A spanking story by Sophie Williams from Februs 10. More stories are available here.

Of course it had to happen. Given the vast amount of money invested in the fashion business, the total reliance of the shows upon young female models and their increasingly primadonna-like attitude, their whims and tantrums, even on the catwalk,it was inevitable that some form of control had to be introduced.

Armanatta was the first fashion house to appoint a moldel’s house mother – a sort of parent or guardian. The person chosen was the ex-Super Model, Sandra Lowe. Now 35, tall, slim and well acquainted with the world of fashion, she was an ideal choice. She went everywhere with the troupe of Armanatta girls and it quickly became obvious that the scheme worked. Shows became smoothly efficient, and the girls seemed organised and more willing to work.

Public interest paralleled the curiosity of the other fashion houses and Sandra was eventually invited to appear on  Breakfast TV. It was to be her first public interview since she had taken up her job and there was intense interest throughout the fashion world.

The hostess of the Breakfast Show on which Sandra was to appear was Stephanie Walters. At 23 she had made a powerful reputation as a supporter of women’s rights and the tenacity and power which she showed in her interviews belied her slim, almost waif-like looks. As a teenager she had been rejected by the Sandra Lowe Model Agency and she had made some unfounded allegations about the Agency to the local press. The allegations were disproved and Sandra had threatened to pay her back one day for her efforts. That was five years ago but she did not want to meet the woman again and had been reluctant to give the item any air time at all. She had also strongly protested at the plan to catch the interest of even the most casual male viewer by using two Armanatta models as part of the introduction.

She lost the argument and sat silently on the Breakfast Show set as the two girls swayed across the stage wearing the latest Street-wise creations. T-shirts, loose sweaters, trainers, ankle socks and tight blue jeans cut to ribbons across the knees and thighs. The applause was encouraging and the models wafted their way towards one of the large sofas to perch, rather uncomfortably on the edge.

Stephanie waved her hand toward the podium behind her and Sandra Lowe, immaculately dressed in a dark blue suit, glided down to acknowledge the applause of the studio audience. She sank into the armchair alongside her two models, crossed her legs and smiled benignly at Stephanie. Stephanie felt nervous but there was no sign of recognition in the perfectly made up face of the super model.

After a preliminary discussion about Sandra’s own modeling career, Stephanie asked her about her new role. Sandra spoke in a quiet but firm voice, explaining the need to exert some control over the troupes to avoid huge losses and delays. In her own case, she had found the role relatively easy to perform.

She had been appointed as the guardian and direct superior for the models who worked for Armanatta. Her age and experience allowed her to bring a caring but disciplined atmosphere into the often hectic and chaotic backstage world of fashion.

Specifically, she continued, she had two primary functions. The first was to act as a sort of aunt and advisor to the girls. her past experience as a model, as well as her wider experience of life, enabled her to sort out problems, guide and advise the girls and provide the proverbial shoulder to lean on when needed. The second funtion was aimed at ensuring that the girls behaved themselves. They were all bright, intelligent, strong willed creatures but they could often be moody, wilful, wayward, vain, selfish and petulant. On these occasions she had to come down hard on them if the shows were not to be affected.

“And how do you manage that?” asked Stephanie, encouragingly.

“Oh, I just smack their bottoms.”

There was a low gasp from the audience and Stephanie blinked hard. Her mouth dried for an instant but she recovered her composure.

“Er..I’m sorry? i don’t quite follow. Did you say that you ..er..”

“Smack their bottoms.” said Sandra quietly and clearly.

“But .. I mean.. how?”

“How? In the usual way of course. For minor upsets I find a sound spanking is normally sufficient but for more serious problems I tend to use something which creates a rather more lasting impression.”

Stephanie gulped audibly. The audience was silent. Stephanie looked around and her eyes caught the two young models sitting on the sofa. They were clearly ill at ease and they exchanged nervous glances with each other. Stephanie plucked up her courage, turned back to  Sandra and asked:

“And when did you last..er..er…?”

“Smack a model’s bottom? About twenty minutes ago. In the changing are back there.”

Another gasp. The camera panned out to show the audience, sitting in open mouthed astonishment.

Stephanie cleared her throat.

“Could you describe… I mean…could you say a little more…,”

“Certainly. These two young ladies were in the changing rooms preparing for their audience. I had left them to go down to Make-Up. When I returned they had almost come to blows over who was going to wear the black sweater. They know that I will not tolerate such petty and wilful behaviour and I immediately took the back of my hairbrush to the pair of them.”

Stephanie stared at the two young models. They were blushing furiously and squirming uncomfortably on the sofa. One of them gave a nervous laugh.

Stephanie’s mind was racing. This was live TV. She had to respond. She just could not believe that these two stunning young women had allowed themselves to be…to be…She found that she couldn’t even frame the words. it had to be a joke, a wind up. A publicity trick that was it! She turned again to Sandra.

“You don’t seriously expect us to believe you. Not in this day and age. Now, come along Miss Lowe. This is all a joke – and a very poor one at that.”

Sandra Lowe glared a the young show hostess.

“How dare you call me a liar! Girls! up and over, please.”

The models slowly and reluctantly rose to their feet and turned their backs to the camera. They knelt up on the sofa, leaning over the back and pushing out their hips. The cameras zoomed in. It was not only the knees of the jeans that had been cut. Through the festoons of ragged denim could be seen the deliciously firm cheeks of their out-thrust bottoms, each flushed a deep red. Both girls had quite clearly been on the receiving end of a very sound tanning in the recent past. Sandra Lowe patted their rumps gently and told them to get down. The girls scrambled off the sofa and made a hasty retreat to the back of the stage.

Sandra turned to where Stephanie sat, open mouthed.

“Now do you believe me?”

“Y-Yes..” stuttered the astonished Stephanie.

“Now I remember you!” Sandra leant forward, her face set in an angry frown. “You were the little bitch who tried to get the Agency closed. You told the papers it was a den of prostitution! You were a nasty piece of work then and you haven’t changed. I’ll teach you to call me a liar in public.”

Sandra grabbed Stephanie by the perfectly pressed collar of her jacket and hauled her to her feet. In the control booth all camera operators were instructed to keep in tight on Stephanie.

Sandra dragged the protesting hostess across the set until she reached the sofa which , until recently , had been the resting place of the two embarrassed young models. Throwing herself backwards onto the sofa, Sandra pulled Stephanie after her so that the hostess landed in an ungainly heap across her lap.

Sandra say up, gripped Stephanie’s hand in hers and pressed her elbow into the girl’s back. She hooked her leg across the girl’s calves and then calmly proceeded to unzip the short dark skirt. Stephanie swore viciously and yelled at the floor manager to cut transmission as she felt her skirt slide down around her knees. her language became even more colourful as her briefs joined her skirt.

The floor manager cut transmission and played a tape of a stand-in interview, but he made sure the studio cameras continued to record the scene. He watched his monitor. Stephanie had a delightfully pert rear and it was well worth filming. Admittedly it was wriggling about rather a lot and the cameras had to pull back to avoid losing their shot.

The audience watched with bated breath as Sandra quietly opened her bag and took out a bright red hairbrush with a broad flat back. Sandra adjusted her position, hoisted the struggling Stephanie further forward so that the cheeks of her bottom were a little higher. The Floor Manager licked his lips as he contemplated that eminently spankable behind and the sales potential it represented in private videos.

“I usually set a maximum of six with this one but I owe you a debt which I promised I would repay one day. Today’s the day my girl!”

The hairbrush landed with an explosive crack and Stephanie let out a high pitched yelp – more of shock than pain. She tried to twist free and hurled a flow of abuse at Sandra. She was halted in mid-flow by the sudden arrival of the second well-aimed smack and once again that high yelping squeal echoed around the auditorium.

Sandra wielded the hairbrush with all the accuracy,force and determination she could muster and her efforts were well rewarded. Stephanie’s rump became increasingly tender as each smack added to the fire which seemed to course over the skin. Her hips bucked and reared as she tried to avoid the stinging cracks but she only succeeded in lifting her buttocks higher and rounding their curves even more invitingly. Sandra carefully alternated each spank, ensuring that the whole of this beautifully moulded seat received equal coverage.

Stephanie howled like a whipped puppy and began to beg for mercy before the first six smacks had been completed. By the ninth she was in tears and by the twelfth she had regressed to a babyish whimpering, promising to be a ‘good girl’ if only the ‘horrid spanking’ would stop.

It did, with a last blistering crack which propelled the girl forwards onto the sofa seat. She lay there, sniffing and groaning, her hands gingerly stroking the burning orbs of her glowing bottom. Sandra carefully replaced the hairbrush in her bag and turned to leave, pausing only to pat the squirming Stephanie on her throbbing rear and say, in a  ice cool voice:

“I have so enjoyed our little chat. I do hope we can do it again sometime.”

A Caning Story – more stories are available here.

Nightmare
by Andrew Grantham

EARLY MORNING sunlight forced its way into the teenage girl’s bedroom. Diane lay on her back, her head surrounded by a tangled mass of natural blonde curls. Although she was asleep, she was not enjoying a restful slumber. Anyone watching the contortions of her body beneath the duvet and hearing the occasional cry from her full, fleshy lips would know she was having a nightmare.

In her dream, she had paraded her nubile young body nude in front of a man. The menacing male was only a shadowy figure to her, his features unrecognisable. The fact that he was menacing was borne out by the very long, thin punishment cane he had hold of.

Slowly, the man circled her and Diane was aware of his eyes devouring every inch of her fine flesh. Her well-rounded breasts were firm enough to be full and ripe, yet just big and heavy enough to sway maddeningly with her slightest movement.

Her crossed hands guarded her blonde-curled ‘vee’ at the junction of her long, graceful legs.

It was her rear, however, that the menacing figment of her dream world was interested in. A delicious rear it was, too. Diane possessed a perfect apple-round bottom, firm-fleshed and deep-clefted.

Obviously satisfied with her virginal nakedness, the man reappeared in front of her. His voice, somehow detached, told her that she was to receive six strokes of his long, swishy cane.

Diane folded her tender athletic body over a wooden-backed chair, absolutely terrified of what was going to happen to her. She wanted to run away in spite of her total nudity, but her feet seemed to be weighted down with lead.

She heard a rushing hiss. Diane knew what it was and it seemed as if she were lewdly pushing out her bottom to meet the cane. Then the thin wood sliced into her derriere and she jumped up like a released spring.

A hand pressed her body down again and she was looking at the cold wooden seat of the chair once more. A flame was burning across her bottom.

Again there was a hiss preceding the cracking impact. Her tormentor had aimed at the lower curve of her nates, just where they joined her thighs. Diane cried out.

If the collection of teddybears adorning the shelves of the pretty teenager’s bedroom had possessed eyes which could see, they would have observed their owner wriggling in her bed, her head thrashing to and fro in the depths of the pillow. They would have heard a low cry from her throat.

Had the stuffed toys the teenager loved so much been able to peer into her dream world, they would have been horrified by the two thin red weals across both sides of the divide between her gorgeous bum cheeks.

The cane whipped in again. The girl’s cries grew louder and louder, her contortions even more frantic. Diane took a hand away from the chair and ran it over her bottom, the tips of her fingers tracing their way along the wealed trails blazed by the wickedly-wielded cane. But her hand was forced away.

The light in her bedroom grew stronger. It was a neat, tidy bedroom and despite the pop star posters, utterly feminine. The blonde-haired girl twisted her body this way and that. Cries still came from her throat, each cry more agonised than the one which had preceded it.

Diane’s family, all heavy sleepers, slept on through her dreamy distress.

The rushing hiss seemed louder this time. The cut of the cane was the worst so far. Diane’s torso twisted, her daintily-nippled breasts swinging from side to side. Two male hands came from behind her to take hold and still them. Diane couldn’t raise her own hands from the chair seat to do anything about it. The touch was nice though, rather like the touch of the boy she had met on holiday last year.

Suddenly, the molesting hands disappeared and, perspiring, she waited for the next attack on her bottom. It came without any warning this time and her body shuddered. Again, she cried out.

But wasn’t she supposed to have had six strokes only? Frantically she looked behind her. The mirror hadn’t been there before. Wide-eyed and trembling, she counted the angry red stripes emblazoned across the rear she was so proud of – seven, eight, nine! Diane wanted to protest but no sound would come from her throat.

The mirror was taken away but not before the girl had realised that the man must have seen everything she had. Oh no! How awful! The as yet inviolate sex delights between her legs had always been so jealously guarded. Despite the many temptations, she had never displayed that lightly dusted, pouting recess to any male.

Tense, she waited for the return of the cane. But it wasn’t a cane which hit her – it was a hand landing squarely across her buttocks. And it had hurt…

Her older brother Colin had entered her room, carrying a cup of tea. He set it down on the unit alongside the girl’s head. The continental quilt had fallen completely to the floor. Diane lay, curled up, her fine form filling out the flimsy pink nylon of her sleep suit. He brought his hand down on the splendid, tightly-encased bottom.

‘Owww!’ she cried out.

‘Wake up Di,’ Colin shouted. ‘Time for college.’

The eyes of the 17-year-old girl jerked open and she looked all round the familiar room. That hand on her bottom had been her brother’s! ‘Gosh,’ she sighed sleepily. ‘I’ve had the most awful dream.’

She began to move as Colin sat on the bed. ‘Tell me about it,’ he asked her.

Suddenly, Diane went rigid. Her eyes were wide and despairing. Groaning, she buried her face in the pillow.

The college student had remembered that she had to report to the Principal that very morning to receive six of the best for serious misbehaviour.

She would have to relive her nightmare all over again, but this time she would really feel the pain coursing through her body.

A Whipping Story from Janus 30. More stories available here.

Best Friends
by Mike Reid

SUE was a typical young girl of these times. A teenager looking far older than her actual 16 young years; tall, with a pretty face and blonde hair falling to her shoulders, and a gently curving body that showed the development of her sex was already well advanced, if not yet fully complete. In addition to her attractive facial qualities she had very long symmetrical legs, culminating in a pert, rounded bottom, which caused many a male head to turn and watch as she swayed suggestively along the street, especially when clad in tight blue jeans, in which she looked killing. Still a schoolgirl, she also caused a similar stir when traversing back and forth to and from school each day in her school uniform, comprising a very short grey pleated skirt, white blouse, white knee-length socks and, occasionally, a grey tie.

Generally she hung around with a small gang of girls of her own age, and whilst she enjoyed the company of boys, those of her acquaintance tended to act in an immature way and she came to regard them as rather childish. She was of course aware that older males found her attractive and she quite enjoyed the game of playing the ‘innocent virgin’ to see what reaction she could provoke, particularly amongst certain male schoolmasters, who she knew would be totally frustrated by her actions, including the apparently inadvertent flash of thighs or even her brief panties, or sometimes she would allow a firm young breast to peek out from her blouse when a few buttons ‘happened’ to become undone from time to time.

Her breasts were not yet overly large, but they were firm, with up-pointed nipples, which would seem to thrust themselves against the thin material of her blouse, especially when the air was cool, and could hardly escape attention. Apart from teasing her schoolmasters in this way, she also practised her young talents, when so minded, on shopkeepers and tradesmen alike, even more so in the Summer, when she happily donned the shortest and tightest of cut-off denim shorts, to run errands for her Mum, and was the cause of many near-accidents as drivers diverted their attention from the road to crane their necks and admire the long legs and exposed bottom cheeks so blatantly exhibited by the attractive young girl.

On many occasions she would hear, but ignore, the lewd suggestions shouted out to her by passing motorists, and likewise she never seemed to notice the innuendos and ambiguous comments made to her when actually doing the shopping, coming in the main from the older shopkeepers who, without exception, looked forward to her regular visits.

Every such shopping expedition took her into the modest-sized Newsagents and Tobbaconists run by a middle-aged man and his rather younger wife – Mr and Mrs Gaston – and whilst such visits were often prompted by necessity, more often than not it was just to pop in and see her former school chum Katherine, who now worked in the shop having just left school. Sue and Kate (as she liked to be called) were the very best of friends and Kate often tried to persuade Sue to join her in working in the shop part-time, suggesting that she would not only enjoy the money but also the very kind attentions of Mr Gaston, who she said was a real ‘sweetie’ and looked after her in an avuncular way, hinting that there was something going on between her and her employer. Sue took all these suggestions with a very large pinch of salt, knowing Kate so well from their previous close school camaraderie, for although Kate was older than her at 17, she knew she kept away from boys and seemed only to enjoy her own or Sue’s company. Sue also knew that Kate did not have a happy home-life. Her mother, widowed soon after giving birth to Kate, was clearly struggling to bring up her daughter on her meagre earnings working in the local Chemist, supplemented to a small degree by a contribution from Kate’s own earnings. Kate did however earn sufficient to ensure that she was always fashionably dressed, although when working in the shop she always wore the tightest of jeans, and always resisted every suggestion from Sue that she switch to shorts in the Summer, like herself. Sue found that a trifle strange, but decided not to pursue it. Certainly Kate looked sexy in tight jeans, as adjudged by Sue, being rather petite, with a figure not much unlike her own, although her bottom was slimmer and her breasts rather fuller, accentuated more often than not by the wearing of tight tee-shirts and no bra. Kate usually wore her brown hair tied into two bunches which tended to make her look much younger than she actually was.

Kate didn’t work on Wednesday afternoons, being half-day closing, and quite often Kate and Sue would meet at each other’s houses and play records, watch TV or, on some occasions, they would don their bikinis, but when these had been forgotten they would dare each other to brave the possible gaze of hidden observers, and swim in just their brief panties, even discarding those when they felt especially brave.

On one such day, in the middle of the hot pleasant days of August, Kate and Sue found themselves at the river bank, and with no one in sight Sue quickly slipped off her tee-shirt to expose her proud young breasts to the sun, and Kate soon followed suit. As the sun was almost unbearable, Sue suggested that a swim was the ideal solution and without further ado stood up, loosening her belt and unclipping her tiny shorts, allowing them to slip down her shapely legs. She was then standing in just a brief pair of tight white nylon panties, in the tanga style, with string-thin strips joining the front half to the back portion, barely covering her curvacious posterior and exposing well in excess of half of her lower cheeks, presenting a very attractive picture indeed. Kate, however, clad as always in her tight jeans, refused to join into the spirit of things despite much pleading from Sue who felt rather upset by her friend’s reluctance to meet her own degree of exposure. After many words had been exchanged Sue, who was in a mischievous mood, grabbed hold of Kate from behind and exerting her strength, succeeded in unclipping Kate’s jeans before wrestling her to the ground where a strenuous bout ensued, Kate fighting back rather harder than Sue expected. They had often in the past had mock fights with each other and Sue had never experienced much difficulty in overcoming her more slightly-built friend. In the continuing struggle, much to Kate’s dismay, her jeans came gradually down her lithe legs, until with a quick jerk they were whipped away by Sue and hurled high into the air to catch just out of reach on the overhanging branch of a nearby tree. Kate promptly sat herself down on the grass, with a cross and sulky expression on her face; she too was now reduced to a tiny pair of knickers, which Sue glimpsed to be of the backless G-string kind, with just a thin band of elastic holding the small triangle of red nylon covering her pubic mound, from which peeked a few stray wisps of downy curls, matching her brown hair, with a similar strip of elastic running tightly between the cheeks of her bottom.

‘Oh!’ said Sue. ‘They’re nice – didn’t you want me to see your sexy knicks?’

‘Er! Er! No-o-oh,’ said Kate, acting in a very flustered way.

‘But they’re super!’ said Sue. ‘I’d love some like that myself but I’m not sure what Mum and Dad would say when they appeared in the wash!’

‘Oh! My Mum doesn’t mind – in fact, she sometimes wears the same kind herself,’ answered Kate who was by this time recovering some of her composure.

‘Can I try them on, please,’ Sue asked, but again Kate was not responsive, and without more ado Sue went quickly back into the attack, pushing Kate over sideways and onto her tummy on the green grass. Sue then sat on the bare back of her hapless victim, preventing her from getting up or turning over. It was at this stage, as Sue turned her head to examine the back of Kate’s G-string, that she noticed some marks on Kate’s bottom.

‘Kate!’ she cried. ‘What on earth has happened to your bum? – Did I do that? Oh I am ever so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

Before Kate could respond Sue jumped off and gently started to stroke her friend’s bottom, and then slowly realised that the marks she had seen were in fact horizontal stripes, something she could not possibly have caused during their little skirmish. Kate remained passively on the ground, as if resigned to her fate, as Sue continued to examine the faint lines more closely. After a little while Kate rolled over, and gazed up in a rather embarrassed way into Sue’s inquisitive face.

‘However did you get these marks?’ said Sue softly, returning her gaze. ‘I think they look like cane marks,’ she continued. ‘But who gave them to you? Was it your Mum? And was that the real reason why you didn’t want me to see your bare behind?’

Again Kate became flustered. At first she denied that they were the result of a caning, but then, seeing the disbelieving look on her friend’s face, she admitted that they were. Yet she refused to say why she had been so punished, or by whom.

‘Right!’ said Sue, who was by now determined to force the whole story from her friend, and she grabbed hold of Kate’s slender wrists. Now Kate found herself being set upon in earnest and Sue, being the stronger of the two, was easily able to overpower her petite friend and hold her down, pinning her slim wrists together on the ground behind her head.

Although she struggled desperately to get free, Kate was unable to break away from Sue’s steely grip. Sue continued to question her captive as to the cause and perpetrator of her recent caning. Kate steadfastly refused, however, to tell Sue how she got the cane marks across her bottom, despite being tickled unmercifully. Sue soon became exasperated by Kate’s continued silence and seized on an idea to force the truth from her friend.

Seeing a long thin springy branch hanging from a nearby tree, she snapped off a two-foot length and held the whippy rod menacingly before Kate’s startled face.

‘Now you will tell me EVERYTHING, my dear, or else I shall give you a taste of this!’ hissed Sue.

Sue then proceeded to run the end of the whippy switch slowly up and down the front of Kate’s exposed, helpless body, from her feet, up the length of her legs, over the tapering columns of her thighs, rasping it momentarily over her barely concealed mound. Kate flinched at the press of the switch on her most sensitive spot, then with dreaded fascination watched it move slowly onwards, up over her flat stomach until it reached her generous breasts, still full and jutting though she lay supine on the grass. Sue then allowed the whippy end of the branch to stroke the soft undersides of Kate’s nakedly exposed breasts, watching Kate’s nipples become fully erect at the touch of the scratchy wand. Sue then brushed the cane down from these glorious summits momentarily, but soon brought it back again to toy casually with the by now flint-hard nipples, her eyes closely studying Kate’s facial reactions which evidenced her acute fear as to what Sue might do next with the cruel-looking rod.

‘Now,’ said Sue, in a gently persuasive tone, ‘I would like you to tell me now all about your punishment, because if you don’t I am going to whip you with this nice little stick until you beg for mercy!!’

Again Kate remained mute, at which Sue deftly flicked the switch twice, once against Kate’s lush, unsuspecting thighs, and then across the soft undersides of her two sweet breasts, causing her to yelp with surprised pain.

‘OK,’ said Sue, ‘that was your last chance: as you won’t tell me the truth you now have only TWO alternatives. Either you will now submit willingly to a good whipping on your bottom, or otherwise I will hold you down and use this cane on your poor little titties – which is it to be?’

Kate could not at first believe that her best friend would actually implement her dire threat and use the cruel switch on her sensitive breasts, but in the absence of a quick response she suddenly felt an agonising line of stinging pain burn through her upper torso as Sue gave her a swift cut with the whippy twig across both exposed breasts, just below the pert nipples. Kate, stunned by this turn of events, but still reluctant to tell about her previous caning, saw little alternative but to allow Sue to have her way and whack her bottom, much preferring that to the vastly worse alternative.

Without further delay, and to avoid additional punishment, Kate bit her lip and turned her body over. Sue released her grip, smiling to herself as her darling friend meekly submitted, pleading with her only not to be too harsh.

‘No!’ said Sue sternly. ‘Not like that – I want you on your feet. Come on – get up!’

Meekly, Kate rose to her feet and stood solemnly before Sue, who then directed her to reach up and grasp hold firmly of the low, overhanging branch with both hands. Kate had to stretch herself fully to get a good grip, her feet barely touching the ground as she steeled herself for the punishment she knew was to come but which she had no choice but to endure.

Sue then proceeded to run the thin whippy switch up and down each side of Kate’s fully extended body, starting at her wrists and running it slowly down her soft skin until it reached her feet, repeating the slow torture on the other side before turning her attention once again to the exposed front of poor Kate’s nakedness. Sue slowly ran the slim cane up the front of her thighs, over her scarcely covered mound, upwards over her flat stomach until she reached Kate’s bare breasts, stroking each exposed tittie in turn, noting how Kate’s nipples were by now very stiffly erect. She found it every bit as strange that her own nipples were also extremely hard, and more than that: they seemed to be throbbing – something which had never happened to her before. Indeed, she felt totally strange, but it was a feeling she could not quite understand, other than that she was standing, nearly naked, out in the wilds, with her best friend also stripped to the barest minimum and wholly at her mercy – why was she feeling this way? She felt a strange kind of pleasure running through her body and after a moment’s further reflection on her novel condition, turned to stand behind her friend, just at a slight angle to facilitate what she had in store for poor quivering Kate. Slowly she ran the slim tapering rod up and down Kate’s exposed back parts, paying particular attention to the slim, firm backside now helplessly waiting before her. She asked Kate again if she was now willing to tell her all she wanted to know, but got no response, other than a weak plea for the punishment not to be too severe. But Sue was by now too aroused to pay any heed to Kate’s begging and prepared to administer the switch to the very attractive bottom presented before her.

Sue felt peculiarly elated and excited, even before she raised the cane for the first stroke. But finally she could contain herself no longer, and proceeded to raise her arm and bring the swishy rod down crisply against Kate’s unprotected bottom, catching it fully across both cheeks and producing a shriek from Kate’s mouth and a thin red line across her posteriors, in stark contrast to the paler, fading marks remaining from Kate’s previous punishment.

‘Quiet!’ said Sue sternly, but with a thick voice which she herself could hardly recognise. ‘Do you want someone to come and see you like this? I suggest you curb any desire to yell!’ and with that she broke the thick end off of the cane and put it in Kate’s mouth, telling her to bite hard on it as an aid to prevent her yelling out further.

By this stage, Sue was hoping that Kate would continue to prove obstinate, for whilst she remained inquisitive as to the source of Kate’s previous punishment, she felt a strong desire within herself to inflict pain on her friend and hoped that she could prolong the infinite pleasure it was giving to her.

Standing again behind Kate she raised her arm in a high arc and Kate could hear the swishing sound of the switch whipping down a split-second before the second cutting stroke landed, slightly below the first, with a sharp crack. Kate bit on the wood between her teeth and succeeded in stifling any further yelps, although the two cuts she had received so far had hurt a lot; her bottom was blazing with fire, and a red flush was now spreading out from the two distinct lines etched horizontally across her behind. Sue, now warmed to her task and quite forgetting to ask her friend if she was now willing to talk, began to systematically whip the supple rod across Kate’s smarting nates, building up a regular rhythm, leaving a clear pattern of criss-crossed lines etched against Kate’s otherwise pale skin, and filling the air with the sound of cane falling on soft flesh. The resulting weals covered poor Kate’s bottom, from the top of her haunches right down to the middle of her slim thighs, although the focus of Sue’s attentions appeared to be directed to the lower curve, just above the joining line between her curving cheeks and the thighs themselves.

Eventually, after possibly 40 or 50 wristy strokes had landed forcibly on their helpless target, Sue stopped – realising that she had become rather carried away in her passion to punish her friend, knowing that Kate must be suffering untold agonies, judging from the state of her poor behind which was now a livid mass of red weals, and the right-hand side of her body which bore the evidence of deeper marks where the cruel tip of the rod had flicked round with the force of the strokes. Full of reproach, Sue flung down the switch, catching her breath as she surveyed the scene before her. Kate still clung stoically to the overhanging branch, hands high above her head, and then Sue noticed visible tremors emanating from the whole of Kate’s tautly stretched, all-but-naked body. As if mesmerised by these movements she did nothing to disturb the scene, but paused to savour the whole situation a little longer. She then noticed that Kate no longer held the wooden bit between her teeth; this now lay on the ground, clearly having been dropped by Kate sometime earlier during the proceedings. Sue couldn’t quite understand why her friend hadn’t therefore cried out during her castigation, or indeed pleaded with Sue to stop, by begging for mercy or even agreeing to tell her about the previous caning she had suffered. This puzzled Sue who was even more surprised to see that Kate’s tremors were becoming more intense. She walked around to face Kate, intending to tell her she could let go of the branch as the whipping was over, and perhaps comfort her in some way.

Sue stopped short, however, when she caught sight of the odd expression now showing on Kate’s face: her eyes were closed, and her mouth was slightly open, with her tongue just peeking out, moistening her lips. In addition, soft moans were coming from her throat, and she seemed quite clearly to be in some form of ecstasy. Sue saw that Kate’s nipples were now even more erect than before, much like her own. And further, fascinated, not to say entranced glances also showed that Kate was rhythmically rubbing her thighs together. The tremors she had noted earlier were increasing in tempo until finally Kate gave out a stifled cry, the tremors reaching a violent crescendo in which her whole body stiffened and writhed with furious energy. Then gasping and sighing, her head sagged and she hung limply down from the branch which still supported her on tiptoes.

At this juncture, Sue reached up and gently prised open Kate’s vice-like grip on the branch, allowing her to release her hold. She then clasped the slim girl around her slender waist and gently laid her on the grass on her flat stomach, realising that her bottom would be too tender to come into contact even with soft green grass.

Sue allowed Kate to lie there undisturbed for a while to recover whilst she herself tried to fathom out in her own mind the significance of what had just occurred. She understood that Kate had just undergone a very powerful orgasm, as a direct result of the vicious punishment she herself had meted out. She was also acutely aware that her own nipples were now throbbing painfully and as she sat on the grass her hand, as if guided by an invisible force, travelled down to nestle inside her panties, finding them, much to her surprise, to be already wet from the intense sexual experience she had undergone whilst whipping her best friend. Caught up in the onrush of her lust, Sue swiftly pulled her tiny briefs down to her thighs and inserting her fingers into her damp sex, proceeded to bring herself to a violent orgasm, enjoying one of the most satisfying climaxes of her young life.

Shaken by this unexpected occurrence, Sue turned her head to find Kate, much to her embarrassment, turned towards her and smiling, looking directly to where Sue’s hand still rested at the apex of her thighs. Sue quickly removed her hand, blushing deeply and at the same time moving across to where Kate lay, whereupon she instinctively took her into her arms and cradled her head on her thighs, holding her as though she were a young child in need of comfort.

Kate soon responded to Sue’s gesture and without either of them quite realising what was happening, the two teenangels found themselves locked into a silent crushing embrace of nubile loveliness, breast against firm breast, thigh against thigh, with Sue gently caressing Kate’s raw and blazing bottom, eliciting more sighs and moans as she did so.

It was a long time before either spoke but Kate took the initiative and told Sue not to blame herself in any way for what had occurred, but to try and understand their mutual feelings, and not to feel any guilt either in respect of the severe thrashing she had given her or the fact that she had been turned-on by the episode. She told Sue that for as long as she could remember she had felt the need for physical pain to aid her to orgasm but none of the boys she knew had taken the broad hints she had given them. Her mother had from time to time resorted to corporal punishment, usually just a hand spanking which never really hurt, even when given on her near-naked bottom covered by thin nylon knickers. There had, however, been the rare occasion when she had been very bad and her mum had resorted to a thick leather belt or a garden cane, both of which really hurt, allowing her to gain great sexual pleasure both during and after the sessions. In the wake of such a painful punishment she would often masturbate herself for days to come, using the reflection of the fading marks revealed in her bedroom mirror to remind her of the peculiar pleasure meted out by the cane or strap.

Sue then began to understand why Kate would need to wear jeans after such punishments, but before she could break into the conversation, Kate continued with her ‘confessions’. Apparently, a little while after starting work for Mr and Mrs Gaston, there were a few shortages in the till for which she was blamed and threatened with the sack if they recurred. Unfortunately for Kate, a further sum of money was missing soon afterwards and Mr Gaston told her to come and see him after work the next Wednesday, when the alternative to the sack could be discussed. The shop would then be closed and, incidently, his wife would be away visiting relatives. Wednesday came at last and Kate found herself entering Mr Gaston’s private quarters behind the shop, guessing that something drastic was going to happen, but somehow she knew that it might be enjoyable.

Mr Gaston didn’t waste any time telling his young, attractive employee just what was in his mind. She could either face dismissal or take another form of punishment. She asked what he meant and her heart missed a beat when he told her that she would have to consent to a smacked bottom every time money went missing, the severity being determined by how much cash was short. With mixed feelings she agreed to his terms, preferring a spanking to losing her job. Mr Gaston, of course, could hardly have realised Kate’s secret longing to feel the warmth of punishment applied to her slim backside. With that, Mr Gaston suggested that she now prepare for her first session.

With her nerves all a-jangle, her mind raced with all kinds of thoughts and anticipations of what lay in store for her, tension mixed with a little fear, although Kate was happy in the knowledge that at least her job was safe and her Mum wouldn’t hear about the missing money. Mr Gaston led her through his quarters into his lounge, in the centre of which ominously stood a large heavy leather-covered armchair. “Right” said Mr Gaston, perhaps a little breathlessly, but Kate didn’t notice – she was shaking slightly with both fear and excitement, wondering just what Mr Gaston would do to her. She could feel her bottom cheeks clenching together under their own power, tightly encased in her usual denim jeans, and she wondered for just how much longer they would be staying on! She was thankful that she had had the foresight to put on a pair of her favourite knickers before coming to see her boss: pale blue nylon bikini briefs, tight and snug and very cut-away, revealing a lot of her beautiful bottom, although the front modestly covered her pubic mound. Suddenly the thought crossed her mind that these too might be coming off, and her anguish heightened at the prospect of exposing herself so fully to her employer.

Kate’s anxiety was however short-lived as Mr Gaston spoke and commanded her to prepare herself, explaining that on this first occasion she was to receive six strokes with a leather tawse which he then produced from a drawer in the sideboard. ‘First, young lady, you can get out of those jeans, they will stop you feeling the thongs properly.’ Meekly Kate obeyed, blushing deeply as she unclipped her jeans and tugged them down over her slim curvy hips, and let them fall to the floor, before stepping out of them. She noticed Mr Gaston’s satisfied expression as he closely watched her strip off her trousers and although she was a little shocked she wasn’t actually surprised when he ordered her to also remove her T-shirt, ‘as it might get in the way’. Hardly, she thought to herself, but nevertheless pulled the top over her head, revealing her full, firm naked young breasts to Mr Gaston’s keen gaze. She knew she had a good body – lithe and firm, with unblemished skin and good-sized tits which now revealed her inner excitement by displaying fully erect nipples at their tips.

She waited expectantly whilst Mr Gaston slowly and carefully studied the lovely, youthful vision now revealed near-nakedly before him, fully taking his fill of the delightful sight. Next he ordered her curtly to now stand at the back of the leather armchair set in the middle of the room, and she shuddered as the cold of the old leather touched her upper thighs and even penetrated the thin nylon front of her panties, as she stood motionless against it.

‘Now,’ said Mr Gaston gently, ‘for your carelessness you are to be punished severely but I don’t want you screaming the place down.’ Kate said she understood and at his further command bent herself completely over the back of the chair and let her hair fall onto the seat, hiding her face from view, with her arms reaching out to clasp the arms of the chair. Thus her bottom was tightly stretched over the high back of the chair, her feet almost leaving the floor, bringing her mound into close contact with the hard ridge of the chair-back, increasing her feeling of helplessness. The cold leather took her breath away as her soft, full breasts came into crushing contact with it, and her nipples throbbed with the additional stimulation.

Several moments passed. Kate suffering the extra agony of waiting, prolonged further as Mr Gaston stroked his rough hands over the taut nates so willingly exposed for him to punish as he saw fit, testing the softness and admiring the pale texture of the skin which he knew would soon assume a darker hue and burn terribly from the cruel hiding he planned to deliver with the tawse. He firstly gave the naked behind a few gentle, playful slaps with his hand, leaving red outlines of his palm prints on the exposed portion of the delicate bottom. But before the proper part of the punishment commenced, Kate felt Mr Gaston’s hands slip into the waistband of her briefs and then pull them slowly down over her hips, until they rested halfway down her tapering thighs. Her desirable, rounded bottom was now fully exposed, ready for Mr Gaston to start work on it. Strange feelings coursed through her mind, feelings of equal fear and pleasure, but most of all she felt a stirring between her thighs, realising that at last her innermost desires were to be fulfilled.

Kate then related to an awe-struck Sue how Mr Gaston had whipped her arched behind, each deliberate, spaced-out stroke burning itself deep into her soft, unprotected flesh, until, after the full six strokes had landed, she felt her bottom blazing with excruciating pain. Only gradually did this turn to a more pleasurable and bearable heat, although she still found herself crying uncontrollably for a little while after the beating had stopped. Mr Gaston then sat himself down in the armchair, taking her over his knees, and proceeded to gently rub some cold cream firmly all over her fiery rump, his other hand finding, as if by chance, her exposed and sensitive right breast, which he continued to clasp in his left hand throughout the post-punishment period. His right hand, in applying the soothing cream, often slipped into the crevice of her bottom, and between her partially opened thighs, Mr Gaston applying caressing pressure. Kate was totally overcome by the sexual stimulation of her senses, which finally culminated in a frenzied orgasm, leaving, she noticed, a broad damp patch on Mr Gaston’s trousers where her dripping pubis had rested.

Afterwards Mr Gaston allowed Kate to shower and dress and then he extracted a promise from her never to tell anyone of what had happened and to agree to accept further discipline from him whenever the till in the shop was wrong.

Kate went on to tell the wide-eyed Sue of many subsequent sessions, when Mr Gaston varied the ritual, getting her to take her punishments in a variety of positions, and from many different implements, always completing each spanking with the cold cream treatment… Kate never failing to achieve a body-wracking and utterly fulfilling orgasm on every occasion.

Sue was enthralled and fascinated to learn the real details of her best friend’s desires, and wondered what it would be like to endure it herself. She was running her hands gently over her own partly clad bottom as she tried to imagine herself in Kate’s place, cringing slightly at the thought of having to bear the initial cruel, cutting pain, but considering if the after-effects would adequately provide compensation, as clearly had happened in Kate’s case. Thoughts also of having to strip naked in front of somebody like the middle-aged Mr Gaston for a caning gave the funny feeling inside her stomach a further turn as she lay pensively on the ground alongside Kate, who was now resting from her ordeal.

After a short period of thoughtful silence, Sue rose and walked purposefully across to where she had flung down the thin cane after completing Kate’s whipping. She picked it up and returned to where Kate now lay on her side, watching her through half-closed eyes.

‘Kate,’ she said quietly, but with a husk in her voice, ‘I know you said you don’t blame me for what happened just now, but I was much too rough with you, and I am truly sorry that I was so cruel. I know I’m a coward when it comes to pain, but even so I’ve made up my mind that I would very much like you to now use this cane on my own bottom, and I want you to be as severe with me as I was with you. I’m sure I will cry but I want you to whip me as hard as you like until you think I’ve had enough!!’

Without saying more, Sue handed the rod to Kate who took it without replying, simply standing up to give Sue a quick hug, as if to say she fully understood her needs. Kate then led the willing Sue across the small clearing to the felled trunk of an old elm tree. The top of the large log stood some 3 1/2 feet high and so made a perfect platform for what Kate had in mind.

‘Right, this will do nicely,’ said Kate. ‘Please bend right over this log with your hands touching the far side, so that your bottom is nicely stretched for me. Before you get down though, it doesn’t seem fair to me for your bum to have the protection of those panties when mine was totally uncovered. So please take them off now Sue, and then get yourself laid across ready!’

Sue blushed but did not hesitate for long, as she was anxious now to get on with her punishment before she changed her mind. She swiftly yanked the tiny nylon briefs down over her lush, shapely form and stepped out of them, leaving her completely naked and feeling all-too-exposed and vulnerable.

Without waiting for any further command from Kate, Sue obediently positioned her body right over the waiting tree trunk, which seemed to have been made to receive her. But the rough bark was already biting hard into her soft unprotected skin, especially her prominent downy mound and firm breasts which suffered new sensations as they were crushed by her body weight against the irregular pattern of the tree’s outer covering. Sue however didn’t demur despite the acute discomfort, but resolutely spread and angled herself as bid, feeling the soft ground on the far side with her fingertips, leaving her toes just touching the moss on the other.

Kate, whose bottom was still smarting from her own punishment, took up her position behind the waiting Sue, finally laying the thin tapering wand across the centre of Sue’s bare cheeks. She noticed her friend’s flesh flinch as the flexible stick came into contact with her postured buttocks. Sue then felt the pressure ease and knew that the cane was now being raised, the prolonged waiting heightening her acute apprehension as she braced herself for her very first taste of the rod. A few moments later the terrified teenager heard the unmistakable, unforgettable whistling sound of the cane flashing through the still air, followed by a clear resounding THWACK!! as the zippy wand finally bit hard into Sue’s soft and delicate skin, her bottom cheeks jerking with the sharpness of the pain. Sue yelled at the unexpected intensity of the cutting stroke, but was, remarkably, able to refrain from jumping up.

The burning pain subsided only marginally before she heard, and then felt, the second vicious stroke, which landed a little higher up her bottom, producing a second bright red line of fire across both posteriors. Sue whimpered as the agony reached deep into her body but remained passively in position, determined to take all that Kate could give her without complaining. Kate paused, watching the red flush spreading out from the two distinct weals, and then commenced to lay the springy cane steadily across the firm rounded behind awaiting her pleasure, taking care not to allow the switch to fall too far down the attractive lower cheeks, aware that Sue’s skimpy shorts would not cover any marks showing on the lower curves, but still raising weal after weal on the remaining soft, white, unprotected skin of her willing victim, changing its hue to a deepening, angry red as the whipping developed.

Perspiration dripped from Kate’s forehead and her pendulous, unfettered breasts swayed back and forth as she put her full energies into the task, seeking, and obtaining, full revenge for the cruel treatment meted out to her by her now submissive subject. Kate lost count of the number of strokes inflicted upon the tautly stretched nates of her best friend, hearing Sue moaning from time to time, and relishing her energetic handiwork. After some twenty minutes of administering dozens of searing strokes she decided that the by now sobbing Sue had received her just deserts, and laying down the slim tattered rod, she knelt slowly behind Sue’s prone and writhing form. Kate then leant forward and delicately kissed in turn each scarlet wealed orb, feeling with her lips the deep ridges she had etched into Sue’s flesh, noting as she did so that Sue was now trembling violently. Her legs and upper thighs were working agitatedly against each other and Kate then knew that Sue had achieved her desired goal, as she watched her quivering body and heard her wanton moans, now of pleasure and quite different from the initial yelps of agony she had emitted when she felt her first kiss of the rod. Without rising, Sue brought a hand round, gingerly feeling her tender, punished bottom, lightly testing the burning weals and ridges. She was very surprised at herself for having sustained such a severe punishment virtually without complaint or wishing to escape.

Allowing Sue to remain in her submissive position, Kate quickly slipped off her one remaining garment, then gently helped Sue to rise to her knees. Adopting a kneeling posture close behind her, Kate was thus able with one hand to massage and caress Sue’s crushed, tender breasts, whilst her other hand moved across her velvety thighs, centring onto Sue’s now moist, downy mound. Her questing, seeking fingers soon enabled Sue to achieve a second, convulsive climax, as her burning, tenderized bottom cheeks pressed firmly against Kate’s lower abdomen and thighs, the heat transmitting itself deep into Kate’s already aroused body, being sufficient stimulation in her highly charged state to generate her own simultaneous orgasm, matching Sue’s in its incandescent intensity.

It was dark before the two girls returned home, sore, tired, but happy, each promising faithfully to keep the whole matter secret, knowing that someday they would no doubt feel the need to join again and re-enact their strange but overwhelming desires for the giving and receiving of pain.

A Caning Story from Janus 45. Moe stories are available here.

The Fresh Lieutenant
by Andrew Grantham

THE HALF-DOZEN CLERKS in the Company’s HQ office could hardly believe their eyes. They stood rigidly to attention as Major Sounders introduced their new officer to them, twirling one end of his red moustache as he did so.

‘This is Lieutenant Ashcroft,’ he intoned. ‘I’m sure you didn’t expect a WRAC officer taking over, however…’

Lance Corporal Neil Weston didn’t listen to what the Major was saying. He stood behind his desk, soaking up the sight of the very delectable lieutenant who had just been posted in. To think that he had been on the point of applying for a discharge. Not now. He’d stay with the colours for at least a little while longer.

Lieutenant Ashcroft stood at ease, smiling at the men who were to be under her command. She was on the tall side, not slim but with just the right amount of flesh on what seemed to be a perfect bone structure. Long, smooth legs disappeared under her green skirt. Tightly encased breasts pushed provocatively at the tunic of her uniform. Her eyes were blue and alert. Shining blonde hair was tucked neatly into her service cap.

‘I’m very pleased to meet you. I’m sure we’ll all get on well together,’ the WRAC officer said when the Major at last finished his long-winded introduction. The whole time he had been speaking he had been tapping his leg with his swagger stick. It had made Neil smile to himself. Very adept at swinging a stick was the Major.

Lieutenant Ashcroft settled herself in and to the young soldier clerks she became a goddess.

‘I’ll bet all the officers in the Mess are sniffing round after her,’ the Corporal remarked to Neil.

‘No doubt,’ sighed Neil. ‘The gorgeous Lieutenant is obviously out of our league.’ He smiled. ‘Still. There’s always good old Rosie in the NAAFI.’

Rosie was a very obliging girl and she could take a bit of stick. Indeed, she very much enjoyed taking a bit of stick. And Neil enjoyed giving it to her!

Halfway through the first week the WRAC officer, in shirt-sleeve order, came out into the general office and asked for a batch of new pay books.

Eager to please, Neil shot to his feet and opened the doors of a big metal cupboard. Too late, he realised! The inside of the door bore his collection of colour pages taken from his favourite CP magazine. There, in all their naked glory were excellent striped bottoms, wealed bums and blazing backsides.

‘Oh… er… s-sorry ma’am,’ stammered Neil, quickly closing the door with a resounding clang. ‘I’ll take them down,’ he offered.

The young officer cleared her throat and licked her lips. She looked at Neil and their eyes flashed messages to each other. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said softly. ‘Don’t mind me.’

She turned on her heel and went back to her office. Neil watched how her arse shifted from side to side with each step she took. He was unaware of the ribbing from his colleagues as he stroked his chin and pondered. Was she a submissive? What a mind-boggling, mind-blowing thought. He sighed wistfully. Even if she was, there was no way a lowly Lance Corporal was going to get at her arse. Major Saunders had probably slapped an ‘out of bounds to junior ranks’ label on it already!

That same night, Neil was doing a stint as Duty Clerk when into the office came none other than the Lieutenant herself. He started to get to his feet but she motioned him to stay seated. To his surprise, she sat on the edge of his desk. Neil found her close proximity sensual and stimulating. But what was she up to?

‘It’s about those photos in the cupboard,’ she began.

Neil gazed into her blue eyes, completely besotted by the young woman. ‘If they offend you, I’ll remove them right away,’ he offered, starting to get up.

‘No. It’s all right.’ Her soft, warm hand closed around his and the touch of her sent a tremor through his body.

She looked around her to make sure they were on their own. ‘Are you into that kind of thing?’ she asked huskily. ‘Canings and spankings and things like that?’

‘Yes. I am actually,’ he smiled. ‘It isn’t against Queen’s Regulations, is it?’

She smiled and her teeth were a crescent of white against the red of her lips. ‘I don’t honestly know,’ she admitted.

Her smile faded and her beautiful face became serious. Neil’s eyes narrowed. He had noted the rise and fall of her bosom and the slight flaring of her nostrils.

‘If I tell you something in confidence,’ she said in a half whisper, ‘will you keep it to yourself?’

‘I’ve signed the Official Secrets Act,’ smiled Neil, his heart thumping. He somehow knew what that confidence was going to be.

Her shapely legs began to swing gently and she kept her head down, avoiding his gaze as she continued speaking.

‘I’m into it myself,’ she revealed.

Neil’s heart performed a somersault.

Lieutenant Ashcroft smoothed out imaginary creases in her uniform skirt. ‘Receiving it that is, rather than giving it,’ she added softly. She raised her head and looked directly at him. ‘Would you be… er… willing to perform the honours for me some time?’ she smiled shyly.

Would he? Neil thought for a moment that he must be dreaming and that he would wake up – probably in the guardroom or in the glasshouse!

‘You… you… mean…?’ he stammered, unable to complete the sentence.

The officer raised her eyebrows. ‘Just because I have pips on my shoulders,’ she grinned, pointing to her badges of rank, ‘doesn’t mean I don’t like getting strips on my bottom! Officers are only human, you know.’

Neil was on the point of saying that he knew some who weren’t, the Major for instance, but he wisely refrained.

‘I’m trained to take orders,’ he replied instead.

She slid gracefully off the desk. Neil’s eyes were naturally drawn to the contours of her behind. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined that anyone so gorgeous could possibly offer her bottom to him. The euphoria melted however, when a new thought crowded into his head.

‘Hang on a minute ma’am,’ he said, wanting to reach out and touch her, yet finding the caste barrier holding him back. After all, she was an officer. ‘I share a room with a couple of other blokes and there’s no way I can get into the Officers’ Mess.’

She flashed him a smile that caused his knees to tremble. ‘Don’t worry about that,’ she assured him. ‘I’m moving out of the Mess on Friday. I’ve rented a house in the village.’

‘That’s okay then,’ Neil heard himself saying.

She wrote down the address on a piece of paper. Still in somewhat of a daze, he took it from her, their hands touching momentarily. Again, the electric shock went through him.

After she had gone, Neil stared at the piece of paper for ages. She had even written down the time she wanted him to call – Saturday, eight o’clock.

Gradually Neil began to come to. He was in high spirits, despite his stint of extra duty. He smiled as he imagined the reaction of the Major if he ever found out that the Office Commander was getting her arse ‘seen to’ by a humble Lance Corporal subordinate!

Lieutenant Ashcroft totally ignored Neil the following day, save for one incident when she criticised a minor detail of his work in front of others. Nobody could ever have guessed what the unlikely couple had planned for eight o’clock on the Saturday night.

The last chime of the village church clock was fading away as Neil somewhat nervously ‘pinged’ the bell of a small stone house which still had a ‘To Let’ sign in the garden. He had a lingering fear that the Major himself would open the door and give him a dressing-down about fraternising with the officers or something.

He needn’t have worried. Lieutenant Ashcroft herself opened the door and with a gleaming smile bade him welcome.

She was wearing a short-sleeved, gossamy dress which clung to all the promises beneath. Her lightly tanned legs were bare and her feet were neatly tucked into red leather high-heeled shoes. Bra-less nipples jiggled about beneath the filmy covering of the dress.

She turned around and Neil followed the sweetly-bottomed creature into the living room.

‘Call me Susan please, Neil,’ she asked him, pointing towards the settee. ‘At least, while I’m not in uniform.’

The young soldier sank down into the settee. Susan parked her lovely bottom on the padded arm and crossed one elegant leg over the other.

‘You haven’t got to rush away, have you?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he said, swallowing hard. ‘I’m at your service for as long as you want.’

‘Super,’ she sighed. ‘We can take our time. I must say, it’s awfully good of you to give up your Saturday night for me.’

Neil politely told her to think nothing of it.

They had a few drinks and got to know each other a lot better. Susan’s father had been a regular soldier which meant that she had attended a number of boarding schools both at home and abroad. It was probably in those establishments that she had become addicted to corporal punishment.

‘I was quite naughty when I was younger,’ she confessed with an enchanting giggle.

It relaxed Neil and he felt as though the invisible barrier between them had been lifted.

‘I was forever getting the cane,’ she recalled. ‘Of course I hated it at first, but once I sort of transcended the pain threshold, I got to like it.’ Her fine, golden eyebrows lifted. ‘Then I used to make sure I always got whacked by the male teachers,’ she added with a grin.

Neil ran a hand over the soft down on her arm. She liked it. Susan Ashcroft was a very sensual creature. It was also clear to Neil that she was still somewhat lonely in her new posting.

‘I didn’t bring a cane with me,’ the soldier said after a while. ‘Have you got one?’

Neil knew that practically every garden and greenhouse in the village could supply a cane if need be so he was sure he could always obtain one by stealth if necessary. He didn’t have to, however – Susan produced a thin cane from a drawer in a Welsh dresser.

‘This is one of my favourites,’ she told him proudly, handing it over. ‘It stings like mad.’

Neil took it from her, wondering just who had used it before on her willing backside. The feel of the cane in his hands gave him a sensation of power over the girl – a complete reversal in fact of their normal everyday roles in life. And the reality, coming after so much fantasy, thrilled him to a quite fantastic degree.

‘We’d better get started then,’ he said to her, making himself sound nonchalant and swishing the cane through the air to get the feel of it.

Susan lowered her head and with noticeably trembling fingers she began to unfasten the thin button-through dress.

Neil closed the heavy velvet curtains and switched on all the lights. Then he dragged a small-backed dining chair across the carpet into the centre of the room.

The blonde stepped out of her dress, a vision of loveliness as she stood to attention proudly thrusting forward her lemon-shaped breasts.

Neil walked slowly around her fresh, young body like a Sergeant Major inspecting his squad, with the cane tucked under his arm. The girl was surely a gift from heaven.

‘I’ll let your hair down,’ he said softly. Then he reached up and took out the clips. Her golden hair cascaded down over her shoulders.

The young soldier continued his inspection of the upper half of her body. Her breasts were unbelievably delicate with shadowy blue veins barely visible beneath the pale flesh. Of course, he couldn’t resist touching them. Susan closed her eyes and ran the tip of her tongue across her upper lip as her nipples rigidified under his touch.

Not a word passed between the young couple as Susan stood to attention whilst Neil continued with the inspection of the delectable young woman who was completely at his disposal.

Her skimpy, silken panties slid down her legs as Neil gently eased the elastic away from her flesh. The tiny scrap of material became entangled in her feet. Neil permitted his hand to touch her bushy groin before walking around her to observe his target area.

Susan’s apple-round bottom was perfection itself – resilient, deep-clefted and just inviting the attention of anyone who delighted in using a cane or a strap or whatever. Its beauty was simply breathtaking.

Although she didn’t say anything, it was obvious from the change in Susan’s breathing and the way she rocked on her feet that she was both aroused by this preliminary and desperately anxious for him to start work on her. Neil kept her waiting as he circled her several times. Her body twitched as he ran the length of the cane over her breasts, across her waist and over the very smooth silky skin of her bottom. He was very much in command of the situation. Susan would not move until she got his order.

Eventually, he gave it in a crisp, clear, authoritative tone. ‘Lean over the back of the chair, Susan. Your hands on the seat and your bottom well up in the air!’

Her superb form seemed to float across the carpet until she came to the chair. She took a deep breath, bent forward and positioned herself perfectly. The young officer was obviously well used to having her backside scored and scorched. She had admitted to him that it had become a craving.

Neil himself took a deep breath before he raised the cane in the air. Laying into Rosie’s backside wouldn’t be the same again.

Down swept the lithe rod and it seemed to be glued to the centre of her buttocks before it sprang back. Neil would not have liked to be on the receiving end of that himself!

‘Aaaaaahh!’ The sound from Susan’s lips wasn’t a sound of agony. It was a sound of pleasure.

The cane left its bright red mark behind. Neil aimed so that the next stripe would be about half an inch below it. It was. Susan’s body jerked and quivered. Her well-moulded legs parted slightly.

‘You’re good,’ breathed the blonde. ‘You’re hurting me already.’

‘It’s the way you want it, isn’t it?’ asked Neil softly.

‘Oh yes please,’ she sighed. ‘Just keep on hurting me.’

The rod swished down again – lower this time to land with a crack just above the top of the finest pair of thighs Neil had ever seen.

‘Oooh!’ responded Susan. She was now coming alive with the impact of the cane. The blood in her veins had been replaced by a liquid fire that was being pumped from the cauldron of her bottom.

As far as Neil was concerned, it was a sheer delight to punish her. For Susan it was pleasure and not punishment as her pain-drenched body continued to soak up everything that Neil could give it.

The soldier didn’t spare her. Every stroke was powerful, well-delivered and carefully placed.

Susan’s bottom was hungry and it rose up to greet each stroke before devouring it greedily.

‘Aaaagh!’ she groaned.

‘Oh!oh!oh!’ she panted.

‘EEEEkkkk!’ she squealed, shaking her head from side to side so that her silky golden hair swayed in a constant movement.

The sting of the light, whippy cane she herself had chosen sent nerve-tingling sensations thorough every fibre of her body.

Each high-pitched swish of the cane resulted in a cry and a wriggle whilst her feet beat a tattoo on the patterned carpet.

Neil began to perspire with his exertions. Susan’s buttocks became a complete mass of fiery, criss-crossing weals. ‘Perhaps you’ve had enough now?’ he suggested.

The girl’s answer was an emphatic shake of her golden head. She parted her legs even more and poked her bum even higher to display herself quite lewdly.

Neil smiled. She was a girl in a million and he was the luckiest man in the whole of the British Army.

Her bottom winced in anguished anticipation as Neil prepared for the next stroke. Inevitably, it whipped across earlier scarlet weals. Susan’s cry was hoarse and her knees sagged to hit the back of the chair.

‘I’m only going to give you one more,’ he told her. He had given about all he could.

The well-used wand bit into her ravaged arse for the last time. Its mark was immediately lost amongst all the others.

‘Oh… ee… oh… agh!’ she yelled out as she jerked upright. Her body shuddered and she sank slowly to her knees with her face resting on the back of the chair.

Neil, his mouth and lips bone dry, put down the cane and went to her.

‘I’m okay,’ she panted. ‘Just give me half a minute.’

It was less than 30 seconds however before she got up.

‘Gosh!’ she breathed. ‘You can certainly give it to a girl.’

Susan pressed herself to him. Her nipples were erect and hard like pencil erasers and her mouth was wet and warm.

Afterwards they lay beside each other listening to each other’s heart-beats. Her long lashes rested on her cheeks when her eyes were closed.

Susan moved and her warm, soft, lovely body demanded his attention again.

‘I wonder if we can be court-martialled for what we’re going?’ she giggled.

* * *

Susan did not betray the fact of their close relationship when normal duties resumed after the weekend. Neil wonder when the next session would take place. The sooner the better of course, but he knew that her stripes would take some time to mend. Nobody looking at the smart, exceptionally attractive young WRAC officer would ever guess what state her bottom was in.

The young soldier never imagined for one moment that Lieutenant Ashcroft would order him to take part in an exercise! One of the ‘perks’ of being a military clerk was being able to ‘wangle’ oneself out of irksome and demanding chores. He marched in to see her to complain,

He knew it was a mistake right away. Susan Ashcroft had been his plaything at the weekend but now Lieutenant Ashcroft was very much the army officer. ‘There’s much more to being a soldier than pushing a pen, Lance Corporal Weston,’ she said icily.

The only thing that cheered him up as he crouched in his foxhole eating his ‘K’ rations was the thought that he might once again savour the delights of his officer’s magnificent posteriors.

To make matters worse Major Saunders started to throw his weight around, presumably trying to impress his new Lieutenant. One of his targets was Neil and the soldier clerk had to bite his tongue several times, not wishing to be put on a charge for insolence.

About ten days after the sound thrashing he had administered, Neil invited himself back to Susan’s rented house.

‘Come in,’ she said cheerfully, looking deliciously attractive in a baggy grey sweater and tight faded blue jeans. Her hair was loose though well-brushed, and it swung as she walked.

On his only previous visit to her house, Susan had been crying out for the cane. This time was different however. Over a couple of drinks she politely made it clear that her bottom was out of bounds to him. Maybe next time.

Neil was not so easily put off. He had already had a few beers in the village pub and the whisky on top of what he had previously drunk made him throw caution to the winds.

‘I’m going to smack your bottom Susan, you naughty girl,’ he grinned, advancing to sit beside her on the settee. ‘I’m going to get my own back for that exercise!’

‘No. Please don’t!’ begged Susan, sensing the force of his intention.

‘I’m not taking no for an answer,’ he said sternly. ‘Come here.’

With that he made a grab for the blonde and despite her protestations, he soon had her across his knee. Her shapely legs, which completely filled out the denim of her jeans, flailed wildly until he trapped them between his own legs.

Susan continually pleaded with him to let her go, but Neil was determined to scorch her pretty bottom with the palm of his hand. He worked his fingers round to the front of her jeans, undid the button and lowered the zipper with a harsh, rasping noise. He tugged away the denim jeans and her cotton panties both together as the girl, resigned to the inevitable, ceased her struggling.

Neil was totally unprepared for what he saw.

‘Good God!’ he exclaimed.

Ridged weals desecrated her splendid backside and it was obvious they hadn’t been there all that long.

‘No wonder you weren’t keen to show off your arse,’ he said grimly.

He traced his forefinger along all the convex ridges causing Susan to wince. ‘Those aren’t self-inflicted,’ he remarked. ‘I’ll bet I know who did it. Was it the Major?’

‘Yes,’ Susan replied weakly.

‘Damn the man!’ exclaimed Neil. ‘I’m beginning to hate him. I had Rosie’s arse all to myself until he found out. Now he’s got you as well!’

Susan twisted her head to look at the soldier and she brushed some stray hair away from one eye.

‘Be fair, Neil,’ she implored. ‘I didn’t give you sole caning rights, you know.’

Neil’s lips set in a grim line. Susan’s backside belonged to her right enough and she could let whoever she liked loose on it. All the same he was very upset that he was sharing the honours with someone else. The fact that it was the Major made it even worse.

‘I can’t very well smack your bottom in the state it’s in,’ he told her, his lips curling into a grin. ‘I’ll just have to be satisfied with your thighs instead.’

Susan’s mouth opened but no sound came from it – not until Neil slapped his open hand against the side of her thigh.

SERLAPP!

His hand cracked down onto the back of the other thigh.

‘Ooh!’ gasped Susan. She looked at him. Her blue eyes, cloudy before, were now wide and shining as she soaked up slap after slap.

Soon the backs of both thighs were a burning red. She gasped as her flesh stung and then smouldered.

‘I’ve never taken as much as this in one day before,’ she breathed harshly.

Neil’s arm began to tire and the rain of blows slowly petered out. The coup de grace however was a full-blooded smack across the already beaten crown of her bottom.

‘Yeeeeech!’

The blonde seemed to rise up in the air with the effect of the final slap. Her head thrashed from side to side and her body went rigid as the white heat of fierce pain engulfed her. The flame reached its peak, died down and her body became limp.

* * *

It was a couple of weeks later before Neil got the chance to visit Susan again. She submitted to his visual and physical inspection and obediently bent her graceful body over the back of the chair.

Neil took careful aim at the masterpiece of sculpting that was her backside.

Whirr!

THWACK!

Susan uttered an orgasmic-like groan as the pain began to spread. It took a dozen strokes to make her cry out however.

Neil smiled as he lifted the agony-laden rod and watched her body indulging in a writhing dance.

He had Susan all to himself. Major Sounders had left for the Falklands that very morning. He had left without knowing that his application for a posting to the South Atlantic outpost had been filled in by Neil. It had been so easy. After all, he had forged the Major’s signature on the multitude of forms on which the Army thrived when the senior officer had been too occupied otherwise to do so himself. Battalion headquarters liked nothing better than a volunteer and the application was speedily processed.

Neil’s favourite officer inhaled urgently, placed her feet further apart and volunteered her bottom for more. Much more!

A Caning Story from Janus 24. More stories are available here.

A German Holiday
by R.T. Mason

It was really hot and somehow Julie hadn’t thought of Germany as being hot, not like this. She should perhaps have studied that guidebook a bit more before coming here to stay with Margit but with her exams taking all her time she hadn’t. Anyway on this sweltering July afternoon, her first day here, they were at least in the right sort of place: a sandy beach on a lake where Margit’s father had driven Julie and Margit and Margit’s friend Grete after lunch. Julie slipped off her dress under which, like the two German girls, she was already wearing under her bikini.

Margit looked, her eyes rounding, at the pretty English girl’s figure. In her good but rather stilted English she said, ‘Oh my! Quite a stunner, is that what you English say?’

Julie blushed. Then Grete, who had slipped round behind her, added, ‘And look, Margit! Her bottom is especially charming!’

The two German girls laughed while Julie’s blush deepened. Her bottom was shapely but she would have preferred it to be somewhat smaller – like Margit’s or Grete’s in fact, for they too had now slipped off their dresses.

Margit, putting her dress neatly on her beach bag, said, ‘You will be very popular, Julie. You know that German men are very fond of girls with charming bottoms!’

The German girls laughed again. ‘Especially Herr Friedrich!’ said Grete.

‘Oh yes,’ agreed Margit, ‘certainly Herr Friedrich!’

Something was said in German, which Julie didn’t understand, causing more laughter from the other two. Then they all ran into the water, Julie wondering vaguely who this Herr Friedrich was.

Julie had arrived the day before, for a month’s stay with Margit Kirchner. The visit had been arranged through a colleague of Julie’s father who had got to hear of the Kirchners’ wish for an English girl to improve their daughter’s English. Julie herself spoke hardly any German but that was not seen by the Kirchners as a disadvantage, as it would force Margit to use the English language. So it had been agreed, Julie and Margit had exchanged letters, and directly after the finish of Julie’s A Level exams she had flown to Munich, there to be met by Margit and her parents in the family Mercedes.

It was Julie’s first visit to Germany and her first meeting with either Margit or her parents but from the beginning they had all seemed awfully nice, giving her an enthusiastic welcome into their rather lavish home. And Margit herself, 18 like Julie, blonde, blue-eyed and pretty, and with a self-assurance which the English girl at once envied – yes, Julie was sure they’d get on very well indeed.

The first morning had been spent in a quick tour of the town with Margit and her friend Grete, and it had already seemed very hot by mid-morning. Margit had smiled at Julie’s query about the weather.

‘Oh of course it is warmer than your English weather. But don’t worry: this afternoon we go to a beautiful German lake.’

And here they were. They splashed about in the cool refreshing water, both German girls displaying powerful swimming styles which Julie couldn’t compete with. Then they came out, dried themselves, and lay in the sun which, after the cool water, was no longer quite so unbearable.

The two German girls already had well-developed tans: Margit, the blonde, her skin golden-honey in her brief emerald-green bikini, now wet and taut; and Grete, slightly taller than Margit, with short curling dark hair, whose darker brown limbs were shown to advantage in a trim pink two-piece.

Julie in contrast, what with exams and a longish spell of typical English weather, had not yet seen much of the sun and her skin was still pale – as she was self-consciously aware. But pale or not it was very shapely in the brief sky-blue bikini, the bottom half of which in particular was slickly tight over her swelling haunches.

Indeed the spell of energetic activity in the water had caused the brief elasticated material to ride up off the swell of Julie’s bottom cheeks to catch in the cleft of her backside. She reached behind her to adjust it, remarking as she did on her own pale skin tone.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Margit, ‘you will soon be brown.’

She turned over and sat up, then unfastened her bikini top and took it off. Her firm medium-sized bare breasts were honey-brown like the rest of her, their brown nipples semi-erect.

Julie blinked. Her rather shocked expression brought a smile to Margit’s face. She stuck out her breasts. ‘Do you like my – how do you say – my tits?’

Julie coloured. ‘That is not really a very polite word.’

‘No? Well, breasts, then. Anyway you must take off your top as well to get a tan.’

Grete had already followed Margit’s example to bare her own brown breasts. Julie sat up and looked anxiously around. There was no one else near, the beach deserted except for a couple some way off. She didn’t like the idea but she would seem silly if she refused to follow the others’ lead.

‘Come on!’ encouraged Margit, her eyes on Julie’s bikini top which clearly contained breasts larger than those of either of the other two.

Flushing slightly, Julie reached behind her. The top came off. Julie’s breasts were indeed bigger than either Margit’s or Grete’s, round and full and jutting firmly out, their paleness accentuated by the quite large reddish-pink nipples.

Julie had never had her breasts bare in public before. And what made it worse, due either to embarrassment or having just had them in the cool water, was that her nipples were fully erect. Sticking out like fat pink thumbs.

Margit gave a low husky laugh. ‘Look Grete! I think Julie has been thinking sexy thoughts!’

In some confusion Julie lay down, turning on her stomach again, the full breasts flattening under her. For something to say she said ‘Who’s this Herr Friedrich?’

The two German girls started giggling.

* * *

Herr Friedrich, it turned out, was a private tutor who saw both Margit and Grete in a number of subjects – including English – where it was felt extra work was needed. He visited their homes for this purpose and Julie saw him for herself the very next day.

Margit had made a face at breakfast, then said, ‘Unfortunately, Julie, it is my bad luck to have to see Herr Friedrich this morning, at 10 am. Perhaps you would like to sit in the garden while he visits. Then you can get more suntan.’

As it happened Julie was still feeling a bit raw from the previous afternoon when she had spent rather too long in the sun. She had applied liberal quantities of oil to herself to ease it but her breasts especially were pink and sore and she had left her bra off under her dress. So more sun today did not sound like a good idea, but anyway there were plenty of nice shady spots in the Kirchners’ quite extensive garden. ‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said.

Herr Friedrich arrived promptly at 10 in his Opel and Julie had a glimpse of him before she slipped out into the garden: a middle-aged man with the sort of serious look behind his rimless spectacles that you might expect of a German schoolteacher.

She sat under a big spruce tree for half an hour reading her book, then decided she needed to go inside to the bathroom. The Kirchners had a downstairs room which they mostly used during the daytime but Julie, forgetting this, automatically went upstairs, as if at home, where in fact the Kirchners had a second bathroom. Then on the landing she rather lost her bearings so that she found herself going along the corridor which had Margit’s room at the end of it.

The door to Margit’s room was slightly ajar and she could hear Herr Friedrich’s voice from the other side, speaking German. She couldn’t resist looking through the door crack. Margit was standing in front of Herr Friedrich who seemed to be sternly lecturing her on something. Julie realised she was evesdropping and was about to move away when Margit looked up and said something to which her tutor said ‘Ja!’ And Margit then went to an upright chair placed in the centre of the room.

She stood close behind the chair, then bent herself forward from the waist, over the chair back, until her blonde head was down in the seat. Her two hands reached down and gripped the front chair legs near the floor. In this position of course Margit’s bottom in her flowered white summer dress was thrust firmly, almost obscenely, up and out. Julie realised her heart had started beating rather rapidly and her mouth felt dry.

Herr Friedrich had watched this performance with a stern but impassive expression. He now took a step forward and with one movement grabbed the hem of Margit’s full skirt and flipped it fully up, as far as it would go so that it now descended like a bell over Margit’s lowered head. Julie could not prevent an audible gasp (fortunately not heard in the room) because it was just such a shock, like a blow in her stomach.

What was revealed seemed even more shocking. Under her dress Margit had on just a pair of brief, completely transparent, pink nylon knickers. Her bottom was effectively bare, startlingly white through the transparent knickers against her honey-brown thighs. It was evident at least that when sunbathing she did not remove her bikini bottom.

Behind the door Julie was sweating. She knew she shouldn’t be watching like this but the fascination – the horrified fascination – was just intense. Feeling a little faint she saw Herr Friedrich now firmly insert his thumbs into the waistband of those skimpy knickers and draw them down, half way down Margit’s thighs. He then said something in German, not so sternly as before, while at the same time his hand took hold of Margit’s bare bottom, squeezing first one pale cheek and then the other.

Then he walked over to one of Margit’s cupboards, reached his hand in and drew out – a cane! A long thin whippy cane, the sort they use in boys’ schools on difficult pupils, or used to. It was something Julie had never seen before – and never dreamt could be used on a girl. But now…

Cane in hand, he walked briskly back and stood to one side of the immobile, obscenely bending Margit. He patted the cane lightly across the bare bottom as he got himself in just the right position. And then he simply swung it back and brought it whistling down squarely across the centre of Margit’s bare white buttocks.

Margit didn’t cry out but gave a choking gasp. It was matched by a simultaneous involuntary gasp from the watching Julie, for as the cane swished down, juddering into Margit’s soft flesh, it was almost as if it had landed on Julie herself. She gave another gasp at the imagined pain where now a distinct red stripe was clearly visible across Margit’s bottom.

Margit herself, still gripping onto the chair legs, squirmed her bottom while Herr Friedrich waited. When she was once more still he raised the cane again and brought it slashing down for a second time. A second crisp THWACK!… horrendously jolting into Margit’s bare bottom.

There was another grunting gasp from Margit, another desperate writhing of the buttocks. Julie felt dizzy. It was like an awful nightmare, yet riveting to watch.

But feeling sick or not she couldn’t leave, just had to watch as Herr Friedrich’s cane continued to whistle down onto Margit’s unprotected bottom. He gave her eight in all. Through it all the German girl didn’t cry out once or relax her grip on the chair legs. Just a grunting gasp each time the cane bit in, followed by a silent writhing of her buttocks.

When he had finished Herr Friedrich put the cane down, then reached his hand out to stroke the red-striped bottom, speaking softly to Margit in German as he did so. Then he took his hand away and Margit stood up, red-faced, her hair in some disorder. She pulled up the skimpy knickers, then pushed her skirt back down into position.

Julie at last crept silently away and out into the garden, to sit down again by the spruce tree. Her heart was pounding and she also had the feeling of being rather moist between her legs; because the startling scene, awful though it had been, had also been sexually arousing. She couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to be bent over that chair, like Margit. It would be sheer torture, and dreadfully humiliating. But also the thought had an undeniable element of sexual excitement.

A little while later Margit appeared in the garden – with Herr Friedrich! Julie scrambled to her feet, feeling a hot flush.

‘I want you to meet Herr Friedrich, my tutor,’ said Margit, her voice sounding quite normal.

In fact they both looked and sounded normal. It was almost impossible to believe that only half an hour earlier Margit had been bent over that chair with her bottom bare and Herr Friedrich had been vigorously caning it.

Herr Friedrich was charming, saying the usual things you say to a foreign visitor and suggesting that Julie might help him with his English – although this in fact was very good. As he talked, though, Julie was aware of his eyes going appraisingly over her – and more than once lingering at her breasts. It was only afterwards she remembered, with embarrassment, that she had left her bra off and he pretty certainly would have been able to see her nipples through the thin summer dress.

But as regards what had happened in Margit’s room half an hour earlier – well, could it really have happened? Or could she possibly have dreamt the whole thing?

It wasn’t a dream, though, or if it was she dreamt the same one the next day. After lunch this time, Margit saying, ‘I must have an hour of work with Herr Friedrich, Julie. Please be patient.’

Julie knew she shouldn’t but she couldn’t help it. Going back into the house after Margit and Herr Friedrich had been together for a quarter of an hour and silently up the stairs and along the corridor towards Margit’s room. There was no reason to suppose the door would be ajar again but in fact it was – possibly to allow some air movement in the heat.

Margit and Herr Friedrich were seated on the settee apparently going through an English text and today they were speaking mostly English. After a while Margit said something in German to which the tutor replied, ‘English please, Margit.’

And then Margit said, ‘I have as you know my visitor staying. Please I cannot stay too long. So if you wish to cane me it must be soon.’

Herr Friedrich answered, ‘But of course I wish to cane you, my dear Margit. Yes, we will do it right away.’

And then what had happened the day before was repeated. Margit going to the chair and bending over it; Herr Friedrich flipping up her dress, then pulling down a pair of (today) transparent blue knickers. And then vigorously laying into the upthrust bottom with the cane.

Julie watched the cane descend five or six times and then crept away. She again had that feeling of utter shock tinged with excitement, which together produced a rather queasy sensation.

She didn’t know what to think, it was just so unbelievable: an 18-year-old girl being caned like that – and apparently agreeing to it. Shortly Margit joined her in the garden, this time alone but again in seemingly good spirits which belied the fact that she had just received an undoubtedly painful bare-bottom caning.

That evening, after they’d visited Grete’s house and were alone again, Julie couldn’t help asking about Herr Friedrich.

‘Yes, I have to see Herr Friedrich quite a lot. He is a very good tutor in many subjects. Grete also sees him and also other girls. He is now my tutor for two years. You ask many questions about Herr Friedrich, Julie.’

Julie had blushed. But really, she told herself, it was none of her business what Margit did – or any other German girl for that matter. But when the next day Margit had another lesson Julie couldn’t resist again going back inside…

* * *

And this time… Whether Margit saw the door move, or glimpsed something through the door crack… In any event she suddenly stared directly across in the direction of the watching English girl. Then stood up and made for the door. Julie shot off – but not before Margit had opened the door and seen her disappearing along the corridor.

Julie didn’t know what to do. She wandered about in the garden, just feeling sick. And shortly when Margit found her, the German girl’s eyes blazing with anger, she felt sicker still.

Margit spat out, ‘So, you English girls are spies I see?’

Julie tried to prevaricate but against the German girl’s anger and her more dominant personality she had no real answer. She finally admitted that yesterday she had, accidentally, seen Margit being caned. (She couldn’t bring herself to admit that she had watched it twice.)

‘Oh, so you spy and see something awful is that so?’

Julie, squirming, again prevaricated. Margit insisted: ‘That is so, isn’t it?’

Julie had to admit that, yes, she did think being caned was awful.

‘Oh you are so… so stupid, you English. You think the caning is awful but I know that in your English schools girls are permitting men teachers to, how do you say, fuck.’

Julie blushed. ‘I… we certainly do not! And that… is not at all a nice word to use.’

‘I know this word because Herr Friedrich tells me and I know this fact because Herr Friedrich tells me also. He has been teacher in an English school where he sees other men teachers are fucking the big girls.’

Julie decided to let that pass. Hesitantly she asked, ‘But why… does he cane you?’

Margit pushed back her blonde hair. ‘In Germany men like to cane girls.’ She glared at Julie. ‘Not as in England where they only want the fucking.’

Julie once more denied this ridiculous charge. But even if German men did like to cane girls why did Margit have to let him do it?

She finally got the answer, after Margit had calmed down a bit and Julie had repeatedly apologised for what she still insisted was not spying but simply an accident. The reason was that Herr Friedrich could apparently get a preview of the exam papers. If you were nice to him and let him do what he wanted – what German men liked, so she said – your exams could be made considerably easier.

Apart from anything else wasn’t this cheating? Julie was unwise enough to mention this fact – which didn’t do anything to further a reconciliation.

So things were inevitably a bit cool between Julie and Margit: but Julie at least felt a sense of relief that it was now out in the open and no longer a secret lurking between them. Margit told her she was to say nothing to Margit’s parents – they apparently would not approve of Herr Friedrich’s activities in that direction. This was presumably why he only came round when the elder Kirchners were out.

After lunch the two girls plus Grete went to the beach again; a prearranged trip with Grete’s father taking them. They swam and sunbathed, Julie now having got over the slight sunburn, and as the beach was once more deserted they again all took their bikini tops off. It was all very like that first day except that now there was a certain amount of talking in lowered tones between the two German girls – in their own language.

Julie naturally wondered if Grete was being told about her ‘spying’; but she decided the best thing was to try and forget it.

Grete’s father called for them later (bikini tops having now been replaced) and in the car Margit said that probably they would go round to another girl’s house that evening for a little party. Grete was going to confirm this and phone later.

The confirmatory phone call duly came and Margit and Julie went off after dinner on bikes. The friend Lisa was a classmate of the other two, a blonde, very German-looking girl. Grete had already arrived and there were to be just the four girls: and as Lisa’s parents would be out they would have the house to themselves.

‘Just four good friends,’ said Margit. ‘But of course we want no one else for such a special… er… ceremony.’

‘What is the ceremony?’ asked Julie. They were in the lounge and as Julie spoke Lisa switched on all the lights, then closed the curtains although it was still light outside.

‘An important ceremony!’ said Margit mysteriously. ‘Do we have wine, Lisa?’

‘Oh but yes!’ Lisa went out and returned with a bottle of Rhine wine and four glasses.

‘What is it?’ repeated Julie, baffled.

The three German girls exchanged conspiratorial smiles as the wine was poured out. Margit held up a glass. ‘Julie, to your… er… what is Aufnahme, Lisa?’

‘Initiation,’ translated Lisa.

‘What?’ exclaimed Julie, taking an offered glass.

Margit’s face, as she looked un-blinkingly at Julie, had a flush of excitement. ‘Yes, the initiation for Julie. We are going to let you see how the cane feels. On that so charming bottom.’

Julie almost dropped her glass. The three German girls were standing round her, smiling, like cats with cream. ‘What..!’ she gasped.

‘You have shown yourself to be so curious about our German habits and so we will show you. Like good hosts. So will you please take down your knickers.’

Lisa suddenly had a cane in her hand – exactly like the one Herr Friedrich used. Red-faced, Julie gasped, ‘You… you must be mad!’

‘Oh please, Julie. There is no need to say that. We will remain friends of course. But you must please cooperate.’

‘No!’ gasped the now alarmed-looking English girl.

But Grete and Lisa grabbed her arms. Julie’s glass fell to the carpet making a mess but not breaking, as she yelled, ‘Let me go!’

She struggled to free herself but was impotent in their grip. ‘Don’t be silly, Julie,’ said Grete, laughing. ‘It won’t hurt too bad: and we all get it from Herr Friedrich.’

They dragged her to the table and pulled her face-down across it, holding her arms stretched out. Margit pulled up the full skirt of Julie’s knee-length red dress and the other two held it bunched around her waist. Underneath there were tight pink nylon knickers. The English girl let out a desperate yell as she felt someone’s – it was Margit’s – hands go in the waistband of the knickers and yank them down.

She kicked her feet but made no contact. Then she felt her knickers down round her knees.

‘Oh my!’ said Lisa.

Julie’s bare bottom, full, ripe, writhing with her frenzied movements, was a magnet for three pairs of eyes. ‘Hold her firmly!’ rasped Margit, now with the cane in her hand.

And suddenly Julie felt the most awful mind-boggling pain as the cane came down, squarely across those full ripe buttocks.

‘Aaiigghh!’ her head reared up and she let out an ear-piercing gasping yell.

The buttocks, now with a red stripe across the centre, had gone into a wild writhing, but the upper part of Julie’s body was held fast by Grete and Lisa. Margit, eyes gleaming with excitement, brought the cane whistling down again.

‘Aaeegghh!’ Another awful yell, another desperate squirming of the injured bottom.

‘Oh Julie,’ observed Margit, ‘You make a noise like a baby. You must learn to be brave, like German girls.’

She brought the cane cracking down again. There was the same frenzied cry. ‘Aaeeooogghh!’

Julie did not learn to be brave. Margit gave her six more and there was a similar desperate yell after each one. Towards the end the yells were mixed with a more continual sobbing.

Afterwards, when Julie had tearfully pulled up her knickers, Margit said, somewhat breathlessly, ‘Now we’re all the same. How do you say – all in the same ship. You have been caned like a German girl. But we are still all good friends of course.’

She held out her hand to Julie but the English girl angrily ignored it and turned away. The whole thing had been just diabolical – and quite unbelievable.

Margit put her arm round her. ‘Oh please Julie. Your first time I think is perhaps a shock, but you will soon think it is really nothing. But Julie, you must learn to take it bravely, like a German girl, and not cry like a little baby.’

* * *

Later that night, about an hour after Julie had gone early to bed, there was a discreet knock at the bedroom door. It was Margit, in her dressing gown. She quietly closed the door and came over to sit on Julie’s bed, smiling down at her.

Perhaps not surprisingly there had been a rather strained atmosphere between them since Julie’s caning. The ‘party’ had broken up soon after the caning – which had obviously been its only point – and Julie and Margit had cycled back, Margit attempting conversation but Julie refusing any more than monosyllabic responses. Cycling in any case was a bit painful after what had been done to her bum. She went to bed early, telling Margit’s parents she had a headache.

The ache in fact was somewhere else. Not so much in her bottom any longer but still very much to her pride. The very thought of what had happened, of the girls holding her down while Margit caned her bare bottom, was psychologically excruciating.

She was lying awake, her mind unable to think of anything else, when Margit came in. The German girl settled herself on the side of the bed. In a husky voice she said, ‘We are still good friends of course, dear Julie.’

It was something she had said more than once since the caning, without getting what she evidently considered an acceptable answer. Previously there had been mere grunts; now Julie said, ‘I’m not used to being caned by my friends.’

Margit gave a low laugh. ‘Oh Julie, it was just a caning between friends. You may cane me if you wish. But now as you are unhappy I come to comfort you.’

She stood up and unbelted her dressing gown. Underneath she was nude – that firm honey-brown body with the white section at the hips. In the half light Margit’s eyes had an excited gleam and also, Julie saw, as the German girl pulled back the covers and slipped in beside her, her nipples were firmly erect.

The next moment Margit was all over her, her wet mouth on Julie’s mouth, her hot tongue pushing in. It was such a shock – yet another that day – that Julie’s breath was taken away. By the time she had recovered the German girl had opened the front of Julie’s nightgown and her hand was pawing at those full breasts.

‘Margit!’ gasped Julie, when she at last was able to pull her mouth away.

‘Oh, we must be best friends now, we two!’ breathed Margit, her fingers greedily at one of Julie’s nipples. As Julie tried, unsuccessfully, to push her away she added:

‘Really it was quite fortunate that you spy on me and see Herr Friedrich with the cane.’

‘What?’

‘Yes. You see it is Herr Friedrich. Since he first sees you he finds you very beautiful. And so… he is therefore most eager to cane you.’

She added, with a low laugh, ‘With Herr Friedrich it is always the same. With any new girl he will not be happy until he canes her!’

Of all the shocks that day this was perhaps the one to cap them all: sufficient indeed to cause Julie to momentarily stop struggling with the amorous and aroused Margit – aroused without doubt by her earlier caning of the English girl. Margit took immediate advantage of the pause. Her hand went down and then up inside Julie’s nightgown.

There was a sudden gurgling gasp from Julie as the hand purposefully caressed her.

It had all been really too much for her and this on top of everything else was the end. She tried to stop Margit but by now everything seemed to be like a dream, and her struggles were at best weak and ineffective. Margit duly accomplished what she wanted. In a very short time Julie, her head in a whirl – out in space – was gasping and rhythmically jerking her body…

Afterwards she lay still – drained, stunned. Margit looked down at her, smiling. ‘Ah, so you English girls at least have passion!’

Julie made no reply. Margit lay down with her, her mouth close to Julie’s ear and her hand playing with one of the English girl’s still aroused nipples. In a husky voice she murmured, ‘I think perhaps you see Herr Friedrich in the morning.’

* * *

‘Aren’t you hungry?’ Margit wanted to know at breakfast time. Margit herself was tucking into salami and ryebread and coffee as if she’d been starved for a day or two.

She whispered confidentially to Julie, ‘It is the passion that gives me the good appetite!’

But Julie, passion or not, did not feel hungry at all. Well, how could she when there was the thought of that meeting at 10 o’clock – with Herr Friedrich.

At first the suggestion from Margit had just seemed ridiculous – and it had seemed even more ridiculous for Margit to think Julie would agree. But Margit’s voice had got that hard edge again as she said, ‘Herr Friedrich says he must have you; and we really must do what Herr Friedrich wants, Julie. He has a certain authority, you know.’

And when Julie insisted that it was out of the question Margit, while still caressing Julie, simply put the screws on.

‘You do not want the bad report home, Julie, I am sure. For instance your parents would be most unhappy if they are told you are behaving very badly and all the time are fucking many boys.’

Julie had gasped, ‘You couldn’t do that!’ – but she wouldn’t have wanted to bet on it.

‘Of course I will not need to,’ said Margit. ‘Because you are going to be sensible. It will be no worse than what we did at Lisa’s house. And think what pleasure there will be for Herr Friedrich!’

And so it looked as if Herr Friedrich was going to get his pleasure. But that didn’t mean Julie felt like eating breakfast.

He arrived, in his punctilious German manner, exactly on time. Margit’s parents were again out.

‘Good morning, Herr Friedrich!’ said Margit. ‘It is another lovely day! And here is your lovely English student to meet you.’

The lovely English student came forward, cringing.

‘Ah yes, Miss Julie Smith!’ His eyes glinted behind the spectacles. ‘We meet again and I am to teach you a little of the German language, I believe. That will give me great pleasure.’

‘You may use my room of course, Herr Friedrich,’ said Margit. ‘And I shall go and sit in the garden.’

‘Very good!’ said the tutor. ‘Shall we then go up without delay?’

Julie was wearing her red dress and underneath just bra and knickers. (Margit had said, ‘It is hot so you do not need a petticoat. Also Herr Friedrich is not liking the petticoats…’) Trying not to tremble she went up the stairs – acutely conscious of Herr Friedrich close behind her swaying buttocks. Then along the passage – where she had crept to watch Margit – but now with the German tutor literally breathing down her neck. Into Margit’s room.

He stood close in front of her. ‘So my dear young English lady, I am to teach you something of our German language. And also perhaps, a little of our German customs? One of these I think which you no longer have in England is discipline. Discipline for the young people – for young ladies such as yourself. Am I correct?’

Blushing slightly, Julie said, ‘I think we still have discipline.’

‘We shall see then,’ said Herr Friedrich. ‘Fraulein Kirchner informs me she has persuaded you that I enjoy some authority here. Is that so?’

Julie bit her lip. Then, ‘She has told me I… I should do what you say.’

‘Oh excellent! Well that is discipline, is it not? To do what the person in authority says. Let us see then if you can comply. A small test. Will you please take your clothes off. All of them. Except, shall we say, your shoes.’

Julie turned crimson. Speechless at first, she then managed to gasp, ‘I… you can’t! You just can’t ask me to do that!’

‘It is nothing: a simple test. Fraulein Kirchner and the other girls would think nothing of it. Also Fraulein Kirchner tells me that if you are not co-operative a most unfavourable report will be sent to your parents. So let us have no more of this foolish and undisciplined behaviour. Please remove your dress. And then the undergarments.’

It was outrageous… and unbelievable. But there was the thought of her parents getting some awful statement about her. It would be blatantly untrue of course and they couldn’t possibly believe it. Nonetheless for them even to get it would be an awful shock. And there was her father. Last year he had had a heart attack. They had said it wasn’t serious, but even so…

She looked pleadingly at Herr Friedrich. ‘Please! Please don’t ask me that!’

The eyes shone behind the rimless spectacles. ‘It is only a test. And I do ask it. It is a simple test of discipline.’

And so there was nothing for it. The full-skirted red dress had buttons down the back to the hips. She reached behind her to the buttons. Fumblingly, one by one, she unfastened them. Looking away from the intently staring German she pulled the top of the dress off her shoulders and arms, then down. And stepped out of it. Underneath she had just the matching pink nylon bra and knickers, the bra light and the knickers semi-transparent except for an opaque insert at the rounded bulge of her pubis.

Herr Friedrich’s gloating voice. ‘Most charming, Miss! And now also the scanties, please.’

She could feel beads of perspiration pricking her skin. It was hot in the room though there was a slight draught from the window and the slightly open door. But the perspiration was due to something else: being here like this and having to submit to this man’s whim whatever it might be. She felt a bit faint. His funny dated expression ‘scanties’ stuck in her mind, going round and round. Scanties… flimsies… frillies… It would be laughable except…

She put her hand to her face. In spite of the heat it felt cold, and damp. And then with a feeling that it wasn’t herself doing it but someone else, both hands went behind her. To the strap of her bra. She unfastened it. The bra came off and, unseeing, she dropped it to the floor. What was next? Oh yes, her knickers. Her hands went down.

The knickers seemed to stick, the tight nylon clinging to her moist skin. But they came down all right. Down to her ankles and she stepped out of them, almost falling over as she did so.

The room seemed to be going round and round a lot. But Herr Friedrich was there, close now. She was vaguely aware that she was nude. His hand on her arm. And then both hands on her bare breasts. She didn’t try to stop him – again there was the feeling that it was happening to someone else. His fingers manipulating her nipples caused them to respond though, as they became fully erect.

His voice, silky, caressing: ‘Good! Very good, Miss Smith! Now you learn to accept; to submit. That is very good…’

His hand slid behind her to her bare backside, taking hold of one full cheek, fingers reaching deep into the moist cleft. ‘And now I think a little of our German discipline. A little taste of the cane on this splendid backside.’

And then she was bending over that chair, the one she had watched Margit bend over. But she, Julie, unlike Margit, was nude except for her shoes. She bent right over, under Herr Friedrich’s forceful hand, her head down in the seat and her hands down to grip the front legs of the chair.

And then there was a sudden sharp, searing, breath-stopping pain. In her bare up-thrust buttocks. And then instants later, as breath came back, she heard a gasping shrieking cry. A cry of that English girl, Julie Smith, bending made over a chair in a bedroom in a little German town. And very far from home.

And then a second sickening, breath-stopping pain. A third… a fourth… Each followed by the desperate cry of that English girl who had no choice but to submit. A fifth… a sixth… but by then you had lost count and they were merging together and the English girl was sobbing more than crying out…

At last the caning had stopped. She was still over the chair-back, still sobbing. Not the cane now but the German tutor’s hand on her bare backside: stroking and caressing the tortured red-striped cheeks. And also slipping, as if by accident, in between her legs. It was a further indignation which she had no choice but to endure, like the humiliation of the vicious caning, the hand coolly, appraisingly, going wherever it wanted. Because she had no option but to submit to this man.

The hand at last was removed and his voice said, ‘Right: stand please! Stand upright!’

She stood, holding the chair-back to control her trembling. The room and Herr Friedrich were all blurred because her eyes were full of tears.

‘Good, Miss. That was a nice little lesson to begin with. But with someone such as yourself who has clearly had no discipline at all – your silly crying out makes that plain – we obviously have much work to do. What I think we will do therefore is have a regular session at my apartment – each day of the week, to begin tomorrow. You can reach it with ease on your bicycle as Fraulein Kirchner will tell you. We shall say, I think, 9.30 am; that is a time when I shall be free to deal with you. Is that understood?’

The only answer was a fresh outburst of tears. She could not believe this was happening to her; that she had no power to resist him whatsoever…

He moved from facing her to stand close behind, and his hands came round under her arms and cupped her breasts. He squeezed them.

‘You have a good figure, Miss Smith, but one which certainly needs more discipline. It is for instance certainly not as firm as the bodies of Fraulein Margit and Fraulein Grete. What it is needing is the discipline of exercise to firm it more. And therefore I propose to place you in the hands of an Athletics Instructor. We have a very good man here, Herr Lehmann, who before was an instructor in the Army and is now an excellent trainer of girls.’

‘Herr Lehmann is most commendably strict: he is not using the cane on his girls but, rather, a horse-riding whip. Wait: excuse me, in more correct English, a riding crop. Yes, the riding crop is most effective in keeping a girl, as you say, up to her mark.’

‘So I shall take you to Herr Lehmann tomorrow after I have had my own session with you. He will start a programme of hard exercises plus running, etc. I think as you are on holiday you have much free time which can most profitably be used in this manner. Yes, Miss Smith, I think together Herr Lehmann and I myself can use your time most effectively. It is three weeks more you have with us, I think. With that time we can, I assure you, do very good work.’

The hands which had been squeezing her breasts all this time, gave a final squeeze and were removed.

‘So that will all commence tomorrow. For today you have had now a little rest and we will now resume your discipline with the cane. Please do get back down in position over the chair as before.’

As in a dream she complied, gripping the legs of the chair again and presenting the full globes of her already red-striped rear. She heard Herr Friedrich say, ‘I shall give, I think, another ten.’

And then once more the sickening, searing pain, the feeling that her buttocks were on fire.