Spanking Cheat: ... and other short stories

by Stanlegh Meresith

  "Four sixes," she announced.

  And so the game recommenced. Prudence was holding her cards tight and close to her chest, hiding how few she had left, but it wasn't long before Rachel, who had at least two thirds of the pack, caught her out.

  "A three," said Prudence, casually placing a card on the pile.

  "Cheat!" cried Rachel, knowing she had all the threes. Prudence sighed and reluctantly turned over the jack she'd put down.

  The ensuing revenge was sweet indeed for Rachel! Picking up the die, Prudence threw a six. Rachel had her bending over, touching her toes, and laid on six scorchers with the cane, forgetting perhaps how close Prudence was to winning the game, and just how many strokes she herself would probably soon be earning with all the cards she had left in her hand.

  And sure enough, after Emily had given Rachel a slippering for falsely accusing her, and Rachel had repaid the compliment with the hairbrush after she had successfully caught Emily cheating, Prudence placed her last card down in triumph, announcing,

  "A queen!"

  In a desperate attempt to delay the inevitable, Emily immediately shouted, "Cheat!"

  But Prudence nonchalantly flipped the card over to reveal the Queen of Hearts, and Emily had to bend for six of the strap, before they returned to the table to make the final reckoning.

  "Reminds me of Friday nights at Cropton Hall," said Rachel. "Didn't Miss Bainbridge call it the 'Friday night reckoning'?"

  "She did indeed," said Prudence, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed, beaming with satisfaction as the three losers counted out their cards. "And I'm happy to say that the custom has survived her retirement."

  "Gosh!" shivered Susan. "Those poor girls."

  "Nonsense!" Prudence boomed. "Does them good ... as it will you three in a moment." She took a sip of brandy. "So," she asked, leaning forward greedily, "what's the score?"

  "I've got sixteen," said Emily, brightly.

  "Twelve," said Susan, with another shiver.

  Rachel counted out the last of her hand. "Twenty-four," she sighed.

  "Lightest punishment first," said Prudence, handing the die to Susan, who took it hesitantly and rolled it around on her palm for a moment. Taking a deep breath, she cast it across the table.

  "Four!" said Rachel.

  "The tawse," added Emily.

  Susan looked rather relieved.

  Rubbing her hands, Prudence stood and pointed Susan to the sofa. The young blonde went over, lifted her skirt, lowered her knickers and bent obediently, while Prudence collected the tawse from the sideboard. The others got up to watch.

  Having avoided trouble through the entire game, Susan's petite bottom was a creamy white delight, and the three of them stood admiring it for a few seconds before Prudence snapped the tawse taut between her hands with a loud snap, and announced,

  "Twelve of the best for you, Miss French. Stay in position please."

  Susan wriggled her rear slightly and squeaked, "Yes, Miss."

  To Rachel's relief, Prudence was at first not nearly as harsh as she could have been, starting with four quite modest strokes - firm and stinging, certainly, and Susan's creamy white rear was soon streaked with a darkening pink, but they weren't too challenging and Susan bore them with dignity - as she did the next four, though she was breathing hard at these and bending at the knees after each whack. But the last four saw Prudence find her normal, merciless form: with arm raised high above her head, and the tawse flying like the west wind, she laced poor Susan's bottom three times with a ferocity that had the younger woman screeching and yelping at each blow. Then, after a cruelly long pause, during which Susan whimpered in fearful anticipation, Prudence delivered the climactic twelfth: it landed with a deafening crack smack across the middle of Susan's already well-broiled buttocks, and the poor girl leapt up and clutched herself behind, hopping up and down in agony.

  Rachel was immediately there, hugging her lover to her, stroking that ever-tousled blonde hair as Susan cried, "Ow! Ow!"

  Prudence replaced the tawse on the sideboard and calmly returned to her seat, avoiding the slightly disapproving look she was getting from Emily.

  Susan soon managed a smile and, rubbing her backside ruefully, came back with Rachel to stand by the card table.

  "Emily, my darling," said Prudence, "as you have sixteen to come, I suggest that we select two implements, and give you eight with each."

  "Very well, Prudence - as you wish." Emily picked up the die and rolled it.

  "A one!" exclaimed Susan. "You lucky sod!"

  Emily looked a shade disappointed as she picked up the die again - a one meant a hand spanking. She shook it for a few moments in her closed hand, then blew on it and let it roll ...

  "A six!" she exclaimed.

  "The cane! At last!" cried Rachel.

  "That's more like it," said Prudence with glee. "Over here, my girl." She pushed her chair back and patted her lap.

  "Yes, Miss," simpered Emily, lowering her slacks and knickers and draping herself over Prudence's knees.

  "We should really double the dose for a mere spanking, don't you think?" asked Prudence, running her hand over the smooth curves of Emily's fleshy, well-rounded bottom.

  "Fine with me," chirped Emily, turning and looking up with a smile.

  "So be it!"

  Prudence rubbed her palms together, adjusted Emily's position so that her bottom was slightly further away, allowing a longer, wider swing, and raised her hand.

  Susan jumped at the ferocity of the loud smack that followed. Emily scarcely moved a muscle. In fact, she taunted her partner,

  "Tell me when you're ready to start," she said, casually.

  "Huh!" came the curt reply from above. Prudence immediately set about spanking Emily's already red cheeks with all her might. And how those cheeks flattened and wobbled under the onslaught! Prudence's firm palm bounced from buttock to buttock at such a furious pace that Rachel, who couldn't tear her gaze away, was sure Prudence had given Emily at least twenty or more before she stopped, slightly breathless.

  "Right," said Prudence brusquely, easing Emily up. "Play time over. Fetch the cane, Miss Stokes, and wait for me by the sofa."

  Emily stepped out of the slacks and knickers that had gathered at her ankles, and rubbed her bright red bottom. Then she made her way over to the sideboard, lifted the cane by its middle and went to stand by the sofa, where she stood with bowed head.

  Prudence remained seated. She lifted her glass and swirled the brandy gently round the sides. Rachel and Susan watched this little performance with fascination.

  "So, Stokes," called Prudence. "Do you recall making disparaging remarks - in front of our friends here - about my teaching of Geography?"

  Emily looked up meekly. "Yes, Miss." She bowed her head again.

  Prudence stood and sauntered over to the sofa. Lifting Emily's chin, she leaned in close, narrowing her eyes. "Well, let's see how funny you think that is when I've given you eight with the cane, shall we?"

  There was genuine malice in Prudence's voice, but Rachel could see by Emily's expression that this was a part of their game that she loved.

  "Yes, Miss, sorry Miss," she mumbled.

  "Oh, you will be, Stokes, you will be - very sorry indeed. I can assure you of that." Prudence took the cane from her lover. Holding it by its crooked handle in her right hand, she ran her left palm along its length until she was holding both ends. Then, still holding Emily's gaze with her own steely, narrowed eyes, she slowly bent the cane until it formed an upside down U shape.

  "Sit down on the sofa, Stokes."

  Emily looked puzzled for a moment, then sat down slowly with a whispered, "Oh no."

  "Present yourself."

  Rachel was wondering what was going on. Susan stared in puzzlement too.

  With a sigh, Emily obeyed, lying back, lifting her legs and grasping the back of her knees so that her feet were uppermost and her bottom was presented upside down to her punisher.

  The caning
that followed was measured yet merciless. Stroke upon stroke fell upon the most sensitive, lower part of Emily's buttocks, each stripe leaping out red within moments of the rod's slashing slice. Emily yelped and groaned and squealed and rocked, gripping her legs for all she was worth, her fingers splaying out, digging into her calves in the worst moments of intense pain.

  Rachel was spellbound, and quite forgot what lay in store for her. The way each tramline emerged out of the initial streak of crimson outrage on Emily's flesh, and the manner of Emily's cries, which had as much of ecstasy in them as protest, made Rachel weak at the knees - and moist not far above.

  When the eighth, and hardest, stroke had left its cruel mark, and Emily had stopped rolling from side to side in confused, delighted agony, Prudence replaced the cane on the sideboard and turned to her hosts.

  "May I suggest we break for tea before we proceed to the finale?" she asked with a disarming smile.

  Susan, who had been holding Rachel tightly by the arm, as glued to the preceding scene as her lover, just stared at Prudence for a moment nonplussed, before remembering herself.

  "Of course, Pru, I'll put the kettle on."

  As Susan went off to the kitchen, Rachel looked at Prudence with a mixture of fear and defiance. Prudence gave her a wink, and put an arm around her shoulder. "Trust me," she whispered. There was relief in Rachel's sigh.

  Emily had retrieved her clothes and dressed, and came now to hug Prudence; the three of them leaned in together.

  "Thank you," murmured Emily, nestling her head against Prudence's shoulder.

  "My brave girl," said Prudence. "And my about-to-be-brave one."

  "Oh God!" said Rachel, with a shiver.

  "Poor Rachel," said Emily, kindly. "Doesn't trouble just follow her around!"

  "And doesn't she just love it!" added Prudence. "Do you remember that time I caught you eavesdropping at Verily's study door? Susan was being caned, and you were standing there as still as a statue, listening greedily."

  "Yes," said Rachel, "and she gave me four real stingers with a hairbrush."

  "I know," replied Prudence. "I waited outside to see what would happen. Your yelps were quite charming, my dear!"

  "Oooh! You hypocritical old..."

  Susan appeared with the tea, and the four friends gathered round the table, further reminiscences joining them in laughter and wonder at their former selves.

  Eventually, of course, it came time for the biggest loser of the evening to receive her due, and here, dear reader, I must hurry forward with my narrative: the 5,000 word mark approaches, and I must not detain you too long.

  Rachel's twenty-four, it was decided, was to be divided into parts, just as Emily's sixteen had been. The die decided upon the slipper, the cane and the tawse, though they agreed to reverse the order of the last two in the interests of a more enticing denouement (not to mention Rachel's pain threshold).

  The slipper she took with equanimity, and Prudence's earlier plea for trust was proved justified when she wielded the tawse, too, with a restraint that allowed Rachel to savour each thwack and absorb its sting with dignity.

  When it came time for the cane, Prudence arranged Rachel - rather appropriately they all felt - over the card table itself, with her hands gripping the far edge, just as the brave young woman had found herself positioned so many times over Miss Markham's leather-topped desk back in those halcyon days at Cropton Hall. And the fact that Rachel was wearing her old uniform completed the fantasy to perfection for her. Looking round, as Prudence flexed the cane and made a practice swish, Rachel said simply,

  "No mercy now."

  Prudence nodded; Susan hid her face in Emily's shoulder.

  Despite Rachel's request, Prudence was not quite as vicious as she had been with Emily, though she tested Rachel's endurance very close to its limit, taking her time and leaving the younger woman sorely and magnificently striped by the end. Susan clung to Emily throughout, wincing as each full-blooded stroke swept down to paint another fierce line of crimson pain across her lover's already reddened buttocks. Rachel's legs flailed and kicked, her hair flew wild and her knuckles grew white with the strain of holding on. She grunted and gasped, then yelped and screeched, finally screaming her agony to the ceiling with cathartic abandon - all, of course, to Prudence's delight.

  When the caning was done, Rachel left her knickers where they lay on the floor, dried her eyes, and approached her punisher. "Thank you, Prudence," she croaked, as they hugged.

  "Thank you," said Prudence, her fingers gently combing and tidying Rachel's brown mane.

  Emily and Susan joined them, and for a minute or more the four of them stood close, communing in silent friendship.

  Eventually, Prudence stepped back.

  "So ... who's for another game?"

  Next Summer, Riyadh?

  "Here we are, 23A and B," said Rachel. "Do you want the window?"

  "Mm," Susan reflected. "Which one's softer?"

  Rachel gave her a look and eased herself, wincing, into the window seat. Susan contemplated 23B for a moment before leaning forward and whispering,

  "You know what? I think I'll stand."

  "Stand? All the way to London? Don't be stupid!"

  Muttering "Yeah, I guess you're right," Susan lowered her backside gingerly onto the seat. Noticing an elderly couple watching, she turned towards the window to hide her pained expression as her buttocks came into contact with the blue BOAC seat material.

  "How long's this flight?" whispered Susan.

  "The same as it was coming, dunce!" responded Rachel impatiently. "Five hours to Nairobi, then eight to London."

  Susan groaned. This had got to be the worst summer holiday she'd ever had, worse even than the one when she'd stayed at Rachel's when they were 16 and Rachel's mother had caught them drinking. She'd been fetched back the next day by her Dad and given the belting of a lifetime - six from each side lying flat on her bed, pillows under her hips, with his razor strop. Mind you, they'd had a good time before that, as they had on this holiday, until...

  ---oOo---

  South Africa had been Rachel's idea. The perfect summer holiday, she'd said. Durban - sandy beaches on the Indian Ocean, blue skies every day, friendly people, adventure. It was 1962, and like most middle-class English girls privately educated into unquestioning belief in the glories of Empire, Rachel and Susan knew little of apartheid or the iniquitous racist policies of the Nationalist government. They just wanted a holiday somewhere far away with exotic food, smells, people, sights.

  And exotic they got, if not quite in a category anticipated.

  They'd been at school together as teenagers and, now twenty-four, shared a flat in London. They were lovers, a fact they felt obliged to keep hidden from all but very close friends who were either lesbians themselves or simply intelligent.

  They also enjoyed the ‘English vice’, having had plenty of involuntary practice at their boarding school, where a strictly regulated diet of corporal punishment had served to restrain the inmates' appetite for rebellion, or even individuality. Rachel had confessed to Susan her enjoyment of being beaten, or at least the after-effects, that same summer night her mother had caught them drinking and, quite uncharacteristically, thrashed Rachel with a switch. She'd shown Susan the marks. That's when Susan had confessed her own lustful feelings, and they'd had their first kiss. Susan wasn't as keen on having her bottom assaulted, but she'd come to share some of her friend's lust for the sensual aftermath, and it had more often been she who'd suggested the escapades at school that had ended in intimate contemplation of the green leather surface of the Headmistress' desk and a very sore, striped bottom.

  Durban was pleasant but quiet. They spent their days sight-seeing, evenings looking for fun, mostly in vain. But then, with two days left, they met Simon selling incense sticks on the promenade. He was scruffy-looking but had an open smile and mind. They chatted and went for a drink - he was keen to hear about London, ‘the capital of cool’ to him. And when he t
old them about the party they were excited: fancy-dress, on the beach north-east of town, bring a bottle ... adventure! And on their last night!

  What Simon didn't mention was that the beach was municipal property, the party an illegal trespass at that hour and that he and his friends had been under surveillance for some time for suspected drug use and, worse, "freternising with blecks". To be fair, they hadn't known about the police part.

  And they went to such lengths to dress up! In a musty theatrical costumiers they'd found the perfect outfit to deflect unwanted male attention yet announce their origins: black pinstripe suit, bowler and brolly with white shirt and (unidentified) old school tie. Back in their hotel room they got a bit flushed buttoning up the snugly-fitting trousers; something about the vertical stripes ... Rachel bent over, stuck out her shapely arse and asked,

  "Who am I?" with a coquettish smile.

  "I don't know. Who are you?" said Susan, at the mirror, applying charcoal for stubble to her cheeks and chin.

  "A naughty Etonian!"

  "You wish! Here, come and get stubbled up."

  And the party itself had been great! Booze, friendly people dressed weirdly sharing jokes round a blazing fire, driftwood logs for seats. Their own outfits worked well: one guy, assuming Rachel a man, asked if she fancied the girl in the fishnet stockings.

  "Mm. You bet!" she said. Susan didn't comment.

  They were offered ‘dagga’ cigarettes by bizarrely-attired characters, one of them a judge! They guessed the pungent smoke had something to do with the infectious hilarity pervading the scene, but neither of them smoked. They were happy sipping white wine, strolling the circle round the fire, conversing occasionally with a pirate or a fairy or a Roman. Then Susan would ask, in her plummiest voice,

  "Shall we circulate, old bean?"

  "Yes, we should circulate, shouldn't we, my dear chap?" The incongruity of it was fun.

  At one point they ambled down the beach, admiring the starry sky, the rollers breaking on the shore. If only they'd stayed there.