by Sarah Steel
‘No, I didn’t. What I said was that I would not use the strap to punish you. Try to pay attention. You really must listen to what I say, my girl.’
‘But that’s not fair,’ Katie protested again.
‘Not the strap,’ Charlotte confirmed. ‘No, I have chosen something far more appropriate to beat you with, my dear Katie. No fishing. No flirting. I think once I have finished with you, you will remember that.’
‘No, please,’ Katie begged, writhing in her simple but devastatingly effective bondage.
‘Bring me the ciabatto,’ Charlotte ordered, and Elisabetta pulled up her panties and brought the hunk of bread as instructed.
Charlotte took it, pulled it apart into equal halves, and unceremoniously forced each piece into the two girls’ mouths. Katie petulantly tried to spit it out.
‘No, don’t you dare do that,’ Charlotte warned. ‘Bite into it; it will silence your screams.’ Elisabetta’s fingers fluttered up to her lips, but the tip of the cane flashed and swept them away. ‘No, bambina, you too must bite hard.’
Above the bread stuffed obscenely into her mouth, Katie’s eyes widened as they filled with trepidation, but Elisabetta snatched the ciabatto out of her mouth and darted towards the locked door of the apartment.
‘Come back here at once,’ Charlotte commanded ominously.
‘No, signorina, per favore,’ she begged breathlessly.
‘Bite the bread.’
Elisabetta remained standing uncertainly before the locked door.
‘Do as I say, or I will make you wish you had never been born, bambina,’ Charlotte threatened, and then smiled cruelly as the maid faltered, and then retrieved the chunk of bread and awkwardly pressed it between her lips.
‘Now bend over. At once.’
Hugging her bra-encased breasts, Elisabetta obediently bent, her dark tangle of curls curtaining her tear-filled eyes. Charlotte flexed the thin bamboo cane and tapped the taut buttocks twice. Elisabetta dropped her hands from her breasts. One cupped her pussy while the other drifted to her bottom in a pathetic attempt to protect it from the terrifying tap-tap of the cane.
Charlotte swept the fingers away, ordered the maid to touch her toes, and then lashed the proffered bottom eight times in swift succession.
Elisabetta squealed through the ciabatto and stumbled forward two paces after the fifth stroke. She let the bread drop from her mouth after the seventh blow, and squealed breathlessly as the final swipe sliced viciously down across her poor buttocks.
Then running the length of bamboo through the tangle of tumbling curls, Charlotte stood supremely triumphant above the sobbing girl, and angling the tip of the quivering cane under her chin, she forced her to raise her head obediently.
Bound and helpless against the door, her stretched arms twisting as they hung from the hook above, Katie writhed in an ecstasy of anguish as she watched, wide-eyed and fearful, as Charlotte discarded the cane and knelt beside the sobbing maid. She peeled Elisabetta’s panties down, and eight pale pink cane strokes were slowly revealed as the lacy material slipped away from the whipped cheeks – eight cane stripes gradually deepening into livid lines of crimson pain. Rolling the delicate garment all the way down the girl’s slender legs, Charlotte pressed her face against her exposed bottom.
Grinding her bottom against the unyielding wood behind them, twisting helplessly in her bondage, Katie was forced to watch as her mistress lingeringly licked each cruel weal, tonguing the whipped cheeks of the weeping maid in a delicious display of tenderness.
Gradually Elisabetta ceased sobbing and inclined her scalded buttocks to her chastiser’s mouth. Suddenly gripped by the erotic alchemy that transforms pain into pleasure, she mewed as Charlotte’s firm tongue continued to lap at her reddening welts, and then began moving up and down the dark crease between her severely caned bottom cheeks.
Blinded by her searing jealousy as much as by the tears it prompted, Katie writhed in her bondage. Slumping back against the door she sobbed and nearly gagged on the hunk of ciabatto wedged between her clenched teeth, soaking up the saltiness of her meandering tears.
Charlotte turned her head, and gently rested her chin on the maid’s reddened buttocks. ‘Excellent,’ she murmured, noting Katie’s anguish. ‘It is so important you feel the pain of jealousy, too.’
Katie, impotent in her bondage, sobbed breathlessly, and Charlotte’s eyes narrowed as they scrutinised her sub’s misery. ‘And after the pain of jealousy, you will experience the pain of my cane.’ Rising and leaving Elisabetta, who promptly slumped wearily and curled up on the carpet, hugging herself and moaning beneath her breath, Charlotte approached the young blonde pinioned to the door.
As the menacing punisher neared, Katie jerked with renewed apprehension in her helplessness.
Charlotte plucked something from the package on the bed – something small and sharp that glinted between her fingers.
It flashed as she swept her hand up, and Katie had just enough time to make out the silver fishhook and cower slightly before it sparkled and looped towards her breasts.
There was a brief but brutal sound of torn fabric, and the taut stretch of her bodysuit shrivelled away as the hook glanced and ripped, leaving both her breasts utterly naked and vulnerable. As they spilled out, bouncing gently, Charlotte retreated to scoop up the length of whippy cane. Gripping it firmly, she advanced once more upon her squirming victim.
‘Punishment, Elisabetta, the English way. Observe.’
The maid, whimpering, pushed herself up onto her knees and turned to face the bare-breasted blonde, in bondage against the wardrobe door.
‘La via Inglesa,’ Charlotte whispered sinisterly, and the bamboo also whispered sinisterly as it sliced through the air into the exposed breasts, just above the nipples, three times in swift succession.
Katie’s feet threshed as she wailed into the ciabatto gagging her.
Charlotte aimed the cane down, planting the next three vicious strokes across Katie’s upper thighs. Each slice bit deeply into her soft flesh, leaving livid welts visible through the nearly transparent bodysuit. ‘The English way,’ she murmured, and on the carpet behind her, Elisabetta covered her face and moaned into her cupped hands.
‘Compose yourself, my dear,’ Charlotte told her, ‘and get up.’
The maid scrambled to her feet.
‘Take it,’ Charlotte ordered, and Elisabetta, her fingers trembling, accepted the length of supple bamboo.
‘A dozen strokes to commence with… yes, we will open the account with a crisp twelve cuts,’ Charlotte pronounced, and turned Katie to face the door. ‘Now begin.’
Elisabetta raised the cane, paused a moment, and then whipped the beautiful buttocks before her. A thin red weal instantly appeared on Katie’s cheeks, attesting to the ferocity of the kiss bequeathed by the cane.
‘As hard as you can, Elisabetta,’ Charlotte urged quietly. ‘You must understand; no mercy can be shown when punishing a female with a cane the English way. No mercy whatsoever.’
Graduation Day
Ariadne Soames-Ayr frowned. Squirming her bottom on the leather seat of the mahogany chair outside the dean’s office, she snatched a fifth impatient glimpse at her watch. Her breasts rose and fell as she sighed aloud, their swell rippling the sensuous silk of her clinging blouse.
Three-thirty. What could the dean possibly want with her? Tomorrow was graduation day and there was still so much to be done; fresh panties and stockings to select and a final steam-ironing of her black graduation gown. It was going to be a scorcher tomorrow. She wondered if she could risk just a black, demi-cup bra, a thong, a garter belt and black seamed stockings under the flowing gown. She shivered with mischievous anticipation at the thought of the cool gown rasping her nipples and tickling her stocking-clad thighs. She would glide up to the podium and receive her degree in delicious near-nakedness before the a
ssembly. She squeezed her bottom cheeks together imagining the thong biting into her moist cleft as she stood before the bishop and the sheriff of the county. She grimaced at the thought of her family, who would also be there, arriving in the Volvo, her father undoubtedly fussing about parking and her mother proudly tearful in a ridiculous hat. And her aunt…
Ariadne blushed, and beneath her wriggling buttocks the leather squeaked softly. Her aunt… the blush became a slow blaze spreading across her face just like the reddening glow of a freshly beaten bare bottom.
She swallowed hard, almost gulping, as she tried to suppress the sudden sense of unease triggered by the memory of her aunt; a sudden memory that, though vague and instantly suppressed, left her feeling distinctly queasy.
Closing her eyes she concentrated on the dean. Why had she been curtly summoned to ‘Old Fashioned’s’ office? And what an office it was – a jumble of astrolabes, dog-eared textbooks, yellowing parchment scrolls dating back to Isaac Newton, pencils scattered across the dusty carpet and sprigs of thyme sagging from sticky, unwashed sherry glasses. Chaos and disorder everywhere. On the wall opposite the large desk, a sepia print depicted early designs for a computation machine designed by Charles Babbage, predating and upstaging the microchip and laptops by over a hundred years. The dean even used log tables instead of a calculator. ‘Cheating’, Dr Hilary Mellstock would sniff dismissively, thumbing her battered old book of log tables until she came to the cosines.
Cheating… Ariadne squirmed again uncomfortably… and then it all flooded back to her, leaving her with her head bowed and gripping the sides of the chair so fiercely her pink knuckles whitened.
It was the day after she completed her last A-level maths paper. She was out on the tennis court all afternoon, and returning home hot and perspiring, she dashed upstairs to shower and change. It was a Friday evening. Father had taken mother away to the Cotswolds for the weekend, leaving Aunt Julia, who was staying with them for a while until she sorted out some personal problems, in charge. Aunt Julia, never auntie; she had always been so strict and stern.
Ariadne recalled the surprise of hearing the click of the bathroom door opening while she was in the shower relishing the downpour of deliciously hot water. Then she heard the door being closed again… and locked.
‘Have you finished yet, young lady?’ Aunt Julia’s firm voice enquired from inside the steamy bathroom. ‘I trust you have.’
Startled by her aunt’s sudden presence, Ariadne almost slipped on the wet tiles.
‘Well, have you?’ the woman demanded sternly.
Blinking through the fierce stream of water plastering her hair over her eyes, Ariadne pawed frantically for the tap and then for her towel, wondering what on earth Aunt Julia was doing intruding upon her ablutions.
‘Have you washed properly, young lady?’
The opaque plastic shower-curtain stuck to Ariadne’s left buttock as she edged away from it instinctively, the towel clutched over her breasts, tummy and thighs.
‘Show me, my girl.’
‘Aunt Julia!’ Ariadne gasped, utterly bewildered.
‘At once,’ came the terse command.
‘Aunt, please, I’m having my—’
But before another word of protest could be uttered Aunt Julia flung the curtain aside and snatched away the scant modesty afforded by the towel. Startled and dumbfounded, Ariadne skidded slightly on the wet tiles in the cubicle, and she was no match for the capable hands that caught and pinned her wrists to her sides, and after a brisk visual inspection by the woman, spun her around.
‘Aunt Julia!’ Ariadne gasped. ‘Wh-what on earth are you doing?’
‘What am I doing? I am inspecting you, my girl, to make sure you are thoroughly washed. I never punish a dirty girl.’
‘P-punish?’ she stammered in disbelief and alarm.
‘Punish,’ the older woman confirmed humourlessly, and then a ringing smack echoed in the tiled bathroom and left a pinkish blotch on the bare buttock her hand had visited so abruptly. ‘Very good,’ she concluded. ‘Here.’ She offered Ariadne the towel. ‘I want you dried and out of there this instant. Quickly, girl, the sooner you’ve been punished, the better.’
‘But, Aunt Julia—’
‘Dry your bottom, girl, at once.’
Ariadne obediently, if sullenly, dabbed the towel against her pussy, and then, burning with shame, she passed its gentle roughness into the warmth of her anal cleft.
Aunt Julia moved silently across the tiles to the wicker laundry basket, flipped open the lid, and fished out a crumpled blouse; Ariadne’s white uniform blouse; a crisp cotton shirt that always seemed to emphasise rather than conceal her budding breasts.
‘And what have you to say to me about this, young lady?’ she demanded, following the length of the left sleeve down to the cuff and folding it back.
Ariadne saw the dark squiggles scrawled inside the cuff. She saw the tiny mathematical formulae she had inked onto the inside of the cotton cuff just before going into her A-level exam. She blushed furiously as she remembered sitting on the toilet ten minutes before the exam scribbling the four equations of motion. ‘N-no…’ she protested, shaking her head, ‘no, you don’t understand…’
‘Oh, but I think I understand all too well, my girl. You were cheating; it’s as simple as that. But what I fail to understand is why. Can you explain that to me? When I quizzed you four days before the examination, you recited the laws of motion and their attendant equations perfectly.’
‘Yes, but…’
‘But?’
‘But the pressure,’ Ariadne said, without conviction. ‘There’s so much to remember. It was just a little bit of insurance against—’
‘It was just a lot of cheating,’ Aunt Julia cut in abruptly.
‘No, I didn’t even look. Honestly.’
‘Honestly?’ Aunt Julia snorted. ‘After I find this,’ she waved the cuff and the scrawl of incriminating evidence in Ariadne’s flushed face, ‘you dare to use the word honestly?’
‘But I didn’t cheat!’ the shamed girl insisted desperately. ‘I didn’t even do the laws of motion question on paper three. I didn’t need the equations.’
Aunt Julia raised a hand to quell the outburst of pleading. ‘Nevertheless, you cheated. Not by actually using the copied formulae, but by scribbling it on your cuff in the first place. Now come here, girl.’
‘But Aunt Julia, I swear—’
‘You are to be punished, my girl, and deservedly so. What your poor parents—’
‘Oh no, please, Aunt Julia,’ Ariadne pleaded. ‘It would break mummy’s heart! She wouldn’t understand. And daddy, he fusses so. He’d never be sure I hadn’t—’
‘Then we will keep this matter strictly between ourselves,’ her aunt promised solemnly. ‘I will spank you, spank you very severely on your bare bottom, and we will consider the episode forgotten. Understood?’
Her head bowed, her frightened eyes lowered, Ariadne shrugged silently.
‘Are we agreed, my girl? A severe spanking on your bare bottom, and the ugly matter of your dishonesty will be closed. Are we agreed?’
Knowing there was no other way out of this shameful predicament, Ariadne slowly nodded, still avoiding her aunt’s accusatory stare.
‘Head up, girl, and look at me,’ Aunt Julia pressed, and the naked young woman’s breasts rose and fell as she took a deep breath, and lifted her worried countenance.
‘Now quickly, hands behind your back,’ the older woman ordered, and Ariadne’s pert breasts quivered vigorously as she hastily obeyed.
‘Now kneel.’
Her hands clasped above her bare buttocks, Ariadne winced as her knees pressed down to the hard tiles.
‘Keep your head up,’ her aunt commanded, ‘and look at me.’ Reddening even more with shame, she obeyed.
Hands on hips, her full bosom
heaving, Aunt Julia towered over her penitent niece. ‘Do you admit it now?’ she demanded insistently. ‘Do you admit you cheated by writing those equations on your sleeve, whether you used them or not?’
‘Um, yes…’ came the contrite whisper.
‘And are you sorry?’
‘Yes, aunt, truly sorry.’
‘Sorry and ashamed?’
Ariadne nodded.
‘And you will be sorry, my girl, very sorry and deeply ashamed when you’re lying across my knee having your bottom spanked.’ Tossing aside the incriminating blouse, Aunt Julia unzipped her black skirt and palmed it down over her hips. It slithered down to the tiles, completely burying her shiny court shoes. Stepping out of the skirt’s dark puddle, and then out of her shoes, she stood resplendent before her young niece in sheer pearl-grey hose.
Peeping up timidly, Ariadne could discern the gentle swell beneath the stretchy sheen where white knickers sheathed her aunt’s pubic mound. The shy peep became a sustained, mesmerised gaze as she watched her stern relative unbutton and roll up both sleeves of her blouse. Then she rubbed her palms together slowly for a full minute before removing two rings from her right hand. Her spanking hand.
‘On your feet, girl.’
Ariadne stood up slowly.
‘Come along. Across my knee with you.’ Seating herself on the lowered lid of the toilet seat, her plump buttocks splayed within the clingy hose, Aunt Julia summoned her naked niece to her.
Ariadne reluctantly approached the grim woman, then bent over and positioned herself for punishment. Easing herself across the waiting softness of the older woman’s thighs, she whimpered as a firm hand gripped the nape of her bowed neck, forcing her naked body fully over her punisher’s lap.
‘Hands down… no, not like that,’ her aunt’s voice snapped waspishly, ‘arms forward. Touch the floor with your fingertips.’
The pre-punishment preparations seemed endless, heightening Ariadne’s shame and humiliation. Stretched helplessly across her aunt’s glistening hose, her face blazed as her pubic nest crackled against their taut sheen as her warm fingertips touched the cool tiles. The sudden rush of blood to her head left her giddy, her bare bottom rising up in utter helplessness while her toes supported her tautly braced legs.