This is the second part of a two part story, part one is here.
* * 4 * *
Jenny and I are alone again, and my head is spinning at what I’ve
just seen. Her method of discipline was so utterly simple, so
restrained, yet devastatingly effective. Jenny never once raised her
voice, never needing to drag, bully or coerce. The girl simply
recognised the obviousness of her teacher’s authority and obeyed. I find
that astonishing – and absurdly arousing. My panties are sodden,
absolutely wet through. It feels like I’ve accidentally had a little
I have no doubt that Stephanie will not be involved in any further
scuffles, but mentally replaying what I’ve just seen I think I’m
beginning to understand what this whole episode was really about.
The real crime was not the scuffle, but the girl’s infatuation with
her teacher. There was something about how the girl left the room,
doe-eyed, hanging on Jenny’s every word, that makes me think her silly
unrequited desire for her chemistry teacher is now going to be replaced
by something more tangible – and possibly also much more manageable: a
submissiveness to the Headmistress’s will. I have no doubt Jenny is an
expert in channelling the passions of teenage girls. After all, the exam
scores this school achieves are quite exceptional.
But how funny to witness someone doing Ups and Downs again. It used
to be my very favourite way to play. All those times growing up when I’d
slide the latch to lock my bedroom door, and put on the special dress I
liked to play in, the one with the safety pin that lived permanently on
the back hem. I’d use it to pin up the back of my dress, enjoying how
the cool draught tickled goosebumps into my thighs.
Then I’d begin to pull my panties down.
So… so… slowly…
When you’re young and naive you can’t wait to tear open your
presents, to rip the paper asunder with your little grabby hands and get
at what’s inside. But as one gets older, and becomes more aware of
life’s vicissitudes, you learn to savour the great experiences, to
prolong the moment. I discovered an even greater joy lay in
anticipation, learning to delay my gratification for an even greater
That’s how I played, waiting with my hands on head, reliving the
naughty games I used to play with Jenny and my friends, enjoying the
sensation of cool air wafting between my legs.
Panties up, a short wait, then panties down again.
I started keeping the wooden ruler I used for my maths homeworks
beside me, so I could give myself a whack on my bum before every Up and
Down – just like our juvenile game demanded. It wasn’t long before my
bum was stinging, and I loved being able to admire myself in my
full-length bedroom mirror, watching my bum turning deliciously pink one
spank at a time.
Up… Down… Up… Down…
On every Up I tugged my panties a little bit higher, feeling them
slip just a little bit further into my puffy lips. This made my Downs a
delicious release as my panties slipped out from within my slit, my
stickiness becoming ever more noticeable, the caress of cool air over my
moist places ever more exciting.
I often gave myself 50 Ups and Downs before I allowed myself to touch myself.
100 if i’d been very naughty. My bum would be bright pink by the end.
Sometimes I could make myself come just through doing my Ups and Downs.
My record was 148.
And then, something happened.
I began to get impatient, I stopped dressing up and my slow Up and
Down ritual, it was no longer quick enough to indulge my urgent need for
pleasure. Now when I locked the door I’d head straight for my bed,
fiddling and rubbing inside my panties before I desperately tugged them
down and impaled myself greedily on my fingers instead.
Perhaps with the loss of my own self-discipline, I lost the moral
authority to enforce discipline on others. I began to whack bottoms like
I masturbated, quickly, loudly, and with no subtlety, hoping to achieve
an instant resolution, only later to realise an ultimately unsatisfying
Perhaps I’d been too quick to please the men in my life, who regarded
my expensively acquired lingerie as nothing more than overpriced
wrapping paper, something to be urgently torn away to reveal the
precious trinkets beneath. How did I let myself become a Christmas
present for little boys?
How foolish of me to forget, that the life’s sweetest delights come to those who wait.
Jenny finishes scribbling into the ledger on her desk and breaks the silence.
“So Clara. Now you know what a spanked bottom means at Wengrave Hall.”
“Goodness me…” I say weakly.
I’m slumped back on the sofa, my arms hanging heavily by my sides. I
dare not rest my hands on my lap, I’m using all my willpower to resist
the urge to rub.
“We both know a spanking is worthless unless it changes the course of
the recipient’s behaviour. And I’ve found my current approach produces
the best results by far.”
“I was most surprised to see the girl undress” I comment.
“I’ve found the girls are much more candid when they’re completely
naked. It’s much harder to lie with no mask to hide behind. Undressing
right at the start emphasises that what’s coming next is inevitable,
that there’s nothing left to negotiate.”
I nod in agreement, undressing did seem to rapidly assure Stephanie’s compliance.
“The first job of a disciplinarian is to get the one being
disciplined into the right mental state: a submissive one, so she’s
respectful and appreciative of your authority. An apology is worthless
unless the penitent really means it.”
It was difficult to disagree with that, certainly the girl seemed to
utter more thank you’s over the course of her spanking than ows and
“You may have noticed Stephanie was bare? It’s part of an informal
social contract, I tell all girls under my care to keep themselves
smooth, so they each have a daily intimate reminder to be on their best
behaviour. After all, they never know when they might be standing naked
in front of me.”
“Do you ever use the cane or those other implements?”, I ask, pointing to the racks of rods in the glass cabinet behind me.
“Goodness no!” scoffs Jenny.
“Oh – they’re relics from a bygone era. Museum pieces! Decorations!
Just there for show. They’re probably all brittle with age by now, I bet
they’d snap if I used them! I’ve always preferred to use my hand
anyway. The most effective spanking is the one that leaves the longest
impression, and I’m not talking about welts on the bottom, but imprints
in the mind.”
“Is that why the girl was indulged with such pleasure at the end?” I inquire.
“You must know, discipline is about obedience, not bruises and
scourging. Our role is delivering care, not retribution. That girl had
suffered her punishment, the shame of exposing herself and the pain of
having her bottom smacked. And she had endured it in good grace. There’s
nothing to be gained by sending her away sulking with a sore bottom,
that will only foster resentment.”
Jenny looked at me knowingly, no doubt alluding to the resentful
stomping from the conservatory she witnessed when I last punished Xiu.
The blush on my cheeks betrayed me, I knew what she’d said was true.
“By giving her a happy ending I demonstrate who is in charge, and
that despite all her transgressions, the girl is still loved. No doubt
you noticed how she came promising to be a good girl?”
That was undeniable, I can’t remember hearing a more earnestly given promise.
“Are all visitors to your lap so deserving?” I enquire.
“Not all. If I’m particularly displeased about the circumstances that
have brought a girl to my door I will induce her climax by pushing my
finger deep into her bottom.”
I feel a reciprocal ache between my legs, I squirm as subtly as I can manage.
“Girls who continue to disappoint me will lose their finishing
privileges, I’ll make them sit in silence on their sore bottoms
afterwards and write an essay, so they can put into words why they’re
continuing to misbehave, and disappointing me so much.”
“And the note?” I wonder.
“I encourage each girl I spank to write a thank you note before they
go to bed, when the sting in their cheeks has faded, and they’ve had
time to reflect on what they did wrong, and resolved to behave better.”
“Here, let me show you…” Jenny proposes, inviting me to approach
the desk and look at the large leather-bound book in which she’d been
“This is the Punishment Book, where I record every spanking I administer.”
I can see the entry Jenny has just added, the black ink from her
fountain pen still glistening on the page. There’s Stephanie’s name,
today’s date, and a brief description of the circumstances that brought
her to the headmistress’s lap. And the resolution: 10 minutes Ups &
Downs, spanked naked for 8 minutes. It ends with a five word summary of
proceedings: Good Girl. Strong vaginal orgasm.
“And then I keep all the notes the girls write here, in a separate file…”
My friend opens a drawer at the side of her desk, and brings out a
lever arch file. I take it when offered and return to my seat to browse
What I notice right away is how different each page is, these are not
bureaucratic punishment forms, but every variety of paper imaginable.
Some have used lined A4 pages, no doubt taken from the same pads they
use to write notes in class. Others have taken the inside pages from
jotters, twin puncture marks in the middle where the staples used to be.
Others have chosen proper writing paper, some sheets are thick and
crisp, others textured like linen, some have cutesy little
illustrations, the kind the girls probably once used to write thank you
notes when they were much younger. I wonder if what I’m reading is the
first thank you its author had written for a long, long time.
I stop at a few at random and begin to read. They all seem to start
with a “Dear Miss, …”, before a heartfelt apology segues into an
effusive thank you.
Clearly their discipline has quite an impact, in several cases, the
writer has attempted to explain the background to their poor behaviour.
Some readily admit to just being poorly organised, missing assignments
because of a busy social life. More heartrending are those who confess
to problems at home, or issues with insecurity and self-confidence that
led to them showing off to their peers, in the desperate hope of fitting
They end as they began, in contrition, each desperately sorry for
disappointing their headmistress. The language used throughout is
informal, chummy, almost affectionate, and by the end I can feel the
sorrow in their hearts. Most sign their name with love, some even
“They…” I struggle for the word I want to use, before realising the answer is obvious.
“… they… love… you.”
I feel my eyes mist as I say it.
“Discipline is love” Jenny observes.
It wasn’t a flippant remark, and now in retrospect I understand
exactly what she meant. Yet it made me think of what I’d just witnessed,
the ramifications of one schoolgirl’s crush; there was one more
question I had to ask.
“But don’t you ever have problems with girls deliberately getting into trouble to get your attention?”
Jenny gives me a wry smile, and gazes silently into the space in the middle of the room.
Clara’s question was insightful.
Yes, some girls can’t wait to visit me. Which presents something of a
dilemma. Standards must be maintained, I can’t be seen to turn a blind
eye to rule-breaking, and I certainly won’t tolerate any of my girls
performing anywhere underneath their best. Yet some girls do develop
such a craving for my hand that they deliberately get themselves into
Consequently, if I ever think a girl’s misbehaviour was actually
motivated by a desire to dance across my knee, I would offer her a deal:
be a model student during the coming month and at the end of it, she
would earn a trip across my lap.
As it happened, one such girl visited my office yesterday as part of
our special agreement. Bethany is an exceptional pupil, clever, diligent
and ambitious, she’d just received an offer to enter medical school.
But at the beginning of the year I’d been puzzled by her
uncharacteristically childish behaviour, and it was clear I would need
to intervene to preserve her academic prospects. So I had invited her to
my office, and we began a candid discussion of the real reasons behind
her failing performance, whilst she stood naked in front of me with her
panties around her ankles, of course.
The real reason, it transpired, was Bethany had become fascinated
with spankings. Several of her friends had gone across my knee, and
their accounts had been fuelling her own nocturnal fantasies. Like any
conscientious scientist, Bethany had started experimenting with her own
bedroom slipper, trying to replicate the sensations her friends had
described. She had discovered how much she’d enjoyed her re-enacting her
friends’ experiences, the escalating eroticism of pulling her panties
up and down, ritual of bending over, and the unexpected pleasure that
accompanied each stinging smack to her bottom.
Eventually her curiosity overwhelmed her, and she had decided to try
to earn a visit to see me. She had started handing in her homeworks
late, and made sure she would be overheard using profane and unladylike
language whenever I passed her group of friends in the school corridors.
It wasn’t long before I felt I had to intervene. So I had summoned her
to my study, where she obediently pulled down her panties, and
eventually, bared her soul.
Yesterday I’d been sitting at my desk, responding to email while I
awaited her latest visit. There were a couple of quick raps on my study
Bethany entered nervously at my invitation, her shoulders slumped
forward and her hands clasped in front of her waist. Even though she was
here voluntarily, she adopted the classic naughty girl posture. I’d
seen it countless times before.
To lighten the atmosphere and put her at ease we indulged in a bit of
smalltalk, until I felt it was appropriate to begin the business at
“So Bethany, have you earnt the right to stand naked in front of me this month?”
“Yes Miss!” she announced proudly, “I achieved A+ in both of my recent biology and chemistry assignments!”
I knew this already, of course, I keep a close eye on the performance
of all my girls, regardless of whether they’re due across my knee. But
there’s no harm letting them glory in their achievements.
“You are such a clever girl!”
My praise was sincerely meant, from what I’d read from her tutors,
she’d been performing genuinely excellent work. I could see her
struggling to suppress a smile of pride.
“Then you may undress for me.”
I noticed her shimmy in a little excited jig at my instruction. She
undressed quickly and enthusiastically. Slow stripteases can be very
tantalising of course, but I find it even more erotic to see someone
urgently tear off their clothes because they just can’t wait to be naked
in front of me.
Moments later, Bethany was standing with her hands on her head,
wearing only her underwear, her chest heaving from the exertion of
undressing so rapidly, obediently waiting my next instruction.
“Now pull down your panties like a good girl.”
In contrast to the frantic pace of her undressing, she performed my
command very slowly indeed, taking what seemed like an age to peel down
her underwear, revealing her immaculately smooth mound and the fleshy
pink contours of her vulva. Being hairless means a much more pleasant
experience when a girl inevitably grinds herself along my thigh; for
both of us.
As her panties reached mid-thigh I could see a sanitary pad in her
gusset. But it wasn’t because it was her monthly time, we always
schedule our appointments to avoid that. Rather, many girls find the
prospect of an after-school visit with me very exciting, but rather than
spend the school day squirming in wet panties, some elect wear to pads
to absorb the physical manifestations of their excitement.
“Is that the only pad you’ve worn today?” I enquired when she had finished lowering her underwear.
“No Miss. I changed it at lunchtime.”
“Give it to me, please.”
She reached down to the floor and pulled the pad from the material of
her panties with a faint tearing noise, before hobbling towards my
desk, her underwear taut like manacles between her ankles. She placed
the pad in my outstretched palm then shuffled backwards to her original
The pad was sticky on both sides, from its adhesive on the bottom,
and several hours of its wearer’s excitement on the top. I brought it
slowly up to my face, scrutinising the glistening tidemarks and
dried-out creamy splots. I raised it to my nostrils, looking deep into
the girl’s eyes as I inhaled the musky scent of her arousal deep into my
lungs. She smelt of girly perfume and zesty sweat, of damp earth after a
summer storm, of honeysuckle flowers and musty old books. She smelt of
that indescribable spirit we desire the most.
As I inhaled her very essence, I watched my student look back at me
with lust burning in her eyes. I’m sure at that moment had her hands not
been pinioned on her head, she would have plunged them into the wet
puffy crevice between her legs. The relief she gained when I signalled
she could pull up her panties came as little consolation.
I placed her pad on my desk delicately, I would come back and enjoy that later.
“Now Bethany, I want you to promise me you’ll never waste my time with anything less than your very best.”
“Of course, Miss.”
She spoke with a degree of earnestness that suggested the very idea
of failing to excel was quite ridiculous. I nodded, and gestured that
she could pull her panties down again.
“Are you doing your Up and Downs every night?”
“Yes Miss. I do them after I finish my homework.”
A wave of my hand, and she slowly pulled her panties up.
“And how often do you masturbate?”
“Every night before falling asleep Miss.”
“And how do you like to do it?”
“My hand just starts wandering, Miss, I stroke myself all over, until eventually I stray into my pyjama bottoms…”
At my signal, she pulls her panties down again.
“… then I rub up and down my lips until they get puffy and wet. I
usually pull my bottoms off then, so I don’t make a mess inside them.”
My position as headmistress has given me an enviable expertise on the masturbatory habits of teenage girls.
The clitoris tends to be first pleasure spot to be discovered, so
rubbing tends to be popular with the younger girls, typically as they
lie on their backs with a finger or two between their legs or face down
with a palm under their crotch. Pillows feature regularly too,
especially amongst those keen to recreate the experience of going over
my knee, a couple placed between the thighs so they can grind
rhythmically with their bare bottoms in the air. I’ve found those who
play when they’re alone in the house often like to recreate their
spankings, tapping and smacking their own bottoms with a slipper, ruler
As they get older, fingers start to explore deeper inside, with the
more adventurous daring to probe their tightest hole. Once bank cards
and the confidence to shop online are acquired, dildos and vibrators
start to appear. By sixth form, the erotic knowledge of some of my
students is extraordinary, I’ve found some can even teach me a thing or
Some might think my enquiries intrusive, but I consider it vital to
know the sexual health of every girl in my care. If a girl is not
masturbating, I believe it is important to know why. Lingering notions
of shame or dirtiness need to be challenged at an early age. I’ve seen
the damage done by unreleased sexual frustration, how it can drive girls
into the arms of unworthy and boorish men. The prudish might try to
deny it, but we all have a sexual side. I consider it far better that
each girl leaves my care with healthy understanding of her own
sexuality, believing it is a gift to be treasured, not a dirty secret to
“And what do you think of when you play?” I asked.
“Sometimes being spanked by you Miss, and…”
She hesitated, unsure whether to continue talking so frankly. I
encouraged her on with a friendly smile and gestured that she could
expose herself. Being naked before me always seems to loosen tongues.
She slipped her panties down to her ankles again.
“Sometimes I imagine doing naughty things to you Miss.”
“Oh really? What kind of naughty things?” I asked curiously.
“I imagine kneeling in front of you, Miss. I’m watching you slowly pulling your panties down, then up, then down again… and…”
She hesitates, uncertain if she’s said far too much. I smile sympathetically and wave her on.
” … and every time you pull your panties down, I kiss you between your legs.”
I had to fight to keep my composure. What I like best about Up and
Downs is how the candidness of answers increases every time the panties
are lowered, as if the voluntary lowering of panties is an unmasking,
shedding layers until the subject is fully exposed, naked in body and
“Then I slide a finger inside you Miss. I hope you don’t mind…” she added hurriedly.
“Not at all” I said as casually as I could manage.
At that point I waved her panties upwards, buying a minute’s grace to compose myself.
“I keep sliding my finger in and out until you finish, Miss.”
“Until I climax?”
“Yes Miss. I hope that’s not too presumptuous, Miss.”
“Oh, heavens no! That’s very considerate. You are a sweetheart!”
I rewarded her revelation by allowing her to pull her panties down again.
I can still remember the longing ache I felt in my own crotch as my
eyes first wandered across my prodigy’s naked body. She was sexually
precocious, though perhaps still slightly too young to allow her to act
out all her fantasies right now. But I believe it’s important to keep my
star students striving, with appropriate incentives to improve
“And then you put me over your knee Miss, and spank me hard until I finish too.”
I smiled warmly.
“Well now! I know a delightful young lady who’s earned a good hard spanking on her pretty little bottom!”
I could see Bethany beaming with glee, her eyes sparkling.
At that point I rose from behind my desk and strode over to the
spanking stool. Once I’d sat down I hitched up the hem of my skirt,
exposing the tops of my thighs. All it takes is a knowing look down at
my knee, my best students don’t need a verbal invitation, she
immediately stepped out of her sticky panties, leaving them lying on the
She was familiar with my disciplinary ritual by now, for her ultimate
act of exposure. She knelt in front of me with her legs apart, reaching
down to spread her labia apart with her fingertips, revealing her
little glistening pearl and her slick pink crevice.
“I’ve been a very good girl for you, Miss. Please may I have a long hard spanking on my bare bottom?”
And she had indeed been a very good girl, so a good hard spanking was the very least she deserved. All I needed do was nod.
At my signal, Bethany stood, taking a step forward before lunging
enthusiastically across my lap, her outstretched hands reaching for the
floor, her legs on either side of my left knee. I could feel the heat of
her bare mound on my thigh, then a sudden hot wetness, like the top of
my leg had just received a particularly sloppy kiss. The hot wet mark
slid up my thigh as she bent further and further forward, moaning
contentedly until the palms of her hands were on the floor and her feet
had lifted off the ground.
“Such a good little girl” I told her, as I massaged and stroked her bottom cheeks.
And then I started spanking, slowly, deliberately and hard. I spanked
her just as hard as I would punish any naughty girl, she’d have felt
cheated if it was any other way. The only difference is that where I
would usually scold the girl on my lap for her delinquency, now I
punctuated my spanks with praise.
With every smack, I could feel her smooth mound grind against my
thigh, and she moaned or thanked me after every stroke. Two round pink
patches soon appeared on her bottom, and in-between I could see her
vagina begin to gape.
“You are such a clever girl, Bethany. All your teachers think very highly of you.”
I married my praise with a flurry of spanks, causing my student to
mew wordlessly in appreciation. Sincere flattery, the ultimate feel-good
accolade; because how many of us really know how much others appreciate
“All your hard work will be so well rewarded, Bethany. You can be anything you want to be. The whole world’s at your feet.”
What a thrill it was to deliver a spanking with such positivity. I
looked down at the beautiful young woman perched naked on my lap, and
felt my bosom swell with pride. I had known her for seven years, ever
since she was a little girl. I remember her entrance interview,
trembling nervously, the painfully reticent girl who, when finally
coaxed from her shell, burst with extraordinary ideas. I never thought
I’d need to spank her bottom, not for bad behaviour anyway.
When I could sense she was getting close, I began to run my fingers
through her hair. I grabbed a bunch of her soft black curls, tugging
firmly to win back her attention, before treating her to another series
of hard stinging spanks. In response, she squirmed delightfully on my
“Miss, please!” she gasped, “I’m so close!”
I spanked her hard for her temerity, reminding her I decided when
those underneath my palm were granted release. Gasps and moans peppered
her apologises. I continued spanking until I was sure her rosy cheeks
would still be stinging by the time she masturbated in bed tonight.
Pain and pleasure made Bethany grind herself deliriously on my lap.
It was only then that I placed my fingertip at the entrance to her
vagina, as if I was shushing the lips of a noisy child.
“Oh please Miss!” my pupil pleaded.
Two of my fingers slid into her effortlessly, then curled downwards,
gripping her tight. I always relieve the good girls this way; most of my
girls tend to play by rubbing their clits, so my method feels exotic,
like a special treat. But such pleasure must be earned, if I believe a
girl performs her Ups and Downs poorly, or I feel her apologies are
insincere, or I believe she hasn’t learnt her lesson yet, I shall push
my index finger into her bottom, and masturbate her anally instead.
I could feel Bethany’s vagina begin to quiver around my fingers. Any
moment now. I lowered my lips to her closest ear and whispered:
“I’m so proud of you, Bethany.”
My star pupil came exuberantly moments later, bucking vigorously on
my thigh, her hands supporting herself on the floor, her bare feet
kicking wildly in the air.
I kept my fingers inside her as she lay sprawled on my lap, feeling
the aftershocks of her climax quivering against my fingers. With my
other hand I stroked her hair during several minutes of intimate
And then afterwards, when strength had returned to her wobbly legs,
because she’d been such a good girl, I allowed her a single kiss.
But I tell Clara none of this.
Clara must have noticed my vacant stare, her voice interrupts my reminiscence.
“Yes…?” she prompts.
“Yes” I admitted, “Some girls do develop a bit of a crush on me. But
that’s why I question each girl so intimately, to discover the real
reason she’s here. Often it’s just that basic human need, to feel
someone cares about you.”
Clara nods in understanding.
“If a girl isn’t misbehaving, I always offer her a deal: if she
excels in her schoolwork, she can visit me every month. What happens
will be exactly the same, she’ll undress to her panties, then pull them
up and down at my command until she’s soaking wet. Then I’ll put her
over my knee and spank her hard until she comes. And if she wants to
come back next month, the only requirement is she performs even better.”
I shuffle through the pages of my desk diary.
“I have appointments with two such prodigies tomorrow, Melissa is
currently excelling in Maths, and Rei is producing some remarkable
written English, it seems her poetry is attracting quite a following
“To be honest, Clara, I spank many more good girls than bad girls these days.”
At this, I see my friend’s eyebrows rise in surprise, so I continue to explain.
“I’ve always thought the defining characteristic of a good
headmistress is the ability to convert naughty girls into good girls,
and keep them that way. One that spends her time punishing with no
discernable improvement in behaviour is a poor disciplinarian indeed.”
Clara’s wide-eyed expression now resembles one of incredulity. Is she
really that surprised that I use spankings more as a means of
encouragement than as a means of punishment? From what I witnessed last
week, I was inclined to think her approach to increasing disobedience is
simply to spank harder. Yet, there is another way. A better way.
I believe I have one more lesson to teach.
* * 5 * *
Jenny’s last comment had left me dumbstruck. That some of her girls,
her best performing girls, wanted to go over her knee so badly they made
appointments. I can see her looking at me intently, like she was an
owl, and I was a mouse.
“Now, that just leaves one more naughty girl to punish” Jenny observes.
Instinctively, I look back at the door, waiting for another knock,
but nothing breaks the awkward silence. I look back at Jenny, who is
still looking directly at me. And then, suddenly, I understand.
“Get undressed, Clara” the headmistress orders.
The bluntness of her command leaves me reeling.
“What?! No!” I reply instinctively.
My objection prompts Jenny to jump to her feet, stepping around her
considerable desk until all of a sudden she’s looming above me.
“Do you need me to undress you, young lady?” she asks sternly.
She reaches down to grasp my wrist, and pulls me to my feet. I want
to protest, but I just feel like a little girl again. My big girl voice
seems to have deserted me. Somehow my fingers have risen to my own
throat, and I find myself beginning to unbutton my blouse. Jenny helps
it off my shoulders, then reaches around me and unhooks my bra. My
nipples, still hard from watching Stephanie’s spanking, send a tingle
across my body when finally exposed.
Visibly pleased by my acquiescence, Jenny turns and sits down on the
spanking stool, and watches as I slip off my shoes and unfasten my
skirt, letting it drop unceremoniously to my feet. I roll down my nude
tights to reveal my last remaining garment: my skimpy ivory-coloured
satin briefs, which reveal my hips and barely cover my mound, I might as
well be wearing a thong.
Some distantly remembered muscle memory makes me put my hands on my
head, and I stand in front of Jenny again, awaiting her scrutiny.
“It seems someone found watching a schoolgirl getting her bare bum spanked rather exciting…” she observes.
The evidence of my disgrace is plain to see, the front of my briefs are soaked through, as if I’d wet myself.
“Pull down your panties, Clara.”
A shiver runs the length of my body. Jenny has no idea how long I’ve
waited to hear those words again. This all feels so unreal, slightly
fuzzy around the edges, like some vivid dream or hallucination. But I do
as she instructs, my fingertips reaching under the elasticated ribbon
at my waist, slowly tugging my remaining modesty down my hips. I feel so
naughty when the damp fabric of my briefs clings momentarily to my
This time there’s no one behind me to stare between my bottom cheeks
as I bend at my knees, but I find the motion just as exciting as I
remember. Once my underwear is at my ankles I stand upright again for
“I expect my students to keep themselves bare,” she observes, “that will have to go.”
I look down at the little bush on my mound, and nod agreeably whilst I
process what she’s just said, how she’d placed her emphasis on ‘my
students’. It echoes around my head as I search for nuances and hidden
meaning, wondering if meant she considers me one of her own pupils now.
Jenny flutters her finger, and I obediently pull my panties up again.
Part of me wants to speak up, to refuse to continue with this silly
ritual. I’m too proud to admit I deserve the same treatment as her
naughty schoolgirls. I’m Clara Tayborn! I tell myself. Professional
governess. Much too important to be subjected to an indignity like this.
But then Jenny’s finger instructs me to tug my panties down again. And
as I do so, I feel my resistance weaken further.
“Why do you spank your girls?” Jenny asks.
“Because they’ve been naughty” I reply, trying not to sound flippant, I thought that much was obvious.
“No. No. No! That’s not WHY you should be spanking them.” corrected
Jenny, scolding my ignorance like I was a silly child. I’m directed to
pull my panties down as penitence.
“You should only spank because you care.”
I nod my understanding bashfully.
“Why do you shout at your girls?” Jenny asks.
“Because they don’t listen!” I answer, rather tetchily.
“I’d say it’s more that they don’t hear anything worth listening to” she observes.
“But… I need to preserve my authority somehow…” I whine.
As I tug up my panties, I can feel the ache caused by her criticism throbbing in my tummy.
“The strictest words are softly spoken” Jenny says quietly, as if to emphasise her point.
At her direction, I begin to expose myself again. In that long
awkward silence I begin to admit my failings to myself. What I was
wielding wasn’t authority, not like the authority Jenny has. I begin to
recognise that the discipline I’d inflicted on my girls had been
completely counter-productive. My chastisements had been delivered in
anger, and had only served to foster more resentment. This horrid
realisation shocks me. All I can do is burble a meek apology.
“I’m so so sorry, Miss”
My voice doesn’t sound like a big girl’s any more. I realise I need
my friend’s approval, her acceptance, more than anything. I want her to
make things right. That’s when a sinking fear begins to swell inside me:
that she’ll stop right now, tell me I’ve learnt my lesson and instruct
me to get dressed, and then send me home without the punishment I know I
“I deserve a good spanking Miss!” I blurt out.
“I know” she says simply.
There is another long silence, I can feel her eyes roving across my
body, as if she’s peering under my skin, verifying my sincerity.
“Give me your panties, and kneel.” she says at last.
I step out of my embarrassingly sodden underwear and creep forward
humbly, like a wretched peasant approaching a regal throne, kneeling
before the Queen to present my shabby gift.
“Knees apart. Hold yourself open and show me your clit.”
I am under her spell now. I want to do anything she asks of me, no
matter how explicit or humiliating. I part my legs, reaching down to my
crotch with both hands, splaying my labia apart with the fingers of one
hand, and pulling the hood of my clit back with the other. I can feel my
pearl throbbing with every thumping heartbeat.
I look up into her eyes and find myself imploring her.
“Please spank me, Jen,” I’m begging now, “… spank me like a naughty girl … spank me hard on my bare bottom.”
A thrill shimmers through me as I see Jenny hitching the hem of her
skirt, revealing the beautifully smooth expanse of her thigh.
“Over my knee…” she says simply.
I stand as quickly as my trembling legs will allow, and straddle
Jenny’s leg just as her pupil had done, lunging past Jenny’s hip until
my palms are resting on the ground. I gasp as my weight leaves my feet
and my wet crotch slides along her thigh.
Jenny parts my bottom for a cursory inspection, and then begins
spanking me without saying another word. Each hard whack leaves a fiery
imprint on my cheeks. I’d forgotten how sore a proper spanking could be,
each smack a little ring of blazing pain that quickly becomes a
stinging ache, then another, and again until all the patches begin to
overlap, throbbing into a smarting medley of burning torment.
And yet I hear my own voice, asking – begging – to be disciplined harder.
I feel Jenny’s hand running through my hair, gathering a bunch and
tugging hard. I arch my back, presenting my bottom for her attention. I
am her puppet, completely under her control. I find myself thinking back
to that night I disciplined Xiu, how crude my whackings must have
seemed, how disappointed she must have been in me.
In between gasps I heard myself desperately apologising for my poor
stewardship of those in my care. I know I’ve failed them, and as my
bottom burns I beg my friend to teach me the art of loving discipline.
“I’d be delighted to teach you” says my oldest friend.
Once, when I was a girl, I broke a neighbour’s window with a ball.
Somehow I managed to run away and never admitted to it. A policeman even
visited our street, but I was so innocent back then; they blamed it on a
group of rowdy boys instead. I used to fantasise about the whacking I
would have received had I not run and been caught. How I’d be put over
my neighbour’s knee and have my bottom bared, and then be slippered like
I was the naughtiest girl in the entire world. I spent years wondering
how sore a spanking could really be. And now I know, at last the
spanking I’ve long-deserved.
I’m almost delirious now, only just aware of Jenny’s middle finger
hovering below my nose. I take it into my mouth, sucking it submissively
like a pacifier, something to soothe me as her strict palm repeatedly
stings my bottom.
Then her finger withdraws, I whine childishly. Moments later I feel a
damp fingertip circling my bottom hole. Now I remember what Jenny said,
that a finger in the bum is what naughty girls get. I feel a pang of
deep regret, that I’d been such a disappointment to my old friend, that I
don’t even deserve her fingers in my pussy.
She pulls my hair like reins, and I lift my stinging bottom
dutifully. My tight hole offers surprisingly little resistance to her
fingertip. By the time her first knuckle enters me, I knew my body had
surrendered to her.
“Make me better, Jen” I gasped.
A sense of tranquility washes over me, a sense of contentment, of
things making finally making sense. That what had been missing from my
disciplinings was not just authority, but love. I feel myself relaxing,
welcoming rather resisting Jenny’s probing finger.
Then a second digit begins to enter my bottom. It hurts – my whole
bum hurts – but Jenny tugs my hair and I push back compliantly, quickly
impaling myself. Now I can feel both her fingers deep within me, like
she’s somehow giving my insides a delightful tickle. Her tickling
becomes a pleasurable shiver, and I realise I’m about to pass the point
of no return.
I manage to gasp Jenny’s name just before every nerve in my body
seems to fire. Each patch of my skin seems to tremble, the burning pain
of my spanked bottom instantly numbed. I come squirming and kicking on
her lap, my back arched, grinding my soaking crotch against her thigh as
her fingers are squeezed tight by my quivering hole.
It is the most extraordinary orgasm of my life. An epiphany.
Although I remember virtually nothing of it, later Jenny told me I spent a couple of minutes dancing and moaning upon her lap.
When I eventually recover the strength to stand again, Jenny makes me
bend over the stool with my legs apart, and wipes me clean like a
naughty little girl. I had made quite a mess on her thigh too.
* * *
That night I stayed at Jenny’s residence. I found my old friend’s
company intoxicating, and we talked well into the early hours. My heart
leapt when we agreed to meet regularly in future, she as the judicious
teacher, me as her grateful student.
I had so wanted to repay the favour, to give her the pleasure that she had bestowed on me.
But she simply kissed me and told me that too was a privilege I’d have to earn.
My beautiful friend can be so cruel.
* * 6 * *
I sent the photo of the inscription I found inside Clara’s bench to a
polyglot friend. It is indeed written in Arabic script, but its words
are actually in Farsi, the ancient language of Persia. The text turns
out to be the opening lines of 13th century Sufi love poem by Rumi, an
eight-hundred year old voice that whispers like the desert sands:
“If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting will look,
lift your face
It is a secret message, one intended to be seen solely by the
individual bent over the bench, and then only when she tosses her head
as she comes.
How delightful. Could you ever imagine such an artefact, or indeed
such a beautifully erotic sentiment, originating from the pious darkness
of 13th century Europe? I wonder how Clara came by it. Some erotic
adventure in a sand-blown souk no doubt.
This new revelation makes me wonder if that beautiful piece of
furniture was initially created as a fucking bench rather than a
spanking bench. It’s become my new favourite fantasy – imagining myself
in the glorious walled city of old Baghdad, in one of the last glorious
summers of the Abbasid Caliphate, the fin de siècle before the
devastating Mongol storm.
Maybe the bench was a gift, a wedding present from the son of the
Caliph to his new bride. It excites me to think of her, raising her head
to read the secret inscription in the moonlight just before her
consciousness is swept away by an irresistible wave of ecstasy.
It thrills me to imagine all those who must have lain in the same
position over the ages. Restrained and surrendered, enjoying the kisses
of whips and their lovers’ lips. I picture each lucky captive being
teased, feeling the head of her lover’s stiff cock bobbing between her
legs whilst his nimble fingers massage her petals apart.
Once I dreamt of a camel train, trudging over golden dunes. Behind
them proud Baghdad, smouldering mournfully under a shroud of smoke, the
river Tigris running black with the ink of looted books. The camels
carry many priceless treasures, and on the back of one, I see the bench.
It is the beginning of an epic wandering journey; until seven hundred
years later, it finally encounters me.
I have already planned a new episode for her beautiful bench, one that I hope befits its glorious history.
The family is away this weekend, so we shall have the house to
ourselves. It will be a hot, sticky midsummer night, and I’ve already
told Clara that when I arrive tomorrow evening I expect to find her
wearing just her panties. It shall be the most she wears all weekend.
When the full moon has risen high in the night sky, I shall lead
Clara by the hand to the conservatory. I shall climb to the top of the
bench and sit astride it, like a Queen mounted on her royal steed, and
command her to begin her Ups and Downs. I shall look down on her with
regal authority as she repeatedly exposes herself, looking up to me with
wide obedient eyes.
When I am satisfied by her submissiveness I shall dismount, and
instruct her to bend over her own beautiful bench. Only when I have
fastened her by hand and foot, will I undress completely. This way Clara
will be unable to see behind her, I will be blur in the corner of her
eyes, an apparition, her very own angel of discipline.
I plan to chastise her with her own whip. I will spank her bottom
hard just like a naughty girl, but pausing from time to time to run the
stem of the crop between her needy lips. I shall use its round leather
tip to flog the tender regions between her open cheeks, and continue
until I’ve painted every part of her backside pink. I shall spank her
until I’ve quashed the resistance within her muscles, to the point when
her struggles cease, and she finally slumps over the bench subdued.
Then I will reach over and lower a blindfold over her eyes. Because I intend to tease every one of her senses.
Only then shall I walk in front of her, and bend over in front of her face.
So first she will smell me.
I will let her inhale the scent of my cunt. I shall say nothing. I shall let her animal mind wake her from her slumber.
And then she will feel me, as I back into her eager face.
The tip of her nose will be the first to feel my heat, before her mouth touches the velvety softness of my lips.
Then she will taste me.
I shall shimmy my hips, dancing until she has covered every part of her tongue with my sweet musky flavour.
Only then she will hear me.
All my little gasps and moans as I enjoy her tribute.
But still her eyes will remain denied. I know Clara has never seen my
cunt, and how she longs to see me intimately. Perhaps if her tongue is
diligent, I will turn around and lift her blindfold, but keep my bottom
pressed into her face, so all she sees is the blurry outline of my
Only when she’s brought me to the very edge will I slowly walk
forward. I want the first sight she has of my cunt to be a vision, like
an oasis emerging from a desert haze.
I expect I’ll feel her hot breath blowing across my wet, excited
lips. I shall tease her by revealing just how close she came to making
Eventually I will release her, help her down, and take her place on
top of the bench. And then I intend to surrender myself to Clara’s
erotic imagination. I want to know how eager to please my marvellous new
student can be.
And more than anything, I want to read that message in the moonlight as I come.
Tomorrow evening, my dear teacher Jenny is coming back to visit me –
to stay the night. I find myself trembling with excitement. She has
promised me a very special surprise.
Since becoming her student, I have solemnly promised not touch myself
without her permission, as I attempt to relearn my self-discipline. I’m
shaved bare now, of course, which helps me feel like I’m one of her
schoolgirls. And every night before going to bed I do my Ups and Downs.
I’m writing this, dear diary, dressed only in my panties, already
damp through anticipation. In a moment I shall put down my pen, and walk
to the middle of the room. I’ll feel my chest swell as I take several
deep, almost yogic, breaths.
And then I’ll slowly pull my panties down.
I perform my ritual like Jenny has taught me, standing with my
underwear around my ankles and my hands on my head, breathing slowly and
deeply, filling and emptying my lungs. Soon, I’ll feel my head
clearing, the mental fog of the day somehow dissipating. For a moment,
I’ll meditate on the virtues of self-discipline as cool air wafts across
my cheeks. And then I slowly pull my panties up again.
I always take my time of course, Jenny is teaching me to enjoy the
journey of arousal rather than rushing to its destination. She is very
strict about such things.
Afterwards I often send her an image of my wetness, my swollen pink
folds, politely and respectfully asking permission to take the final
step and rub myself towards relief. The pause whilst I await her reply
is such a thrill, even when the answer is sometimes: No.
At first, I resented my frustration, the cruel times when I was sent
to bed with such longing burning between my legs. But soon I began to
understand: that gratification and denial were like light and shadow,
each inextricably linked, each meaningless with each other. It wasn’t
long before her wisdom won my obedience.
Panties up, then panties down.
Up, then down.
Up, then down.
I’m a good girl doing Up and Downs again.
spankingtheatre at gmail dot com
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