by Hilary Chale
Love
Esther
Oy! There’s no need to envy Sister Pat, even though she is a lovely person! Haven’t seen her for some time. She was, I must confess, very deft between my legs ... front as well as back. Oh, yes: very randy making, but not love making. Not enough time and too many people about. And besides, nurses always flirt with their patients. It’s a nursing technique for getting them better quicker. As, however, I said last time, I will bare myself for the cane if you still feel that way when you come. Anyway, I’m looking forward to seeing you.
The marks which you saw when you were last here happened a few days after Dominic had been up my bottom at Tiggywinkle’s. My parents were away for a long weekend and he rang and said he had a surprise for me. this must have meant something which had not happened before. I forgot to mention that before we left Tiggywinkle’s he had put me over his knee and spanked me: a fun spanking much enjoyed. He said it was not punishment for naughtiness: that might come later. So now I put two and two together and asked if I should take my knickers off. He said:
“You’re always delicious with your knickers off, but actually this time you can take them down later.”
You know, I was certain that corporal punishment was in the wind and the thought gave me a terrific sex-leap. So much so that I dropped my panties to knee level. I was still playing my pussy when he rang the bell, and I had to hoist them up and run for the front door. He had one of those huge umbrellas ... furled ... and said that we needed a good solid table, so expecting what I did, I took him into the dining-room. He said:
“Six now ... more later.”
The purpose of the umbrella now became apparent. He drew a cane out of its folds. It was thinnish and without fancy crook or anything, about three feet long, and one would have called it straight if it hadn’t been a bit off-straight, perhaps through use. Miss Dugan had one like that at school. It tended to curl round a bum and stay slightly deformed after a set of impacts. It happened after it had curled round mine.
To return to the point, I dropped my pants to knee level again, bent over the table and flipped my skirt up.
“Punishment,” he said.
“What for?” I said.
“Wrong hole.”
“You used it too!”
“Ah,” he said, “but I’m allowed to.”
“I’m beginning to see what the feminist lobby is about,” I said. We both laughed and he stood beside me, on my right. It was the first time I noticed he was left-handed. He tapped my bot with the end of it and said:
“... of the best, mind!”
“All right,” I said in a sort of exploratory way. It might I supposed, hurt as much as it hurt at school or a bit more because we take our knickers down, there, but my sex started to skip again and I WANTED it. Also having had it up the backside had something to do with it. I don’t mean merely up my bum: I mean having had it wither away from behind. Come to think of it, bending over for cock is not so very different from bending over for the cane.
Then he said: “Sure?”
I nodded. He drew back and wound or curled himself like a spring. He was not only left-handed: he was powerful! Can’t think why I hadn’t noticed it before. Then the cane shot through the air with a kind of loud sigh. Bang! Have you ever had it? At school or anywhere? If you haven’t, I don’t know how to describe it. It hits across one’s bum with a numbing shock and then a millionth of a second later it pours a rush of agony up the nerves through the tummy. These then seem to shunt a secondary rush nearly to the throat. Last of all (about two millionths later) you feel your bum-stripe spreading, hurting and getting hot. It’s astonishing really!
I’m sorry about all the exclamation marks. One is always told at school not to use such aids, but to express oneself in words. In this case, I don’t know how it is done. Any ideas?
Then he was coiling himself for the second. I think that if it had come before the bum-stripe pain had subsided, it would have been hard to cope. But it didn’t. All the same, it was alarming enough because I knew what to expect, which was worse than the shock of a new experience.
There’s not much point in giving you a detailed, item by item account after that, because the other four strokes were much like the second, though naturally my bot grew hotter and hotter.
When he had finished he announced that he would do it again. I stayed obediently, like the submissive little girl that I am, over the table, but there were shuffling noises and then he covered me. He was quite naked and his puma was entering its ordinary lair. The pressure of his smooth cool body against my hot and aching stripes was very agreeable. I’ve heard it said that some people get bum-randy: in fact there’s some mention of it in one of the CP mags. I’m not quite sure what it means, but I began to want the cane again, just as I wanted the pain of being widened. I snuggled my bottom against him and turned my head to kiss his head on my shoulder and made pleased noises. After about a minute of wiggling and snuggling he got my meaning. He got off me and picked the cane up from the sideboard.
I said “hold on. I want to look in a mirror and see what six of the best looks like.” I had, of course seen it before, at school, but with no expectation of further instalments. People used to hold a mirror up for one in the dorm.
The only suitable mirror was in an upstairs wardrobe, so I walked up the stairs, and he watched me, starkers except for my high-heeled shoes, all the way up. The sight of those six stripes in the mirror was quite something. They were separate and somewhere between violet and red. Another experience! And I had a big clit. In fact I got so interested that he began to get restless and called me down for another caning.
It seemed quite natural to go down and re-present my bum over the table, and so get the second six of the day. The third came half an hour later, and I went to the mirror after each. It’s a compulsive sort of Narcissism.
I positively and actually enjoyed the fourth six. He said he would give me a Victorian Standard and after I came downstairs and was bending over the table he said:
“Twelve?”
Which was exactly what I wanted.
Love
Esther.
Darling!
Naturally I meant to say that of course I’ll be pantless when you arrive ... Like I said. And yes! I played my pussy with Sister Pat in mind, but I never went to bed with her, more’s the pity. And thirdly about the Victorian Standard. I rang Dominic to make sure. It was thirty-six stroke with a cane on the bare. As I’d already had twenty-four, the twelve would make it up. He actually gave me those twelve quite slowly (it seemed) and it was absolutely wonderful, indescribable ... I can only say that they have changed my life.
E.
Darling Jan,
That was quite an experience! (more exclamation marks!!). Talk about prompt execution! A hello-kiss. Jeans down. Of course I had put the canes ready and visible. Over the sofa. The thought of getting six of the best on the bare for every sexy letter is putting my pussy into my hand. I wonder what it would have been like if it had been one for every exclamation mark?! AND twelve for Pat. AND twelve for my hole. More than I’ve had from Dominic so far ... And, you know, you’ve got a knack. I hadn’t realised when you spanked me that first time, but using the cane ... You’d make a good punishment mistress. Looking back, I think that school canings should have been on the bare, don’t you? Much more intimacy and submission.
And then the thank-you kiss. Not at all humiliating. I can’t imagine giving a punishment mistress that sort of a kiss, but it’s only good manners when one has been chastised by a friend. By the way, do people like your auburn hair too? And if I kiss Dominic in (nearly) that sort of way, will it rate twelve like my hole?
Dominic had just rung. Date to-morrow. I wonder what he’ll make of my bum. I’m a little fearful.
Love
Esther.
&
nbsp; Julian got an eyeful.
The back windows of his new maisonette looked onto a confusion of gardens and potting sheds. These formed an irregular rectangle or little square belonging to some outward facing houses. A narrow service alley penetrated it through an arch and ran between dilapidated board-fences to a gate into one of the gardens. Two women had just emerged from the arch. One went ahead, opened the gate till it was pushed right back against its brick gate post. She then started to unzip her black slacks.
This puzzling sight became even more odd when she climbed the gate and, standing on the lowest rung but one, dropped first the slacks and then her panties, all the while carrying on a discussion with the other woman. The latter after a time, produced a cardboard map-tube and pulled out a rod which, as it came in sight proved to be a rather long, straight cane-like instrument.
Julian’s credulity was being stretched.
The woman who had the cane now walked round and touched across the naked bottom with it. There was some more talk which Julian could not hear, though, fascinated, he tried very hard. At that point a window opened in a house at the end and a head looked out, and stayed looking. It was a rather spectacular blonde whom Julian had seen in the supermarket the other day. He then realised that a man or woman, he was not sure which, was looking from a window opposite and seemed to be signalling to yet another person presumably on this side of the little square and invisible, as yet, to him. He was, it seemed a member of an audience, and consistently with this idea he meant to scrutinise the other houses, but before he could begin, the pantless woman bent deeply over the gate pillar.
She was a peroxide blonde of about twenty-eight, and her physique and the visual angle at which her bottom was in his line of sight, enabled him to descry the gathered anus between her smooth globe-like cheeks and the darkness of her cunt protruding back through its hairy tendrils in the cleft below her buttocks. the cunt had plainly ceased to be virgin. It suggested to him frequent, regular and recent fucking. In fact it glistened as if someone had only just come out ... And his cock stood up like a candle inside his trousers.
He was concentrating so much on this, that the other woman’s movements escaped his notice, so when the cane struck the bare bottom, it came, so to speak, disembodied out of nowhere. One moment, the compulsive genitalia between the fesses: the next a dark rod cut a momentary furrow into them, fell away as the sound reached him and left a scarlet half-inch welt three inches long on the left and then, after the gap, a four-incher on and round the right.
“Wow-ow” she said, partly in pain but also, he thought with a note of appreciation. He looked at the other woman, expecting the wind-up to another stroke, but she stood passive, arm lowered and un-moving but apparently resuming the conversation. So he raised his eyes to other windows.
They were not all crowded with spectators, but there were several. A man on the only balcony and two sunbathers on a flat roof. Somebody was standing back indistinct but intent in a room. It was very intriguing.
Then he heard the whiplash, and just had a trice in which to see the cane fall away from the second welt, red below the violet of the first.
“Yow!”
There was another long pause. Wondering what on earth was happening ... it was after all the lunch hour of a hot July day ... he caught the supermarket blonde’s eye. She smiled broadly, rolled her eyes towards the scene below, and raised her eyebrows interrogatively. He rolled his down just as the cane was being raised. It hung in the air for an instant and then moved with a flicker and speed of light to make its third impact and stripe.
“Hah-h!”
It seemed a feature of these strokes that, apart from the single sharp cry, she made no other sign or movement except (he though) a slight gathering of the anus. In fact each stroke seemed to be more in the nature of an interruption in the conversation than an event in its own right. And yet the scarlet changing to bruise-violet showed that the stripes were painful.
His supermarket eye-meet started to make signals. First five fingers of one hand and one of the other. That was obvious: six. Then a thumb and forefinger making a round O: he could assume the rest: of the best. He kept a weather eye below and was rewarded. The raised cane flashed and made its fourth red stripe with a loud thud.
“Ow!”
He tried with eyes and eyebrows and shoulders to indicate why to his signal friend. As he had no knowledge of hand-speech it took time and several tries before he thought that she understood. She then pointed down and he followed the gesture and saw the cane coming up for the next stroke. It hung perceptibly above the older woman’s shoulder. The bending bottom seemed to be offered for the stroke, and he heard the whistle and crack down.
“Ugh!”
He watched the new weal and saw it slowly turning the same colour as the other four. He wondered where the next one would be. So far the arrangement of stripes had been very exact and regular. Would the sixth and (according to his new friend) the last be laid above or below the others? Then he returned to his silent conversation, catching an eye and a smile on the way from a window opposite.
The signal was a ‘come hither’ with a hand holding an imaginary glass from which she drank. He nodded yes and mouthed now? Yes she replied and nodded deeply towards the gardens where the arm and cane were being slowly raised. The five-barred buttocks were again being curvaceously offered, and for the second time he heard both the whistle and the crack.
“Poo!!”
It struck below the five as if continuing the series, but an inch or more above the crease. It grew very red in a few seconds before developing into a violet rather deeper than the others. The two women spoke briefly, and then the victim (if such she was) straightened up. Her executioner now unhurriedly raised her knickers which had dropped down into the slacks about her feet on the gate rung, and helped to slip them carefully over her buttocks. She followed this up by stooping for the trousers and hauling them up so that their owner could reach them. All this was obviously designed to help the girl who had been beaten to get down off the gate. It took a little time, and Julian contemplated the older woman’s bottom, bending to the ground in old much washed jeans, and wondered what she would be like if she dropped them. Pretty good, he decided. His cock indicated assent.
He had not, he realised, had any sort of climax for a long time. He had not lain in the arms of a woman and rutted her quim for months. He had not thrust himself between the swelling muscles of a southern end into the round resistance of a tiny asshole. It was over a year since his only passive homosexual affair had ended with a passionately widened pain and spurts into the void. It was longer still since that fascinating Turk had raised his legs and made a woman of himself. He had not emptied his passion into anyone’s mouth ... or even alone, by himself between his fingers. No wonder his cock was suddenly determined, very long, extremely hard and ... unlikely to subside.
The slacks now covered the haunches and were zipped up. She climbed down from the gate and shut it, while her companion slid the cane back into the tube. They started to walk out. Julian turned his eyes to his new friend, and she signalled another ‘come hither’. Obviously on the same wavelength, he wondered what she would make of his cock and how soon. He waved assent and turned to go below. Then he clattered down the stairs, slammed the front door, turned left and left again round the corner. Her front door was opening very slowly, but as he ran up her five front steps it was thrown suddenly wide open. A hand grasped his and pulled him in. The door slammed. It was all done in a fraction of a second. Naturally.
She was naked.
“Tell you the truth,” she said without any preliminary, “we forgot all about you ... my name’s Claire, by the way.”
“I’m Julian.”
“Yes ... We have, in a sort of way been introduced, when you come to think of it.” She was still facing him, her hard-nippled beasts thrust out, her pubic tri
angle, darker than her blonde head, a further signal. She laid a hand on the waistband of his trousers, ran a finger inside until she found the front button; undid it and the zip. The trousers fell to the floor and she lowered his Y-fronts over his solid and massive piston.
“Better?” she said. He stepped out of the clothes about his ankles and threw away his shirt, being now as naked as she was.
“Beautiful,” she said.
She led the way up the stairs, the firm cheeks of her bottom being unutterably tempting. When she stopped suddenly at the turn, the tip of his organ touched one of them. She smiled over her shoulder and went on up, and so into the flat in whose window he had first seen her. There was a sofa, a small desk, a table and about half the floor was cushioned with divan mattresses.
“Champagne ... well, bogus Champagne but quite good, and why not collapse onto the floor ... I’m going to.”
She put a cushion against a back rest for him and busied herself with the bottle. When she brought the glasses, she straddled him, and guided his upright into her oozing sheath.
“Good health,” she said formally, lowering her opened crotch almost to the root. “Gorgeous! I knew it would be.”