by Hilary Chale
She giggled again and said she had better go. Sarah wished her ‘good luck’ and drove off. Celia waved and then walked determinedly indoors.
It was nearly Picton’s lunchtime when Sarah got home. She pulled the envelope out of the boot and glanced at the clock then opened the little parcel. They were white, gossamer-thin and slightly stretchy. Somebody must have given thought to the design. There was just time to be with Celia in spirit. She ran upstairs, threw on one of Celia’s spare jumpers, slipped off her Directoires and put on the punishment pants. They were so fine that they made her feel naked, and she checked in the long mirror with a spotlight, but could not see the slightest shadow of her own pubic hair.
Then she went downstairs looking exactly like Celia.
In Picton’s dining room they had reached the expectant interval between the main course and the Plum Duff. A voice said loudly:
“Celia Barry.” and Sarah, in her mind’s eye at home, saw her, all conspicuous in her caners and jumper, start across the room.
Celia handed her the note as she got carefully into the car.
“Should I look at it now?” Sarah said.
“I got twelve of the best, Mum. More’n anybody else for ages. Two for the first, four for the second, and six for the third! And ... and ... they all clapped.”
“Do I gather that it was not too bad after all?”
“Darling Mums, will you always come and see me before I’m done?”
“The great thing is not to get done ... Let’s get home to tea and crumpets and I’ll inspect the damage and, as I said ‘Tell All.”
“All very mysterious ... What is this ALL?”
“You’ll be surprised.”
The fact that Sarah was wearing Celia’s jumper meant nothing. These days they often wore each other’s clothes. The long thin envelope on the mantelpiece meant nothing to Celia because she had never seen one. They ate crumpets and there was strawberry jam and Devonshire cream and gallons of strong tea and though Celia could feel her bum all the time, it was idyllic and satiating.
“Well now,” Sarah began, “the time has come ...”
“The Walrus said,” Celia interjected, “pretty odd sort of Walrus.” They both giggled.
“Take them down ... and let’s have a look.”
“Over your knee?”
“No. Just stand and show me. Probably not for the first time to-day.”
“You’re making me blush.”
Celia took them down, leaned against the mantelpiece, raised the back of her skirt and stuck her posterior towards her mother. The twelve scarlet and blue welts were so crowded upon each other that it was hard to count them.
“That must’ve been an experience! I wonder what Miss Borswick says?”
She pulled the note out of its envelope. It was a common form notification that her daughter had been caned. A line in the principal’s hand read:
She took it well and gained the respect of all
present, including that of your obedient servant.
Ilona Borswick
“Now tell me what actually happened.”
“They shout your name after the meat-and-two-veg. I was the only one. I had to wade practically the length. Very conspicuous with them all in day clothes ‘cept me. Then Ilona asked me if there was anything I want to say ... and there wasn’t much ... so she handed the cane to old Biddle and told me to bend over. They have a special table there, and one does it with one’s ass to the audience. It meant I was looking straight at her.”
“I see.”
“The old Biddle sort of taps one’s bum and lets fly.”
“What does she actually do?”
“She wears gym shoes and takes a step back for each one and then sort of jumps it.”
Sarah knew the wiry Miss Biddle, who stood half a head lower than Celia.
“I’m surprised the marks aren’t more scattered.”
“She gets quite a bit of practice, Mums.”
“What? Among seventy students? ... I suppose they’re mostly the despair of their parents.”
“Well, the first blow came as a bit of a shock, D’you want a blow by blow account?”
“Tell me what you think I should know.”
“It was the second and the next ones which really hurt. I couldn’t keep quite still at the beginning ... Also Ilona was sort of boring into me with her eyes. I think she was ... It’s a funny thing to say, but I think she was encouraging me. Anyway I stuck my bottom out to meet it, like you said, and began to feel ... not better, because it got worse, but more on top of it.”
“You didn’t blub, I take it?”
“Oh no, but I had to hold tight onto the opposite edge of the table ... The last seven were better than the first five.”
“Or you were better?”
“Perhaps. Yes.”
“How long did it take?”
“Not long ... Four or five minutes from door to door, so to speak.”
“And how did it end?”
“I was counting in my head and when it got to twelve, Ilona said ‘you may stand up’, so I did; and people started to clap and everybody joined in. Even some of the tutors ... And Ilona smiled. It was a bit baffling and I said ‘thank you’ to her ... Gawd knows why.”
“Is it usual?”
“No.”
“Is it usual to clap?”
“No, Mums, it isn’t.”
“You seem to have made quite an impression.”
Sarah handed her the Principal’s note.
“Then I walked back and some people slapped my bum friendly fashion as I passed.” She laughed. “Anticipation is awful but looking back is kind of fun.”
“But I take it you’d rather not get into that kind of situation again. Now this is where All gets Told. You can drop your skirt ... unless you’d rather not ... (a) I’m quite an adequate mathematician and if we get down to it in the vacation, I think we can avoid this sort of thing happening again. I’ve looked at the books and I know I can manage it. (b) You may well ask why I didn’t do it before. There is no answer. I spotted you getting more miserable about maths even at school ... So it’s as much my fault as yours. Now this is embarrassing and I’m going to ask you an embarrassing question. You see, I can’t very well ask Miss Biddle.”
At this point comprehension began to dawn.
“Your measurements, too!”
“Home in one ... There’s a cane in that envelope. Will you use it?”
“Is that why you were asking all about it?”
“In a way ‘yes’, but corporal punishment is interesting, as we both know.”
“Gorblimey,” said Sarah’s daughter, “I never thought of anything like this. You have got a pair of caners, I suppose?”
“So you will?”
“Dunno if I can do it efficiently.”
“You’re bigger than Miss Biddle,” said Sarah unzipping her skirt, “so you can make up in intensity what you lose in concentration.”
Celia drew the cane out of its envelope as the skirt fell to Sarah’s ankles. She stepped out of it and went to the card table.
“Haven’t got as far to go as you had.”
“Talk about history repeating ... You’re just like me and it’s the same sort of cane.”
Her mother bent over the table.
“So you mean it?”
“I haven’t got much to say, either.”
Celia tapped the buttocks with the cane and adjusted herself.
“All right,” she said and swung the cane in a wide arc. It whistled in the air and struck them with a thud.
“This is a new experience for me,” Celia said unnecessarily. The cane whistled and connected with another thud.
“Thank God I got
rid of the chandelier,” Sarah said. Thud ... Thud ... “Otherwise we’d have to use the garden.” Thud.
“And what would the neighbours think?” Thud.
“Ow! Sorry. I’m not supposed to make a sound.
Sarah winced.
“They’d have thought we were each other,” said Celia flinging herself into the next stroke. Sarah had already reached for the opposite edge of the table, but she winced again.
“Funny. I thought of that.” The ninth stroke made a momentary furrow across the parental haunches.
“What, at lunch time?” Another furrow.
“Yes ... decided it couldn’t work.” The cane moved like lightning.
“Pity.” THUD.
“You may stand up.”
Sarah stood, and said ‘thank you’. She picked up the skirt and started abstractedly to fold it. Celia put the cane back in its envelope.
“Are we by chance, starting a new sort of life?” said her mother.
“Take them down, and let’s have a look.”
Proxy Punishment For Helen And Roger
Darling!
That was wonderful! I’ve never felt you so far or so big inside me. It was when I told you ... do you remember ... that you would find the strap in the bottom (suitable word) of your large suitcase. I know you won’t forget about it. One doesn’t, does one? In fact I can almost recreate the sensations of my last time. It’s a pity that birches break up like that ... But I do, darling, intend to stay chaste. I’m going out with Anne to-night. Meanwhile kisses in suitable places.
Helen.
Darling, my randy darling!
If you were coming home soon enough it would be, as you well know, the kitchen chair, shirt tails up and underpants down, after supper. Of course you must have the strap, but as you haven’t given any details I can’t say how many strokes, can I?
I shall expect a blow-by-blow (if you see what I mean) account. I stayed the night at Anne’s and found your letter when I got back. Hence the small delay. I just can’t wait for your next.
I adore you.
Helen.
Darling!!
That was graphic! And a director too ... Speaking strictly career-wise, was that wise? I’m only asking. Otherwise it seems understandable, if naughty. Exuding sex ... I can imagine it. It happens, after all, to us girls, and it obviously happened to her. I hope you weren’t too obvious about it in public.
I rather like your phrase “everything like you, only bigger and brunette.” Bigger mouth, bigger breasts, bigger and doubtless blacker pussy. You said separately that her passage was wider and looser. Funny, that! The thought of it give me an inquisitive thrill. Just you wait! And that bottom! With its big back door. How many men do you suppose she’s had in each entrance? And you by both! If she didn’t enjoy you, I’ll bite it off when you get here. No! On second thoughts, I wont.
Now to brass tacks. Twenty-four. Twelve for the front and twelve more for the back. As I told you, my Aunt Sophia (she’s not an aunt but a home town friend of my mother’s) will do the necessary, as she’s done me in the past. Her telephone number is 077489-9191837. I suppose it might be easier if you had met her, but there’s nothing like a strap on the bottom as an introduction. Anne is coming to supper in about an hour. Must switch off. Looking forward to your hot-ass letter.
Adoringly.
Helen.
Deserving Darling!
Or at least so I suppose. Aunt Sophia wrote. Can you sit down? Hope not! I expect not; she’s pretty hot stuff with a paddle, at any rate. I got your’s first. So it took four days to wind yourself up. That tallies with her account. She says that when the ‘phone rang you were (a) unknown and (b) stuttering for the first minute or two till she cottoned on. But she gathered that you were going to bring IT round for her to use. She also thought there was rather more in it than you had had time to tell me. That would account for the thirty-six which she mentioned. You didn’t say why, but she did. She’s rather good at interrogation ... have I ever told you? The details, I mean?
So she winkled it all out and decided that if I had known what she knew, I’d have said thirty-six and not twenty-four ... twelve for each entrance. Right?
Knowing you, I don’t suppose you will be deterred for much longer than the welts last.
Anne, who was coming when I last wrote, brought her new boy-friend. Ruggedly, personable type called David. I feel like giving you a Director’s Kiss.
Passionately,
Helen.
Darling,
I’ve sterilised some birch twigs, three foot, four foot and six footers and others to march, and they’re all soaking in strong brine. I’ve got plenty of twine.
I know it’s no excuse, but your last letter kept me randy, just re-reading it. Then I ran into Anne’s boy-friend David. ‘Ran into’ is about right. Dented his mudguard while parking. No scratch on us, thank God, but he got out, hauled me out, put me over my mudguard, pulled down my panties to my knees (with all those people there!) and fairly walloped my ass. Loose handed too, so I think he must be an expert. I don’t know how many times he hit me, but it HURT.
Of course he hadn’t the least idea about my reaction to spanking, but I couldn’t do less than offer to drive him home while the garage people fixed the mudguard. You’ll think it was Freudian. Could be. I put him down outside his block. He asked me up, in a sort of irresistible way. I won’t go into the administrative details, but once in the apartment he said, “like to see yourself in the mirror?” Of course I did, in the bedroom, and he came and looked too. Then, Darling, he somehow manoeuvred me, very gently, to the bed and got me to bend over it ... and there he was, up my front from behind. Actually I half expected another spanking. He was pretty big. Not like you, but more than adequate. Thank God for the Pill, and I didn’t feel at all guilty: I loved it. So did he. Something to do with the spanking. It did something for both of us, as it does with you and me. Not sure how often her came. I was in a state of near climax all the time, and when eventually we unplugged, it was trickling heftily down my legs.
So I showered in his bathroom and went home hot-assed but still oozy. It was only after I had frigged myself over the top on the sitting room carpet that I realised the enormity of what I had done. Adultery, man stealing, and from a best friend too. The lot. Oh! Darling! And if I tell her, I give him away. Oh dear, oh dear!
I reckon the birches will be ready and bound up by the time your earliest reply gets here. If only you could be here too.
I am bare-bottomed, ashamed and I LOVE you.
Helen.
Darling-I’m-so-Happy!
I rang Anne as you suggested without naming names. She surprised me for we had never talked about This Kind of Thing before. She could come round at once, she said, with her cane. I said that you wanted me to be birched and I had plenty of birches here. “OK,” she said, “in half and hour.”
I was in a bit of a tizzy, of course, half wanting, half afraid. I got in to my tight jeans with nothing underneath, and put the kitchen chair where we always put it. Heart going pitter-pat. Ting-a-ling-aling. The front door bell ... and there she was, looking business like in a little red suit. She took it off, skirt and all, and Lo and behold! She was wearing a leotard. She changed her shoes for gum-shoes which she had in a bag and said:
“Right,”
I’m trying to tell everything, but odd bits may have escaped. So I led her into the kitchen where the birches, each wrapped in its cloth, were in a bucket by the table. She sized this up at a glance and said:
“Take your jeans down and bend over.”
Which I did while she got up two birches, unwrapped them and laid one on the table. By now I was bending my bare ass for her. Then she said:
“I’ve already caned David, you know.”
Actually I didn’t. Not t
he least idea. In fact, the likelihood of giving him away had worried me all along. Relief! Relief! I said:
“The snake!”
Then she said, “he was late because the car had to be fixed. He told me about your spanking in the car park. He had to, as a matter of fact, because several people I know saw it.”
I said that in that case she presumably knew that I had driven him home. She said:
“I’d already got that from the gate-man ... I put two and two together.”
I said I wasn’t surprised but it hadn’t consciously occurred to me until I got there.
“It obviously did to him,” she said.
Sorry. I must catch the post. To be continued later this evening by your adoring flayed-bum.
Helen.
Darling!!
I’m writing this one pants off, on the window sill, ‘cos its the only way to heal. I just made the post by dropping it into the postman’s bag. Running with a flayed ass under my skirt is quite sensational.
Anne had got the story out of David, she told me. Then she said:
“Bend more deeply,” and put her hand on the back of my neck. I got my head down so low, I could feel my hair on the chair seat. Then she went round to my left side, touched my ass with the birch and let fly. Two strokes about the level of my back hole and they curled round and fairly stung all over my right thigh. She walked round to have a look and said:
“Sorry, that doesn’t count.”
It bloody well did, but I didn’t see how I could say anything. So then she walked back and stood quite a bit further off and touched again. I looked round at her. These birches, with their four foot centres and twine-wrapped two foot handles look pretty formidable, especially when being swung at one’s own bum. Strewth or Lawksmussy! or something! After the first (or third) she shuffled back even further and fairly set about me. I wanted to scream, but bit it back. Neighbours. But I couldn’t help some pretty loud grunts. After the sixth, she said: