a substantial amount of wine. Afterward, she paced her small apartment and watched the minute hand creep ever so slowly around the face of her watch.
At nine she showered and dressed. Carefully, she donned her costume item by item, stopping after each addition to check her appearance in the mirror. Finally, she slipped the mask into place and topped everything off with her wig. She was confident no one would divine her identity.
Harry Ambrose was punctual, even a little early. He dropped her at a side door and suggested she wait in her office until he came for her. At eleven thirty he led her backstage.
Three or four other masked “Ridgecrest girls” had already arrived. All were slender and appeared young in the dim light. She made no attempt to talk to them, or they to her.
Having nothing better to do, she walked on stage. The set consisted of three walls of a classroom. There was a single door and two windows. There were six student desks, a teacher’s desk and chair, some bookcases and a flag. On the side wall hung a map; on the back wall a clock which would read eight o’clock—the start of the school day—at midnight. It was the front wall, however, which caught Sarah’s attention. Beside the expected chalkboard, there were numerous pegs from which hung panoply of spanking tools: rulers, straps, paddles and canes.
Sarah felt drawn to the display of implements. Her eyes flicked from one to the next, finally fixing on a wooden paddle decorated with three parallel rows of half inch holes. Furtively she looked around before removing it from its hook and running her fingers over its smooth surface.
“Your choice for tonight?”
Sarah sucked in her breath and jumped at the unfamiliar voice behind her. She whirled to find herself looking up into the face of a wickedly beautiful woman with a long face and penetrating green eyes surrounded by masses of shoulder length red hair. Her short, fitted black dress accentuated her long legs, slim waist and ample breasts.
“You must be the new student,” the woman said. “I thought Harry was exaggerating, but you seem to be everything he claimed.”
Sarah stared at Victoria dumbly, still clutching the paddle. She didn’t know what she had expected Victoria to look like, but she wasn’t prepared for the beauty or intensity she was facing.
“Bashful?” said the woman.
“You surprised me,” said Sarah defensively.
“Angel. Yes, I’m going to call you Angel. And you may call me Miss Victoria. Tell me Angel, have you ever been properly paddled?” Victoria slid the paddle from Sarah’s grip. As she touched it, it seemed to Sarah to take on a sinister quality it had lacked in her hands. “It does quite an impressive job on a bare bottom.”
“No. Ma’am.” Sarah found herself cringing in Victoria’s presence.
“Do you like new experiences, Angel?” Victoria stared into Sarah’s eyes. Sarah looked down without answering.
Victoria slowly tapped her hand with the paddle. “I think you’ll find it commands your attention.” Slowly, almost languorously, Victoria reached past Sarah and replaced the instrument in its proper place. She smiled evilly and strolled off.
Sarah could feel her heart thudding wildly. Without thinking, one hand went behind her and gently caressed her bottom while she tried to imagine the paddle’s sting. “I guess I’ll know soon enough,” she said under her breath.
She moved to the side of the stage and peeked around the curtain. The first two rows of seats were filled with masked men in black ties accompanied by masked women decked out in stylish evening gowns and fur wraps. The remaining rows were conspicuously empty. It was, indeed, a select group and it reeked of money. Even under the dim house lights the cool glitter of diamonds was breathtaking.
Were the women wives or mistresses? If they were wives, some were too young and beautiful to be originals. Sarah idly wondered how much it had—or would—cost the men to rid themselves of the newer models’ predecessors.
She let the curtain close and made her way backstage. By this time it was ten minutes of twelve and all the “students” had arrived. As expected, all wore masks like herself, and all were dressed in the Ridgecrest uniform. Try as she would, Sarah found it impossible to recognize any of the others. Perhaps she didn’t know any of the others. Her failure made her feel more secure in her own desired anonymity.
Harry Ambrose appeared and called everyone together. “As usual, before the…festivities begin, Miss Victoria will introduce each of you,” said Harry. He rambled on for a while refreshing memories for the veterans and educating Sarah what to expect. He then concluded. “And as always, each of you may terminate your whipping by saying ‘Mercy, Miss Victoria.’ Again this year there will be a substantial monetary prize awarded for the best “performance” as determined by vote of the audience. Anyone asking for mercy is not eligible to win. If there are no questions, you may take your places.”
“Well, this better be worth it to the school and to Mr. Harry Ambrose,” thought Sarah. She smoothed her skirt and took her place at a desk, a standard student desk, almost certainly appropriated from one of the nearby classrooms.
At exactly midnight the curtain rose and Victoria walked from the wing into a spotlight. The audience broke into immediate applause which was acknowledged with a slight bow. It ended only when she held up her hands for quiet.
“Thank you, patrons of Ridgecrest,” she began, speaking slowly with perfect diction. “Yes, another year has passed, and it is once more time to make our gifts to further the fortunes of this wonderful institution. An institution dedicated to educating our young women. And as always, we have our little show this evening to loosen those purse strings.”
There was a new round of enthusiastic applause. Victoria beamed at the audience, waiting patiently for the clapping to subside.
“We shall begin by introducing our student body for the evening. Most of these wonderful volunteers’ bottoms…er, faces will be familiar. However, we have two new participants to add to the festivities, the beautiful Mercy and Angel. I’ll get to them in a moment. First, let me give you the veterans. Scarlet?”
The woman sitting in front of Sarah stood. She wore a tightly curled blonde wig and she blushed bright red as she stood. She was Sarah’s height and few pounds heavier: a very attractive woman.
“Scarlet will have two more red cheeks when I’ve finished,” said Victoria smiling, and there were a few chuckles from the audience. “This will be Scarlet’s fourth year.”
Three others veterans were introduced, each accompanied by a few bon mots: Fanny, Bunny, and Cheeky. Sarah’s—rather Angel’s— introduction was preceded by Mercy’s. Mercy received her name claimed Victoria, because she would soon be asking for it. Angel, she continued, was fitting because after the Devil was paddled out of her, there would nothing left but an Angel. Again there were chuckles.
As Victoria finished the introductions, the theater went dark. A few moments later the stage lights came up and Victoria entered the classroom through the door. Her spiked heels clicked rhythmically as she walked to her desk at the front of the class.
”Good morning girls,” she called out in a no nonsense voice.
“Good morning, Miss Victoria,” the class answered in a semblance of unity.
“We will begin our class this morning with spelling. Scarlet, will you please stand and spell catamaran.”
Scarlet stood at her desk. She immediately blushed prettily. “Catamaran,” she repeated. “C-A-T-E M-E-R-A-N. Catamaran.”
Victoria cleared her throat and walked to the wall decorated with spanking implements. She unhooked a ruler. “That’s incorrect, Scarlet. Would you like a chance to redeem yourself?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” said Scarlet nervously.
“Spell elephant.”
Scarlet let out a sigh of relief. “Elephant. E-L-E-P-H-A-N-T. Elephant.”
Victoria replaced the ruler on its peg. “Better:” Returning to her desk, she pushed her straight-backed chair to center stage and sat facing the audience. As she did so her short skirt rode far up her thighs revealing the tops of her nylons anchored to the garter tabs of her girdle.
“Come and receive your spanking, Scarlet,” she said calmly.
Scarlet was short, something of a pixy. She made her way slowly forward, her hands clasped behind her back. She stopped beside Victoria and nervously regarded the floor.
“You were to have studied the spelling list last night, were you not?”
Scarlet nodded her head without raising her eyes.
“Lift your skirt,” ordered Victoria.
Slowly Scarlet raised her skirt until it was gathered about her waist, her face redder than ever. Without hesitation, Victoria reached out with both hands and shucked Scarlet’s panties over her hips and down to her knees. Although it seemed impossible, Scarlet flushed even more, her ears appearing incandescent.
Sarah looked quickly at the audience to see their reaction. Every eye in the house, male and female, stared raptly at the spectacle of Scarlet’s humiliating disrobing.
“Get over my lap, young lady.”
Scarlet delayed as she pawed the floor with her shoe. Victoria immediately reached out her hand and delivered a hard smack to Scarlet’s naked bottom. “Do you want the ruler?” Victoria asked.
Scarlet shook her head slowly. “No, Ma’am.”
“You have ten seconds to obey me.”
The girl grudgingly lowered her hips across Victoria’s waiting lap.
“You know you’re getting off easy with a hand spanking, don’t you?” asked Victoria.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Then appreciate my leniency.” Victoria pulled Scarlet closer. In the process she managed to expose even more of her girdle. ‘Learn from your mistakes, Scarlet.”
Victoria raised her hand and smacked the creamy bottom docilely offered. At first the spanks fell after sizable pauses, as if Victoria were considering where each sonorous blow should be placed. Even so Scarlet soon began to wave her legs around and utter ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ at each smack.
Sarah did not have a good view, but it was obvious that Victoria was intent on delivering a very sound punishment. Each spank was delivered with a full sweep of her arm. Soon Victoria picked up the tempo, her hand rising and falling every few seconds.
At the change of pace Scarlet began kicking her legs in earnest. Her ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ changed to a non-stop series of pleas for forgiveness which obviously did not touch Victoria’s heart. Clearly the spanking was making a pronounced impression.
“Control yourself, girl,” snapped Victoria as she momentarily paused. “One would think you had never had a spanking the way you’re carrying on.”
“But it hurts,” howled Scarlet, and indeed there were tears running down her face.
“I’ll show you hurt,” said Victoria emphatically.
“Noooo,” wailed Scarlet.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
Victoria resumed spanking, and Scarlet renewed her gyrations and the attendant howling.
Sarah was fascinated by the display, but again she forced herself to focus on the audience viewing Scarlet’s bouncing bottom at close range. Eyes gleamed from behind masks and hands tightly gripped armrests. Most telling of all, delighted smiles-smiles of carnal delight—could be seen everywhere. Victoria understood her audience, an audience of which Sarah was at least for the moment a member.
After what seemed to Scarlet an eternity, Victoria relented. Her once punishing hand now gently caressed the blushing buttocks on her lap. Slowly, Scarlet quieted, her sobs turning to sniffles.
“Perhaps next time you will study,” said Victoria in a conciliatory tone. “If not…” She helped Scarlet to her feet, her well-spanked bottom turned to the audience. “Now hold your skirt up and show your fellow students what your lack of diligence has earned you.”
Scarlet shuffled toward Sarah and the others, hobbled by her panties gathered around her ankles. One by one, she stopped by each of the other girls and presented her red bottom for inspection.
Sarah could feel the warmth radiating from the punished cheeks. She had an almost irresistible urge to reach out and feel the swollen flesh. What was in store for the rest of them, she wondered, if Victoria did this with a hand spanking? She didn’t have long to wait. No sooner had Scarlet returned to sit gingerly at her desk, than Victoria was preparing to find fault with Fanny.
Fanny was a brunette, at least for the night. She was taller than Scarlet and more buxom. She seemed to be no brighter, however, and she stumbled badly when asked to solve two simultaneous algebraic equations—something every algebra student at Ridgecrest was introduced to early in Sarah’s course. Fanny’s ineptitude was not met kindly by Victoria.
“What have you been doing in class all this term, young lady? It is scandalous that so little has penetrated your pretty little head.”
Victoria had migrated to the implement rack as she scolded. Again, she removed the ruler. This time, her magnanimity deserted her. She offered Fanny no opportunity for redemption with a further question.
“Perhaps I can spank some sense into you if I try hard enough,” threatened Victoria. “What do have to say in your defense?”
“Nothing, Miss Victoria.”
“Nothing, indeed. I don’t believe that you will find what is coming is nothing.”
Victoria strode to her chair at the front of the stage and spun it around so that the back faced the audience. “Bend over the back,” she ordered imperiously.
Fanny proved no more anxious to “assume the position” than her predecessor. Very slowly she edged toward the chair. When she finally stood in the proper place, she bent forward only reluctantly to grip the wooden seat on each side, dropping her head in shame.
Victoria stepped forward and hoisted the back of Fanny’s skirt. From her pocket she produced a safety pin and pinned the garment’s hem to the back of Fanny’s blouse. As Victoria lectured the poor girl, she ran her hand over the tight expanse of Fanny’s panties.
“I hope you are ready,” she concluded.
“Yes, Miss Victoria,” whimpered the girl.
“Good!” With that Victoria drew back the ruler and smacked it across the fullest expanse of Fanny’s backside. Fanny reacted with an audible, but nothing more.
Victoria cracked the ruler again and again on the stretched nylon. Fanny absorbed the strokes stoically, making no further sign of the sting she most certainly felt.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
The contest was joined. A contest which Fanny would certainly lose, but which because of her defiance would surely entertain the ladies and gentlemen watching it unfold.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
Sarah counted the strokes by habit. A dozen. Two dozen. Fanny had yet to cry out again, although she was now swaying her hips from side to side. And then Victoria paused.
“Resistance is foolish, My Dear. In the long run your bottom is no match for my ruler.” She reached out and yanked Fanny’s white briefs to her knees.
A woman in the front row reacted with a gasp. Sarah wondered if the surprise came from the state of Fanny’s bottom or the scandalous view of Fanny’s exposed privates. Victoria smiled at the reaction.
The spanking began again, the smacks of the ruler on bare flesh louder and more painful sounding than before. Immediately, Fanny’s composure disappeared, whether from embarrassment or pain Sarah couldn’t know.
“Oh, stop. Please stop,” begged the girl as she waggled her hindquarters and tossed her head about.
“When I’m good and ready, Miss. When I’m good and ready. You will take your medicine like the naughty girl you are.”
Crack. Crack. Crack.
Victoria didn’t miss a beat as she lectured. Sarah’s count reached fifty. Sixty. And then it was over. Sarah could see beads of perspiration on Victoria’s brow which she wiped away with her sleeve.
“The sacrifices I must make for your good. I’ve worked up a sweat disciplining you. Now display yourself to your classmates before the color fades and I have to touch you up a bit. And keep those hands locked in front of you.”
Fanny repeated Scarlet’s embarrassing tour of the classroom, showing her striped and bruised bottom to everyone. At last Victoria ordered Fanny to her seat.
Well, thought Sarah, at least her ordeal is over. She stole a peek at the clock. Only twenty minutes had elapsed since the curtain had risen. She shifts uneasily in her seat. Her time was approaching far too quickly.
From Fanny to Bunny. Each girl was being called in the order of the introductions. And it appeared the bar was being raised as the drama progressed. First a hand spanking, then a ruler spanking, and for Bunny a leather strap. Not as heavy as the one Sarah had felt in Harry Ambrose’ office, but heavy enough.
Bunny’s sin was talking back to Miss Victoria when told that her shoes were scuffed and that she would have detention as a result.
“It’s not fair,” argued Bunny “You’re just mean.”
Two minutes later Bunny’s desk had replaced Victoria’s chair at the front of the stage. Two minutes after that Bunny was bent over the front of her desk, immobilized by cords which bound her hands and feet to the desk’s four legs.
“Perhaps you have something else to tell me before I whip your naughty backside,” mocked Victoria. I don’t want it said that I don’t listen to my pupils.” Victoria lifted Bunny’s skirt. “Well? Anything? Anything at all?”
Bunny silently shook her head.
“You will answer me when I ask you a question!” stormed Victoria. For emphasis she laced into Bunny’s bottom five times with the strap without warning.
Bunny closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, but made not a sound.
“Now, do you have anything more you wish to say?” asked Victoria again.
“No, Ma’am,” said Bunny with an insolence which could not be ignored.
“I know how to deal with the likes of you, Miss Smarty-pants,” said Victoria coolly. She marched purposely back to the cache of spanking implements. After hanging her earlier choice back in place, she examined several other straps before making a choice. She returned with a much heavier split-tailed strap.
“Now, let us see if I can’t make you dance to my tune.”
Crack.The leather wrapped itself cozily around Bunny’s bottom. Her reaction was pronounced and swift. Her whole body stiffened and she let out a shrill howl of pain.
“Did you feel that, now?” asked Victoria with a smile.
“Yes, Ma’am,” panted Bunny, this time without a hint of disrespect.
Crack.
“And that one?”
“Yes, Ma’am. Yes, Ma’am.” Bunny waved her hands and feet as much as their tethers would permit.
“Good.”
Victoria removed Bunny’s panties. The reaction of the audience was more widespread this time for the two strokes of the heavier strap stood out a vividly from their mostly white background. Sarah hoped Bunny was prepared for what was sure to come.
“Two dozen, Miss. Count them well if you wish to avoid extras.”
Crack. Bunny drove her hips into the desk in a useless attempt to escape the full force of the stroke. The desk inched forward. “One,” she whispered hoarsely after a series of grimaces.
“Ow, no more, please,” Bunny begged.
Crack.
“Noooo! Oh, you’ll kill me. Stop.” In vain she waved her hands feet and panted raggedly.
Two,”Crack.“Three.”Crack. “Four.”
Victoria was truly in her element with Bunny. She would solemnly set her jaw and deliver a wicked lick, then smile at Bunny’s animated reaction. That she loved her work was obvious to everyone, audience and cast alike.
After six, Victoria paused. “Are you learning your lesson?”
“Yes, Ma’am. Yes, Ma’am,” babbled Bunny. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
“No,” mocked Victoria, “you are preparing to feel sorry.”
Bunny burst into tears. Sarah was quite sure that Bunny was not a stranger to Victoria’s heavy hand. She was also quite sure that soon she, herself, would not be either.
When at long last Bunny’s strapping was over and her hands and feet freed, it was only with Victoria’s assistance that she was able to stand. When she was finally able to move on her own, she followed her predecessors’ tour of her classmates’ desks. Studiously, she avoided eye contact as she showed each girl in turn. Her bottom was a mélange of deep red stripes and bruises. Sarah did not know from recent experience that Bunny would not sit easily for several days to come, nor would the black and blue fade for many more days— and then only after metamorphosing through purple, green and yellow phases.
Now it was clearly Cheeky’s turn in the dock. Cheeky lived up to her name. She was a tall, but slightly bottom heavy brunette, the type of woman cursed with a figure which no amount of dieting or exercise could make right. Not that she was unattractive-the rest of her body was trim and her complexion was clear.
Victoria began Cheeky’s ordeal by asking her a series of history questions, dates in particular. When was Charlemagne crowned emperor of the Holy Roman Empire? When was the Battle of Hastings? This lasted for a good five minutes with Cheeky never hesitating in her answer and never erring.
“Well, I am impressed,” said Victoria. “You may sit down.”
Cheeky gave a little curtsey and sat down.
“Oh, one more thing,” said Victoria casually.
“Ma’am?” said Cheeky springing to her feet again.
“Pull up your skirt.”
“Ma’am?” Cheeky flushed and suddenly began to sweat.
“What didn’t you understand, My Dear? Did I use too big words?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“Good. Then pull up your skirt.”
Slowly, Cheeky’s hands dropped to her side and grasped her skirt. The audience quieted and Sarah could feel the tension in the theater rising. Cheeky raised the hem of her skirt an inch and stopped. By this time her ears were watermelon. Up came the hem another inch, then another.
“Stop playing, young lady!”
Cheeky yanked the skirt up to her waist. There was a sharp intake of breath in the audience as a white panty girdle was revealed—Cheeky’s only possible solution to her “problem”-and a flaunting of the Ridgecrest uniform regulations.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” said Victoria. “What do we have here?
“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I’m sorry.”
“Come here, Miss. Put yourself across my desk.”
Cheeky stumbled forward. She paused for a moment in front of Victoria and gave her a pleading look. Coolly, Victoria tossed her head in the direction of the desk. Cheeky broke into tears and threw herself down on the desk.
Victoria seemed in no hurry. She stepped up to Cheeky and placed her hand on the girl’s corseted backside. “You know this violation is outrageous?” she said as she slid her hand between Cheeky’s slightly parted legs—calling into question exactly which violation she had in mind.
If it was possible, Cheeky turned an even brighter red at the intrusion of Victoria’s fingers, fingers which began to purposively glide back and forth over the smooth nylon crotch of the foundation garment. Embarrassed or not, Cheeky soon began to react with a rhythmic rocking of her hips.
“Don’t you wish this were your punishment?” cooed Victoria, continuing to stimulate poor Cheeky.
The girl answered with a moan and increased the tempo of her rocking. Sarah found herself holding her breath, wondering how far Victoria would take her victim.
In another minute it was obvious to all that Cheeky was nearing orgasm. She was panting and rubbing her sex shamelessly against Victoria’s now stationary fingers.
Sarah found the sexual tension so erotic that she unthinkingly moved her hand between her own legs. Nor was she the only one. But of course, no one took notice. The show was Victoria and Cheeky. The question for everyone was whether Victoria would misjudge, for clearly she did not intend to reward the girl.
And then it was over. At what was the last possible instant Victoria removed her hand, leaving the poor Cheeky comically humping her girdled hips on empty air with no possible hope of fulfillment.
“And now,” said Victoria, “for the real show.” She headed for the implement wall and removed a meter long cane the thickness of a pencil. As she returned to her desk and the waiting girl, she first flexed it to demonstrate its elasticity, and then fanned the air repeatedly with it much to the dismay of the cowering Cheeky.
“You will take a dozen,” she said. “Interfere by moving or shielding your backside, and there will six extra. Do I make myself clear, Miss?”
Cheeky was crying again. At last she managed to nod her head and whisper an affirmative reply. Without being told she gripped the far edge of the desk with both hands and lay her head down, careful to face the audience. She shut her eyes in anticipation of her upcoming ordeal. Victoria strutted about the stage continuing to demonstrate the cane’s flexibility to both the audience and her students. At last she stopped at Cheeky’s side and placed the rattan against the spandex-encased bottom.
“Knees back, hips in the air. I want the best possible target. And I want it still,” she said harshly. “And count.” Victoria pulled the cane back and wiggled its tip. Then without warning she slashed it full force into Cheeky’s waiting backside.
Swick.
The limber rod wrapped itself around Cheeky’s curvaceous bottom creating a fleeting depression. The poor girl stiffened as if an electric wire had been applied to her body. “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” she mewled as the pain gripped her. “You’ll kill me. No more. Please,” she panted.
“Count!”
“One. One. Oh, no more.”
Swick.
Victoria did not give quarter. Her second stroke clung to the corseted bottom cheeks a scant half inch below the first.
“Two,” sputtered Cheeky through her tears, her bottom waving wildly. “No more, please.”
Three, four, five, six. It seemed to Sarah that each cut of the cane should split the fabric of the tightly stretched garment, so viciously were they given. And when each failed to do so, then surely it should drive Cheeky to shoot upright and rub her wounded behind with both hands. But neither did that happen. There was only the swick of the stroke and the ever more incoherent pleas for an end to her suffering.
Victoria walked around the desk and lifted Cheeky’s chin. The audience could see the falling tears. No one could doubt the severity of the caning.
“Six more, Miss.”
“Yes, Miss Victoria,” sobbed Cheeky, apparently resigned to accept her fate no matter the cost to her backside.
Victoria delivered the next six strokes unemotionally. All the while Cheeky continued to sob and beg for a release from her punishment. When it was over at last, Victoria again ran her hand over the girdled bottom. This time, however, she inserted the cane between Cheeky’s parted legs. Using the desk as a fulcrum, she bowed the cane to provide pressure where Cheeky could best appreciate it. Again as Cheeky’s dance began her sobbing subsided. Her hips pumped against the slim rod with a growing urgency as her arousal made her forget the sting of the cane.
This time there was no teasing. Panting and groaning, Cheeky came again and again before finally slumping exhausted on the desk top.
Withdrawing the cane, Victoria tapped it lightly on Cheeky’s bottom. “Up now and show your welts.”
Cheeky stood unsteadily with Victoria’s help and inserted her thumbs under the waistband of the girdle. Slowly, she worked the undergarment over her hips to expose her panties. “I’m sorry, Miss Victoria,” she stammered. “I’ll never do it again.” She lowered her panties to chorus of appreciative exclamations from the audience as her wickedly welted bottom emerged, a bottom certain to deter anyone’s misbehavior.
Cheeky finished displaying the sorry state of her backside to all and sundry and slowly lowered herself onto the hard wooden seat of her desk. Sarah knew her own turn was fast approaching. Only Mercy stood between her and Victoria. But what was to be Mercy’s fate? Up to now the punishments had been long and hard. Sarah doubted that would change. She glanced at Mercy. Mercy’s forehead was beaded with sweat.
Victoria once more visited the rack of implements. She pondered a choice between a leather cat-o-nine-tails and a leather-bound quirt. After theatrically hefting each and pulling it through her fingers, she replaced the quirt and swaggered to the front of the class. Once more her heels clicked loudly on the wooden stage.
“Mercy, come forward,” Victoria ordered without looking at her.
“Why, Miss Victoria, what did I do?” This evening at least, Mercy was a tall and curvy brunette with an annoying whine.
“Are you arguing with me, young lady?” rapped the mistress. “Come forward. And do it now!”
Sarah watched as Mercy slid slowly from behind her desk and made her way up the aisle with tiny, hesitant steps. As nervous as Sarah had been all evening, she hadn’t really studied any of her companions in pain. She certainly had had no ideas as to their identities. However, there was something familiar about Mercy.
The first thing Sarah noticed was the graceful curve of Mercy’s calves, obvious despite the unflattering low heels of the black schoolgirl pumps. And then there was her voluptuousness, obvious in spite of the prim nature of her white blouse. When Mercy finally turned to present her profile, Sarah knew instantly from the less than perfect chin and piggish nose that it was her friend, Alexis Tuttle.
Momentarily, Sarah was shocked. But of course, Alexis had fallen victim to Roger Ambrose’ charm just as had Sarah. She had just not realized how serious a tumble her friend had taken-not that she was any real competition. Nevertheless, Sarah delighted at the prospect of watching Alexis’ squirm under Victoria’s expert attention. She smiled, momentarily forgetting her own approaching denouement.
Alexis stood facing the audience, her hands clasped behind her. Victoria circled her, inspecting her from head to toe.
“You’ve developed nicely, haven’t you Mercy?” taunted Victoria. “I’ll bet the boys take quite an interest in you.”
Alexis blushed at the reference to her figure.
“Yes, I can see that they do. And do you take an equal interest in them? Answer me!” Victoria deliberately poked the cat-o-nine-tails between Alexis’ breasts. The move accentuated the prominence of the twin mounds.
Alexis gasped, and then nodded as if mesmerized.
“In fact, I was told that you were seen on the school grounds last night with a boy who had his hand in up your skirt. Like this!” Victoria slid the cat between Alexis’ thighs, lifting her skirt in the process.
Alexis reddened even more, and again nodded wordlessly.
“And did he caress you?” Victoria tone had softened. She slowly worked the cat back and forth between Alexis' legs. “And perhaps put his hand on you.” She cupped one of Alexis’ breasts with her free hand.
Alexis swallowed hard and closed her eyes. Sarah was sure she saw a half smile form as Victoria continued her petting.
“Is that what happened?” Victoria was almost cooing now.
Eyes still closed, Alexis swallowed again. “Yes, Ma’am,” she whispered.
“You might even have returned his attention and touched him back. Did you?”
“I did, Miss,” murmured Alexis, apparently ready to admit to anything as long as Victoria’s attention continued.
“You did, did you? Then I am afraid that I shall have to punish you for your being so bold.”
Victoria still kept her voice soothing, but the threat did not escape Alexis’ notice. Her eyes sprang open as she realized that she was not to enjoy any more of this encounter.
“Ah, yes, my dear. It’s time to pay for your licentiousness. And pay dearly, I may add.”
As she spoke, she opened a drawer of her desk and withdrew a pair of padded cuffs. In a trice she secured them around Alexis' dainty wrists, joining then securely together. Victoria produced two additional cuffs which she fastened to each of Alexis’ ankles.
It happened so fast that it was over before Alexis protested. “What are you doing,” she asked belatedly, worry edging her voice. “I don’t want to be tied!”
“It will be best,” Victoria said, bending her victim over her desk. “Trust me.”
“You might as well trust the Devil,” said Sarah under her breath. She watched Victoria quickly strap Alexis over the desk. When it was done, she was helpless, each ankle secured to a leg of the desk and her body stretched forward across the flat top by a third strap attached to her wrist cuffs.
“Please don’t whip me,” babbled Alexis. “I didn’t want to touch him. He made me do it. I’m a good girl.
“Good girls don’t secretly meet boys after dark.” Victoria lifted Alexis’ skirt out of the way and ran her hand over both panty-covered hemispheres. “And good girls don’t lie.” She playfully tickled the cat’s tails over Alexis’ rump. “However, it is a situation I know how to treat.”
Victoria stepped back and slashed the leather thongs across Alexis' vulnerable bottom. Alexis jerked sharply.
“That hurt,” she wailed, “Stop!”
Victoria did the opposite and slashed the leather thongs in again with even more energy.
Sarah could see that Alexis was looking alarmed, already helplessly straining against her bonds.
Clack!
The leather thongs spread out as they met Alexis’ bottom for the third time, making a flat, business-like sound.
“Please stop,” panted Alexis as she twisted to look at Victoria. “It hurts so much.” And as if to demonstrate the point, she clenched her bottom cheeks and wiggled them futilely.
Clack!
“Just stop now!” she pleaded. Her eyes were misting with tears.
“What do you mean stop,” Victoria fired back. “I’ve hardly begun to whip your naught backsides.”
Clack!
Again Victoria bade the nine strips of leather dance over their reluctant target. And then again.
“By the time I’ve finished with you, young lady, you’ll think long and hard before you play with the boys again.”
Clack!
Alexis buried her face in her arms and moaned. As the whipping continued unabated, she began sobbing heavily. At every lash of the cat she would jerk, then relapse into passivity.
Finally, Victoria paused and pulled Alexis’ panties to her ankles. There were gasps from several women in the audience at the dozens of ugly welts that covered her naked bottom.
“Are you finished with your scandalous behavior?” asked Victoria even as she raised the cat.
Clack!
“Yes, Miss Victoria,” screeched Alexis. “I’ll never play with boys again! Ever! I promise!”
“See that you don’t,” answered Victoria. And she finished with a storm of slashing blows that left poor Alexis howling and wriggling.
When Alexis finally paraded by Sarah some minutes later, she had no doubts that the tips of the tails had been hardened in some manner to cause more damage. No wonder thought Sarah, had “Mercy” fussed so much.
“Class dismissed,” proclaimed Victoria.
Sarah couldn’t believe her ears. Victoria had not so much as given her a pat on her bottom, and she was ending the play. Sarah looked around. The other girls were rising from their desks, albeit some were moving gingerly as they rued their sore bottoms. Sarah wasn’t sure if she felt cheated or fortunate to be ignored. She had been mentally prepared to take a good whipping, and the new development left her strangely ambivalent. Confused she began to rise like the others.
“Not you, Miss Angel!” said Victoria in her saccharine sweet tones. “You will stay after class. I have yet to deal with you.”
Sarah sat back in her seat, only to find Victoria suddenly towering over her and glaring down with malice in her eyes, a malice which had not been present before. Sarah cowered under the intimidation, her stomach knotting in fear. For a moment she felt light-headed as she realized that it was possible Victoria had a personal vendetta against her-despite the fact that they had never met until less than two hours earlier.
“You couldn’t possibly have thought I’d forget a troublemaker like yourself, do you? Miss Angel, the classes tart?” There was a cruel edge to Victoria’s voice.
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Sarah truthfully. She could feel her face flush and again felt faint. “I’ve never….I simply don’t know what you mean.”
“Stand up!” Victoria ordered summarily.
Sarah struggled to her feet, the job made difficult by Victoria who stood almost on top of her.
“When I say stand, I mean now.”
Without warning Victoria delivered a sharp slap to Sarah’s cheek.
“Ow!” exclaimed Sarah in pain and surprise. “Oh, that hurts.” Her hand went to her face, but Victoria yanked it away. A red impression was easily visible, a testimony to the force of the blow.
“Now don’t lie to me again if you know what’s good for your naughty backside. Do you understand?” Victoria punctuated her question by reaching out and grabbing Sarah’s jaw in her hand, forcing her to look up into her cruel eyes.
Sarah nodded, her brain spinning at the sudden turn of events. “Yes, Ma’am,” she managed.
“Very well.” Victoria’s tone softened. “Now let’s see if we can’t straighten things out. Come up to my desk.”
Dutifully, Sarah followed Victoria to the front of the classroom and stood by her desk with her hands clasped behind her.
Victoria turned and faced Sarah. “I had a report from the head of school that you behaved quite lewdly in his office when he sent for you. Perhaps you would like to explain what happened?”
Sarah looked stunned. Was she expected to deny anything happened or to make up some wild lies confirming it? Either course would serve Victoria’s purpose. Denial would mean she was lying; a confession admitted guilt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Miss Victoria,” she said after many seconds of thought. “I’ve done no such thing.”
“You were in his office recently?” asked Victoria.
“Yes, Ma’am.” It didn’t seem wise to say no.
“You were to be caned, I believe.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Sarah answered more quickly this time.
“And?”
“And I was. The head walloped my bottom with six good stingers. Had me howling.” She had become caught up in the fiction Victoria was weaving from whole cloth.
“That’s all?”
“Well, he stood me in the corner afterward.”
“I’m sorry Miss Angel, but there are some differences between your story and the Head’s. It would go easier on you if you told the truth.”
“I swear, Miss Victoria, That’s how it happened.” Sarah knew that whatever her story, it wouldn’t agree with what Victoria made up. Better to let her tell it.
“I’ll tell you exactly what happened. When you found you were to be caned, you threw your arms around the Head’s neck and shamelessly ground your body into his while you tried to French kiss him. When he pushed you away, you offered to….to let him have his way with you if only he wouldn’t cane you.”
“No, that didn’t happen,” protested Sarah. “It didn’t.”
“Of course, he was shocked. If he were not a man of principle he would have been sorely tempted—after all, you might have a limited appeal to some men. But thankfully, he wasn’t moved by your tricks and he positioned you over his desk for the cane.”
Sarah shook her head in denial, her face white.
“Then when he raised your skirt and stepped back to begin your punishment, you pulled down your panties and wiggled your bottom at him. You did all that, didn’t you?”
Sarah was open-mouthed but silent. She knew she should answer, but her brain was useless.
“Well?
Nothing was forthcoming. Victoria boldly walked once more to the implement wall and removed the paddle that she had earlier taken from Sarah’s hand.
“Now I’m going to tell you what is to happen to you because of your inexcusable behavior.” She laid the paddle on her desk and began to remove her dress. “You are going to bend over the desk and grip the far side.” She finished removing the dress and draped it over a nearby student desk. “Then I am going to bare your pretty little bottom for a paddling that will discourage you from any further such hijinks.”
Sarah scarcely heard as she watched Victoria remove her slip. The woman exuded sensuality as she stood proudly on display wearing only bra, open girdle and stockings. She was elegant enough to have just stepped from a lingerie ad in the pages ofElleorCosmopolitan.
“Over the desk with you,” Victoria ordered. “We’ll see what kind of impression I can make.”
Sarah slowly lowered her torso onto the waiting desktop and gripped the far edge. Her bottom pointed to the audience. She turned her head to watch as Victoria strutted across the front of the stage, cradling the paddle against her voluptuous breasts. Every eye, male and female, followed the disciplinarian attentively. The whole audience was wholly caught up in the woman’s sexuality.
At last Victoria tired of her preening. It was time. Sarah gritted her teeth and looked at the floor, “Very well, Miss Angel. Your time has come. Lift your hips.”
Then Sarah complied, Victoria jammed a cushion between Sarah and the edge of the desk. It both raised her bottom and provided padding to keep the paddle from driving her into the sharp edge of the hard desk.
As soon as Sarah settles against the cushion, she could feel Victoria raising the hem of her skirt and sense the nakedness of her thighs. A few seconds later Victoria inserted her fingers in the waistband of Sarah’s panties and slid them over her hips. Sarah knew everything she had was on display.
“What a nice, white bottom you have, Miss Angel. At least for the nonce,” goaded Victoria.
Sarah felt Victoria’s hand caress her bare bottom, then glide between her slightly parted legs. Instinctively, she moved her feet together and clenched her muscles to repel the lewd invasion. While her efforts were successful, they were met with three sonorous hand spanks to each bottom cheek which left her gasping in surprise.
“You do mark so nicely,” Victoria said as she once again caressed Sarah’s newly pink hindquarters. “Do me the honor of counting each stroke of the paddle. You will receive twenty-five. Oh, and add the words ‘I will not tempt the head again.’ Can you remember that?”
Sarah chewed her lip in anger at the order and said nothing.
Smack. Smack. Smack. Victoria’s reply was swift and sharp.
“Yes. Yes, Ma’am. I can,” Sarah whined.
“Good girl. Now prepare yourself.”
Sarah clenched her teeth and tensed her muscles for the first crack of the paddle.
“Eyes front, Miss.”
Momentarily, everything was quiet. Sarah forced herself to breathe slowly and evenly, though her heart pounded in her ears. In the audience she could hear a woman clear her throat, a man whispering, followed by a nervous feminine giggle. Why didn’t she get on with it?
Sarah got her wish. Without preamble, Victoria drew back the paddle and whipped it forward full into Sarah’s defenseless bottom.
Whap!
Without any preparatory taps, Sarah was caught totally off guard. The fronts of her thighs were driven against the cushion as the wooden surface flattened her fleshy cheeks.
“Oh, no!” she bellowed in reaction to the sting that swiftly followed. “Oh, my God!”
Whap!
The second followed even before Sarah could catch her breath. “Two,” she barked, realizing that she had forgotten to count the first. “And I will not tempt the head again.”
“We will begin again with one, Miss Angel. I didn’t hear you count the first.”
Sarah’s grip on the desk tightened. Her bottom was already on fire after two strokes, and now she was to start over with one.
“Yes, Ma’am,” she replied through tight lips.
Whap!
“One. I will not tempt the head again.” She had never imagined the paddle would sting so much. Her eyes were already misting, blurring her vision.
“That’s better.” Victoria now took the time to lay the paddle across Sarah’s rump as a warning.
Whap.
“Oh! Two. Two,” Sarah repeated herself as the pain momentarily confused her. “I will not tempt the head again. Oh, God!”
He tried looking back at her tormentor again, perhaps hoping that her look of anguish would soften Victoria’s heart. If that had been her goal, it was a vain one. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Victoria’s arm flash down in an arc that once more smacked the wooden paddle against her smarting flesh.
Whap!
“Three!” she bellowed. “Oh, I’m on fire. I will not tempt the head again.”
“I’m going to give you exactly what you deserve, young lady.”
Victoria smacked the paddle over and over again into Sarah’s rapidly bruising bottom, ready to deliver the next stroke as soon as Sarah finished her vow. Finally after fifteen, Victoria paused and stroked Sarah’s rump with her fingers.
“You will think twice about your behavior in the future, won’t you?”
Sarah rose up on her elbows. She panted heavily as she fought down the pain the paddle had kindled in her backside. When she turned to look at Victoria, there was a look of wild disbelief in her azure eyes.
Victoria smiled evilly in return, and then turned to the audience. As before, she strolled to the front of the stage. Her skin glistened with perspiration from her exertion. At last she walked back to Sarah, her hips swaying in a provocative manner.
“Ten more, Miss Angel. Ten good, hard ones. Prepare yourself.”
Sarah buried her face in her hands and began to sob gently. What a Christmas present, she thought.
When Victoria resumed the paddling, Sarah moaned, but managed to recite her message. Nine to go, only nine.
Sarah managed to endure the rest—barely. Her sobbing became louder and more frantic, but she managed to retain a semblance of self-control. And then she uttered the magic twenty-five and her final promise of future good behavior.
“You may get up, Miss Angel,” said Victoria. There was a hint of frustration in her voice as if she had wanted to see Sarah plead for mercy.
Still sobbing. Sarah put her right hand back and gingerly rubbed her right buttock. She knew her bottom was badly bruised. With an effort she willed herself to stand, swaying as the cramped muscles in her legs threatened to give way. Finally, when she seemed sure of her ability to stand, she brought both hands back to try to soothe her still stinging buttocks.
“Pull up your panties,” ordered Victoria. Then realizing that she was too shaky to make an effort, Victoria stooped down and roughly pulled them up for her.
Like an old woman, Sarah smoothed her skirt and slowly shuffled toward the door. Backstage she saw no one at first. The other girls had apparently deserted as soon as they were sent offstage. She leaned against the wall, her head down. She could hear applause from the audience. No doubt Victoria was taking her bows.
Where was Harry? Why wasn’t he there to meet her? She needed him to lean on, to have him whisper encouragement in her ear. She needed consoling. Hell, she needed him to tell her how brave she had been.
She could hear the curtain being drawn. A few moments later and Victoria walked past her without a word.
“Victoria,” called Sarah in desperation.
“Yes,” Victoria answered coolly. Still in her lingerie, she took a step toward Sarah but stopped some distance away.
“Where’s Harry?” was all Sarah could think to say.
“Waiting for me, I dare say. Why?”
Sarah tried not to show her distress. “Nothing. I just thought….It doesn’t make any difference.”
Victoria nodded. “Very well.”
Sarah watched her turn and walk away, hips once again swaying provocatively.
When Victoria reached the door, she stopped again. “By the way, you didn’t win the contest tonight either. It wasn’t my fault.” She disappeared through the door, leaving Sarah still supported by the wall.
Sarah never quite remembered how she made it to her office, but she found herself unlocking the door and stumbling inside. With the moonlight coming through the window, she left the light off and made her way to the window. Below she could see Harry and Victoria leave the building and walk briskly hand-in-hand to a limousine. Before they opened the door, they stopped and kissed, their lips locked together. A few moments later they were whisked into the night.
“The bitch and the bastard,” muttered Sarah. “So much for dancing with the one who brought you. And how am I to get home?”
Sarah suddenly realized that she was totally exhausted. Rather than try to sit on her battered bottom, she dropped to her knees and stretched her torso on the seat of the lone armchair in her office. No sooner had she done so, however, than there was a light rapping on her door.
“Go away,” she said without conviction.
“I’d like to come in.” The voice was male, sympathetic.
“I won’t be good company. Just go away and leave me alone,” Sarah answered.
She could hear the doorknob turning and the door opening. “Are you sure?”
Sarah looked up and saw a masked head peering through the partially opened door. She dropped her face back in the chair. “What do you want?”
She could hear him entering and closing the door. She was too tired to feel fear.
“I’ll leave the lights off if you like.” His voice was comforting. He pulled out the desk chair and sat. “Tough night,” he said. “Victoria seemed to be a bit vindictive with you.”
“Is that what you call it? What do you call her running off with Harry Ambrose afterward? Harry and I…” She stopped, not quite sure why she should say more to the stranger.
“Lovers?”
“Yes.” The word came out too quickly.
“Harry has his points, but in the long haul Harry is a bit fickle. Do you mind if I take off my coat?”
Sarah finally looked up again. She couldn’t see much in the dim light. “Would it make a difference if I said no?”
“Sure,” he said, “but I really want to turn the light on. I’d like to see you without the mask.”
Sarah turned enough that she could sit more or less on a hip. Even that made her wince. “I guess that the old saw about eating off the mantle must be true.”
“I doubt there’s any horseback riding in your immediate future,” he said. After a few moments of silence he added, “I’ll take my mask off as well.”
“The dark suits me right now. Let’s leave the light off. How much did our little play raise for the school?”
“Do you want the truth? Probably nothing.”
“Nothing!” Sarah was stunned. “I went through all this for nothing?”
“In a manner of speaking, I’m afraid that’s true. Not that we didn’t give a great deal of money to Ridgecrest tonight. We did. But I suspect we would have given as freely without the play. Not to say we didn’t enjoy it. And you made it memorable-at least for me.”
“Harry was my ride,” Sarah said after a while. “How am I to get home?”
“I have transportation,” answered the stranger. “In fact, if you must know the truth, I arranged this meeting after I saw you.”
“Saw which part of me? I must have shown everything.” Sarah found herself blushing in the dark.
“I assure you it was all charming. But I was interested in you before any clothes came off.”
“Not likely. With my wig and mask you haven’t the faintest idea what I look like.”
The stranger sat silent for a moment, and then cleared his throat. “That’s not quite true. When Harry told Victoria he had someone new and special this year….well, I investigated.”
“So Harry’s not only fickle, he can’t keep a secret either. It just gets better and better.” Sarah knew she should be angry, but she was too drained to feel any emotion. “Okay, you can turn on the light. I guess I’ve got nothing left to keep from you.”
The stranger rose and reached for the switch. Both of them shaded their eyes from the glare from the ceiling fixture. As Sarah’s eyes adjusted she could see his mask.
He reached in his hip pocket and drew out a flask. “Here, see if this helps,” he said.
She took a good swig, then handed it back. “I’m too sore to get up,” she said matter-of-factly. “Give me a hand.”
He reached down and gently lifted her to her feet.
“Thank you. Why don’t I remember you from the audience?”
“I purposely hid from you in the second row. I don’t know why. I was being silly.”
Sarah couldn’t help feeling flattered at his admission. There was something very juvenile, yet romantic about his shyness. “What do we do now?” she asked.
“Count to three and remove out masks. One. Two, Three.”
Both masks came away. Sarah uttered a little ‘oh!’ at seeing his very handsome face.
“The wig?”
“Of course, the wig.” She went about removing it, and then shook her head to free her own blond tresses. “Now what?” she asked.
“Now I kiss you,” he answered. “Unless you object.”
Sarah said nothing, just closed her eyes and tilted her head up to meet his lips. It was a long gentle kiss, somehow made sweeter by the dull ache permeating her backside.
When they separated Sarah put a hand to her breast. “That was very nice,” she said. “But I’m not sure what it means.”
“Can we get out of her? I’d like to talk in nicer surroundings. I have a suite at the Plaza. Or I could take you home.”
Sarah was silent, thinking. “What’s your name,” she asked. “I can’t go anywhere with a stranger.”
“Of course not. My apologies. I’m Eric Storm,” he said. “And you’re Sarah Parkhurst. Is that good enough?”
I hope so thought Sarah. I truly hope so. She started for her coat, but he jumped to retrieve it and helped her slip it on.
“Here, take my arm,” he offered. She grasped it tightly with both hands.
“I guess I’ll have to trust you,” she said. “Take me home.”
Eric’s car seemed huge to Sarah, but she didn’t pay attention to the make. He escorted her to the passenger door and held it open. She was about to protest her inability to sit normally when she saw an inflated rubber doughnut waiting for her.
“I try to think of everything,” Eric said smiling. “I’ve found it works reasonably well in cases like yours.”
He lowered her gently onto the cushion. Sarah winced, but found it more comfortable than she had imagined. He titled her seat back and she sighed at the luxury of being able to relax at last. Even before Eric had closed his door, Sarah sank into a restful slumber.
At her apartment, she barely came to as he carried her in and placed her on the bed.
“I shouldn’t let you do that,” she protested feebly as she felt him unbutton her blouse. “I used to be a decent woman.”
“Used to doesn’t count.” He unbuttoned her skirt and worked it down, being careful not to cause her more discomfort than necessary. “Now, under the covers.”
You, too,” she said. “I’m cold.”
“You’re sure?”
“You rescued me, didn’t you? Besides, I’m too sore to make love.”
Quickly, Eric striped to his underwear and slide beside Sarah. She snuggled up and rested her head on his shoulder.
“What now,” he asked.
“Who are you?” asked Sarah. Her nap seemed to have rejuvenated her.
“I’ve already told you my name. That’s not enough?’
“Tell me how you got interested in all this. Did you have a wicked stepmother?”
“By all this, I assume you mean the spanking of young ladies.”
“Yes.”
He held her closer. “It’s a long story if told properly,” he said. “Do you want it all?”
Sarah nodded.
“I was eighteen, a freshman at University, but a freshman just the same. Pretty inexperienced, but eager to learn about women.
“I was rushed by my father’s fraternity, of course, and wound up at a lot of parties. At one bacchanalia early in the year I met a sexy, beautiful young woman who took a liking to me. Her name was Penelope Ann, and she insisted I call her that.
“She had soft blond hair like you, a pert little nose, blue eyes—every red-blooded boy’s dream. Well, we talked for a few minutes and seemed to hit it off very well. Soul mates, she called us. After about half an hour she invited me to leave with her. Who was I to say no? Off we went.
“We strolled around a bit and Penelope Ann said she was hungry and would I get her a bite to eat? I said no problem, where did she want to go? She took my hand and led me into a little Italian place. We sat across from one another in a dark booth. A candle in an old wine bottle supplied a romantic mood.”
Sarah snuggled closer.
“Getting tired?” Eric asked.
“No, please go on.”
“Well, we ordered and the food came. When we finish, she reached out for my hands and we’re sitting there quite contentedly. Suddenly, I feel her stocking foot slipping between my legs. Penelope Ann just smiles innocently and wiggles her toes. Believe me; at eighteen a young man doesn’t need much of an invitation. Immediately, I’m hard and she knows it.”
“Do you know what my favorite movie is?” she asks.
“Dumbly I shake my head. I don’t know nor do I care.”
“Free Willie,” she smiles seductively, and to be sure her message isn’t missed, she curls her toes repeatedly for my benefit and gives me a come hither look that would have raised the dead several different ways.
“I look around. No one is paying any attention, so I discreetly do as she bids. Now I have two feet in my lap, both quite intent on helping Willie now that he is free.
“I’m quickly beginning to enjoy myself when all of a sudden the waiter is standing at my side me asking if there is anything else we would like. It’s all I can do to shake my head. Of course, Penelope Ann is enjoying my predicament immensely, and she’s not about to give me a break. If anything she works harder.
“No sooner does he leave than I succumb to her ministrations with a loud groan and a knee banging the underside of the table. The waiter turns around and looks at me. All I can think to do is fake a cough and waive like everything is under control.”
“This is a long story,” said Sarah as Eric paused for breath. “Before you go on, could you fetch the cold cream from my dresser and apply it to my bottom?”
“Of course.” Eric rolled slowly out of bed and returned with the jar.
“Just pull my panties down and be gentle.”
Eric pulled back the covers and slipped Sarah’s briefs over her hips. “Nice bruises,” he said as his hand slid ever so tenderly over first one cheek and then the other. “Definitely no horseback riding.”
He unscrewed the lid and dipped into the cream. “Ready?”
Sarah nodded. “You can get on with Penelope Ann as well.”
“Yes, Penelope Ann. Well, when we left there she had the biggest smile on her face you can imagine. I wasn’t exactly pouting either, although I was more than a little embarrassed. Of course, as you might guess, there were to be similar scenes-quite a few.
“Hurry up and get to the spanking part,” urged Sarah.
“I thought you wanted the whole dreary story?”
“Okay, she has talented feet. What else?”
“Let me just say that all her talent didn’t reside in her feet. She had rather nimble other assets as well, and as I would learn in time. She struck again when a few days later when we went to see a movie. It may not seem like much of a challenge in the dark, but we were hemmed in on all sides with nary an empty seat around. The next time it was at a pep rally.”
“No one guessed?” asked Sarah, still purring from Eric’s gentle massage.
“No one ever said anything, but we got some knowing looks-lots of them if the truth be known. But being so brazen just made it more intense.”
“And what were you doing for Penelope Ann all this time? Something nice, I hope.”
“I was more than willing, but every time I tried to reciprocate I was gently told it wasn’t the right time. It was discouraging.”
Sarah turned on her side and looked Eric in the eye. “But the right time did come?”
Eric cleared his throat. “Not in any way I had imagined. One Saturday night we were invited to a party at a townie’s house. I fully expected Penelope Ann to use the opportunity to work her magic again, and in a way she did. But that night turned out to be the right night.”
He took a deep breath as if pondering how to continue. “I suppose we had had a fair amount to drink, but I don’t think either of us was smashed. About eleven o’clock Penelope Ann pulled me aside and led me to a bedroom in the back of the house. This was a surprise in itself. No sooner were inside than she closed and locked the door. It was clear something out of the ordinary was up. She told me to sit on the side of the bed. I did, quite sure that I’d like whatever she had planned. Of course, she caught me completely off guard with what she did next.”
He paused, whether for effect or reflection. “Well?” prompted Sarah impatiently.
“She went to the dressing table and came back holding a wooden hairbrush with a black lacquered finish. I assumed it belonged to our hostess. She preceded to hand it to me. It was solid, heavy. I was about to say something, but she put a finger to her lips and shook her head. Then as I watched she took off her skirt and carefully placed it on a chair. My immediate thought was that we were going to make love and I could feel my heart pounding in anticipation. Next she reached under her slip and pulled her panties part way down her legs. I remember wondering why she didn’t take them off. Then before I realized it she was lying over my lap with her slip pulled up and her bare bottom under my nose. ‘Spank me until I tell you to stop,’ she ordered without preamble, ‘and spank hard, just like you’d punish a bad girl.’”
“And did you?” interjected Sarah, her voice betraying her eagerness.
“I was shocked. ‘You must be kidding,’ I said. ‘Do it!’ she said sharply, ‘I’ve been very naughty and I deserve it.’ And from the urgency of her voice I knew she was serious. Still she had taken me completely off guard, and I was reluctant. Finally, I hefted the hairbrush into the air and smacked it against her adorable bottom. Not really hard, mind you. ‘Harder!’ she urged. I did it again somewhat harder. ‘Harder!’ she insisted. ‘Punish me!’
“I didn’t need any more encouragement. I smacked her the next time very hard, resulting in a loud crack. It drew a sharp intake of breath from Penelope Ann, and I felt an unexpected surge of arousal. I smacked her again, and yet again-each time harder than the last. And the more I spanked her, the more aroused I became.
“At first she balled her hands into fists and took the licks in silence. Then she began to moan quietly and delightfully clench her bottom. After a dozen or so she started wiggling her hips and flexing her legs. I was sure I was hurting her a lot, but there was no plea for mercy. Before long both her cheeks were a deep red and she was rhythmically sliding back and forth over my knees. There couldn’t be much doubt about her goal, and finally she came with a loud squeal of pure animal pleasure. And then again and again.”
“Weren’t you worried about being overheard?” interrupted Sarah.
“I was. But my desire was so overpowering that after the first half dozen spanks, I quit thinking about the possibility. But of course, we didn’t exactly get away with it. While Penelope Ann was still in the grip of her pleasure, someone knocked on the door. ‘Everything okay?’ came a feminine voice. And Penelope Ann, bless her soul, gasped ‘Oh, yes!’ and immediately came again.”
“The stuff of legends,” said Sarah.
“Indeed. Well, when she finally finished she crawled onto the bed and went limp. I, on the other hand, was still frantic. I ripped my pants and shorts off and crawled beside her. Her bottom was glowing red, and I could feel the heat radiating from it. I couldn’t resist reaching out and caressing every square inch of punished skin. Well, to make a long story short, she soon began nibbling on me and I responded appropriately.”
“And then you had to return to the party.” said Sarah. “Any problems?”
“I kept looking at the other women, trying to figure out who had been at the door. But try as I would I couldn’t detect any odd looks that might be a giveaway. And Penelope Ann seemed to be energized, almost single-handedly reviving the party.”
Sarah yawned for the first time.
“It’s late, I should go,” Eric said.
“You can stay if you like. But tell me, what happened with the two of you? Was this a one-night spanking? It sounds more like the beginning of a lovely relationship.”
Eric patted Sarah’s bottom gently and placed the jar of cold cream on the end table. “It was. In fact it’s never ended.”
“You married her?” Sarah blurted, surprised at the pang of jealousy that gripped her.
“Not for lack of trying.” He sounded wistful. Then very calmly he said, “If you come and spend the holidays at my home, you could meet her. I think you’d find it rewarding.”
Sarah raised her head and stared at him. He could read both curiosity and reluctance in her face.
“Rewarding as in money?” she asked.
“Rewarding as in satisfying,” he answered. “You wouldn’t be disappointed. After all, it’s better to give than receive, isn’t it?”
Sarah’s face softened and her head dropped to the pillow. “Ask me again in the morning,” she murmured, and her eyes closed. “In the morning.”