Spanking Theatre

Spanking stories for the theatre between your ears


February 2017

Beginning the new showcase of original spanking content creators is a story in several parts by @herestotheworld. This series blends two popular tropes, ageplay and femdom – so if either theme interests or excites you, I think you’ll find this ongoing story very satisfying indeed. Do visit, and give the author some encouragement. Who knows what might spring from a few kind words…

Showcase: The Babysitter (a story)

Blessed are the Content Creators

If it wasn’t for the creators of original content, the world would be a staid and boring place. Just the same old pictures, circulating endlessly. So I want to take this opportunity to encourage those who create new things, and feature the best of their work on this blog.

The world needs more creators, and more original voices. You should never feel your work is worthless just because you haven’t built up a following yet. It’s the efforts of everyone – who draw and paint, write down their thoughts and take new pictures – that make the Tumblr community a vibrant ever-changing place, one worth returning to.

This blog, and the stories within, only exist because when I started out, complete strangers sent messages to me offering their encouragement. Had no one cared, I probably would have given up and moved on to something else. My stories only exist because of the kindness of strangers.

So, if you create spanking related content, whether it’s in the form of stories, pictures, illustrations or audio recordings, send me a link to a post that you consider shows off your best work, and I’ll repost it here, using the tag #spankingshowcase.

So send me a link to your best post. And I look forward to introducing you all to some brilliant and fascinating new people…

Bottom inspections really turn me on. There, I’ve said it. Before I found your blog I often fantasized about bending over and being examined without really giving the experience a name. Spreading my legs, and just being watched, scrutinized like I was some clinical subject. I’ve never told anyone this. But reading your stories, especially your last one, it’s as if you’ve already seen into my mind.

You’re not alone, dear reader.

Inspections for Girls and Bottom Inspection are the most popular naughty games I’ve posted.

One of my intentions in this blog has been to write about activities that leave readers surprised by the intensity of their own reactions. Some might read something and only then realise how much it turns them on. Some may have once imagined it, but never seen it written down and described in words before.

In the last instalment I sought to induce feelings of vicarious embarrassment in those who read it, getting readers to imagine several squirmy punishments that might leave them pink-faced and breathless. Because I think good erotica should feel as if it’s somehow been able to see behind your mask, and able to satisfy the secret longings no one else knows…

Enema Cushion


Those wondering about the infernal device that Penny was sitting on in the latest installment, might be interested to see what a sit-upon enema cushion looks like. A bit of googling leads me to believe this is a modern remake of a design (the JBL Cascade) that was popular in the 1930s.

It’s almost as if it was designed as a seat for smacked bottoms. The sitter’s sore bare cheeks in contact with the hot rubber surface, meanwhile the thick black nozzle stretches her bottom hole wide, and the spigot rod juts out between her slit, rubbing against her vagina every time she squirms.

Can you imagine being sent to the school nurse’s office for that kind of Sit Down Dance?

The bedpost story was so humiliating and hot! It got me so turned on I wanted to ride one there and then, but my bed has no bedposts. Help?

No bedpost, no problem. You just need to improvise.

You’ll just need a hairbrush with a smooth handle, or better still, a dildo or vibrator.

Then find a flat hard surface that’s about thigh height, one that you can comfortably straddle. A bedside table or a chair might suffice. Then rest your penetrating object on the surface beneath you, and cup your hands around it so it’s vertical and just below you.

The idea here is that the object that penetrates should stay still, resting on the hard surface, and you do the moving as you ride up and down upon it.

I think many have found the bedpost story so arousing because it involves a  very different way of masturbating. Usually when you play by penetration, you remain still and it’s the object that moves in and out. The bedpost scenario is exactly the opposite, the intrusion is immobile, and playing involves working your legs, moving your whole body rather than just your forearm.

Bonus idea for the naughty: hold the protrusion in one hand, and spank your bare bottom with the other as you ride…

love love love you!! Your words craft such dirty pictures in my mind – certainly the most enticing content of any medium I’ve come across. Lupercalia is probably my favorite. I’m now eagerly awaiting the end of The Sit Down Dance. I’m also very intrigued by the bed-knobbing and wondering if you would possibly expand your dirty tale into a longer story. It’s that extra unexpected element combined with the details of humiliation, masturbation and spanking that make me drip. Please never stop!

Judging by the number of likes that little story has already accumulated, I’d say many of your fellow readers greatly enjoyed that story too. I do hope you appreciate what your dirty mind has done, dozens of people all around the world came hard in the last 24 hours – all because of the dirty pictures you wrote in to suggest.

As for expanding the tale into a longer story, I could be convinced if there’s a sufficient clamour. Just as soon as I’ve concluded The Sit Down Dance.

So, what do you think, readers? Would you like to read more about the boarding school girls who ride their own bedposts?

Mini-story: Riding the Bedknob

An anonymous reader writes:

“I don’t know if you take suggestions but my little panty wettening
scenario is something I’d love to read, but I’m not a writer. At the
least I’d like your opinion on my fantasy. It’s a boarding school &
all the girls sleep in one room. No touching oneself. If you get caught
by a patrolling matron the headmistress is called & punishment
begins. First all the girls must gather round to watch. Your nightgown
and legs are to be raised & you are inspected. Humiliation is a big
part of this.

Matrons then use the ridged handle of the paddle & their gloved
hands on your clit to make you cum-spanking after orgasm = greater pain.
Then you are bent over the foot board-all of the beds are discreetly
designed for such punishment-& spanked by the headmistress-length
& specific goings on of this bit vary from occasion. Next comes the
real punishment. Since your desire was pleasure you are to give it to

You are made to mount the bed post, which goes in your front bottom or your arse. You bring
yourself to an embarrassing climax in front of of your friends &
classmates. Once your moans have faded you are very humiliatingly washed
& your holes are filled with variously shaped plugs, hands tied
behind your back & you are put to bed naked.  

*very much love you
& your work. Love to know what you think of my dirty mind* – aching anon”

What do I think?

I think I love your dirty mind. And I also think you deserve some good hard spankings on your bare bottom, so you get to experience what obviously turns you on so much. But as a special treat, and to reward your initiative, I’m also going to weave your suggestions into a mini-story, and see if I can make your panties even wetter.



Let’s begin by asking: how does Miss know when to conduct her surprise inspections? How does she know to burst in, just as a girl is on the very verge of coming? Is there a snitch in the dorm, who surreptitiously presses a secret button in her bedframe to alert a patrolling matron to any ongoing misbehaviour? And not just when she hears the tell-tale moans of a classmate playing with herself, but also if there’s talking after lights out, silly pillow fights or anyone getting out of bed.

If masturbation was suspected, the dozen girls in the dorm would be expected to line up at the foot of their beds to have their fingers sniffed, and then their nightgowns inspected for incriminating damp patches. Not just at the crotch, but under the arms too, to uncover the sweat patches caused by intimate exertions.

Any girl giving cause for suspicion would of course have to be inspected more intimately. Lying on her back with her nightgown lifted, she would first have her nipples examined for firmness. Then her mound and thighs would be scrutinised for the sticky residue of sexual excitement. Finally, in full view of all present, her legs would be lifted, and she would hold them over her chest as her slit was inspected.  Matron would look thoroughly for any evidence of arousal, in the wetness of her vagina, the puffiness of her folds, and the sensitivity of her clitoris.

Any girls in line who hadn’t been inspected yet would tend to close their eyes whilst their friends were being probed, lest they become too excited and inadvertently condemn themselves to the same shameful fate.

A girl found guilty of touching herself is immediately masturbated to a humiliating climax. Then, whilst her body is still trembling and her legs are still wobbly, she is bent over the foot of her bed to be spanked. The bottom of each wooden bedframe is not a level beam, it curves down in the middle, into a gap wide enough for a young lady’s hips. Like the hole in medieval stocks, this hollow will keep its occupant in position when she is disciplined, no matter how much she kicks and squirms.

The headmistress is summoned, whilst the rest of the girls are inspected. Any girl who found watching her friend’s ordeal too arousing could expect to join her, bent over the gap of her own bed with her own bare bottom proffered in the air. So most stand waiting with hands chastely clasped behind their backs, lest they be tempted to rub away the ache that throbs between their legs.

There’s a collective intake of breath as the headmistress arrives, her black academic gown over her fine silk pyjamas. She is carrying a round leather paddle, as dark as the night that has been so disgracefully disturbed. The naughty one is scolded and then thoroughly spanked, her bottom now exquisitely sensitive having climaxed so recently. The fearsome paddle smacks the miscreant’s poor bottom until it is hot, pink and sore, as she buries her face in her bed covers to conceal from her friends her cries and her tears.

But afterwards, there is one final humiliation for masturbators.

She is made to mount her own bedpost, straddling one of the two elongated pear-shaped knobs at each corner of the foot of her bed. If the girl is on her period, the knob will be lubricated, and she’ll stand over and then sit down upon it, so it penetrates her bottom hole. Otherwise the girl will have the humiliation of facing her classmates as they watch the knob stretching and filling her hungry wet cunt.

The girl on the bedpost knows the sooner she comes, the sooner her public disgrace will end. So she rides the protrusion vigorously, then wantonly. If she tries to cover her cunt to preserve her last vestiges of modesty, she’ll feel the paddle slapping her sore bum in discouragement. This is a public punishment and those witnessing must see her slide all the way up and down the bedpost,  until its smooth varnished surface is coated with a creamy slick by the rider’s dripping slit.

Only a single finger is allowed to touch, most on the knob frantically rub their clits as they race towards their release. Whilst slowcoaches are spanked to quicken their ride. Girls on the knob never come quietly, the neighbouring dorms will hear her exclamations, and be warned.

Finally, the offender has her holes cleansed with a cold flannel, and is made to step into a special pair of rubber chastity pants. These have two stubby plugs in their gusset, one for each hole, deep enough to frustrate, but not deep enough to pleasure, and a rigid dome over her clitoris to ensure no rubbing is possible. The panties have a locking clasp above the hip, so they won’t be able to be pulled down until Matron unlocks and releases her in the morning.

Then the naughty girl is put to bed wearing just her chastity panties. The skin-tight rubbery material cruelly prevents her from rubbing away the sting from her whacking. The watching girls are then ordered back to their beds, each one secretly aching between the legs after what they’ve seen.

But they know better than to try to satisfy their urges here and now. Each girl will wait, replaying what she’s seen in her mind a dozen times until she can be finally alone in her own favourite wanking spot. That rarely visited lavatory in the basement of the library. That little shed by the tennis courts. That hollow deep within the overgrown bush in the corner of the school gardens.

Once hidden in her secret place, her fingers will wander beneath her skirt, whilst her other hand muzzles her mouth. Then she’ll rub herself, imagining the humiliation of a thorough inspection, and the delicious soreness of a good hard whacking. Then she’ll think of the knob at the bottom of her bed, the last thing she looks at before falling asleep, the first thing she sees on opening her eyes the next morning.

One of these days, she knows she won’t be able to resist any longer. Her fingers will stray under her nightgown, and she’ll be caught. Everyone will be watching as she’s thoroughly inspected, wanked and then spanked. Then it will be her turn to stand naked in front of the whole dorm and straddle the knob. Her fingers enter her panties, eagerly filling her wet hole, mimicking the rough entry of the imagined intrusion.

Deep down, every girl knows that one evening soon she’ll end up riding the knob at the end of her bed. She knows her friends will watch in rapt silence as her slit is examined and her bottom is smacked, before she straddles her bedpost and comes in disgrace. Yet it won’t be because her self-control will have failed her, it will be because she’s finally built up the courage to experience what she’s secretly craved for so long. 

And then, with hot breath gasping into her palm, that’s when she comes.

The Sit-Down Dance: part 3

The third part of a four part story, the first part is here.




You think you know the whole story. Until suddenly, you realise you don’t.

Half-remembered recollections percolate through your mind. A story told in flashes. And now you’re no longer so sure.

A new realisation dawns: perhaps your precious memory is not the studiously compiled record of reality that you think it is. You begin to notice gaps. As if a reckless arsonist is loose inside the archive of your mind, haphazardly burning pages from the treasured story of your life.

But what if there was no internal saboteur? What if, far from being a perfect record of reality, your cherished memory was actually rather fallible? What if our view of the world was shaped by those who knew how to manipulate us? And what if we never even noticed the insidious gaslighters and their ingenious alternative facts?

This is a much more unsettling conclusion. That one’s memory is biased, a selective record, keeping only what it considers relevant and discarding the bigger picture. It’s an efficient storage strategy. After all, isn’t that why we each have such absurdly powerful imaginations: to seamlessly recreate all those missing gaps?

The sole truth is, we exist only in the here and now.

The past is gone. Eroded by time, and swept away.

What remains are merely the echoes, as we choose to remember them.

Headmistress Barbara Hastings sat alone in her office, in a meditative silence. She was still contemplating the mental snapshots she’d surreptitiously gathered yesterday, her eager mind trying to stitch together the ragged glimpses into a something approaching a convincing narrative. Vexed by an aching need to know what exactly had been going on behind that locked dormitory door.

Her sudden interruption had undoubtedly caught the four culprits completely by surprise. They’d rapidly dressed before opening the door but had been far too flustered to explain away the evidence of their illicit activities, and the headmistress was certain the web of lies they’d spun would ultimately only succeed in entangling them all.

The evidence of her own memory was compelling. The girls had clearly been engaged in naughty games, she’d seen them all climax with her own eyes, even heard their moans with her own ears. Yet a nagging enigma still gnawed at her mind. What if the scenes she’d witnessed were just the tip of the iceberg?

What if something more profound was still hidden from her? What if there was some shadowy conspiracy, lurking… tantalisingly… just out of sight?

* * 6 * *

When Miss Hastings had confronted the four girls yesterday, an awkward conversation had ensued. It had resembled that classic scene from mystery fiction, the one where the ingenious detective gathers the suspects together in one room, and begins to probe with seemingly innocuous questions. She did not confront the girls with what she’d seen, for now content to hear their unfeasibly untrue alibis.

Feet shuffled on the floor uncomfortably, one did not need to be a master detective to recognise the girls’ guilty body language. But with dinner time fast approaching, the headmistress lacked the time to the resolve the issue. So the girls were told they’d be reporting to her office tomorrow, “for a little chat”.

Later that evening, the headmistress had consulted the girls’ schedules, planning to see them individually whilst each was out of classes in a study break. So the girls had awoken to find a little note with their appointment time posted under their doors. Alice and Penny, who shared a room, had looked at each other and gulped.  

That afternoon, Addison was the first to find herself waiting alone in the little antechamber outside the headmistress’s office. There were two wooden benches set into the walls on either side of the little room’s two doorways. One without a door, through which they’d entered, and one with a door, which just so happened to be the ominous entrance to Miss Hastings’ private study.

The headmistress was strict, but did not run a draconian regime, and not all misdemeanours merited a sit-down dance in the Punishment Room. Petty offences, like missed homeworks or talking in class, might result in the offender being sent here after school with a note for her to sign.

On an average afternoon, Miss Hastings would tend to open her door to discover one or two red-faced young ladies waiting outside. She would ask each girl for her note, tsk-tsk her displeasure, then spin her around, lift her skirt, and tuck the hem into back of her waistband. She would then promptly pull the poor girl’s panties right down to her ankles, dashing the miscreant’s faint hopes she’d somehow be reprieved. In this school, all naughty girls were spanked on bare bottoms.

Once the girl had stepped out of her panties, they were hung up on a little hook on the wall, and she was told to sit back down on the bench. Bottoms now bared, most would gasp in surprise as they sat down on the cold surface of the varnished wooden bench. The seat was deliberately high off the ground, so most girls had to place their hands on the bench and hoist themselves onto it. As her feet dangled nervously above the floor, anyone sent here couldn’t help but feel like a very silly little girl indeed.

This was, of course, quite deliberate. The head of the school considered waiting, and the anticipation it engendered, an important aspect of discipline. When all the girls present had been relieved of their underwear and seated, Miss H would call them into her office, one by one.

Once inside, sentence would be pronounced, taking into account the nature of the transgression and the girl’s previous record of misbehaviour. Being put over Miss’s knee for a childishly embarrassing slippering was adequate for most minor rule-breakers.

The slipper wasn’t the most painful implement the headmistress possessed, but it was easily the most noisily ostentatious. Each spank produced a loud slapping whack, which carried through the door and beyond, permeating deep into the ears and minds of those waiting outside. Each girl would stare at the floor contritely, squirming as she sat on her bare bottom, already imagining her spanking had started.

As she waited, Addison swung her feet back and forth beneath her, as if she was casually sitting atop a seaside wall on a warm summer day. She wasn’t afraid of a sore bottom. If truth be told, she quite enjoyed it.

Eventually, the door opened, and light flooded into the dim waiting room from the study beyond. Barbara Hastings filled the doorway, like some angelic vision, dressed in a crisp white blouse and a pleated ivory skirt that stopped at her knees. She stood there for a moment, her stance wide and shoulders thrown back, as if guarding the entrance to her realm, ready to draw a fiery sword and confront unwelcome intruders.

“Addison, come in please.”

Addison dropped down from the high bench, and obediently followed her headmistress, who closed the door behind them with an echoing thunk. The visitor found herself standing in front of the room’s large intimidating desk, as Miss H retook her seat behind it. Addison stood with her legs crossed, with her hands grasped behind her back, sashaying her hips languidly. It was a stance of professed innocence, one the headmistress was used to seeing in naughty girls.

“Good afternoon, Addison,” she said seriously.

“Good afternoon, Miss!” the girl replied, with her characteristic cheerfulness.

That was quite enough smalltalk. Miss Hastings decided to get straight to the point.

“What were you doing in Alice and Penny’s room yesterday afternoon?”

“Nothing, Miss.”  Addison replied innocently, the sway of her hips quickening, as her eyes widened with surprise that she’d even been asked such a question.

The countenance of the headmistress darkened, impatient for answers, she was in no mood for playing games.

“Oh really? I did see what you were doing, young lady. I watched you all through a gap in the doorframe.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Miss!” Addison replied, in a tone of almost chaste outrage.

“Then you may have a sore bottom for lying.”

“Oh Miss!”

Miss H opened the top drawer of her desk, taking out a plaid-patterned slipper. She rose to her feet like a angry, billowing cloud, or a genie emerging from a lamp. Addison couldn’t help flinching slightly.

There was a small sofa opposite the big desk, used for hosting visitors and smacking bottoms. Miss H resolutely strode towards it, sitting down by perching on its edge, and hitching up her creamy white skirt above her knee, revealing a patch of bare thigh of almost the same hue. She jutted her left leg out, bent at the knee at a perfect right angle, there could be little doubt what was expected to happen next.

Addison took her place in front her lap, close enough to allow her skirt to be unbuttoned. Her panties followed it the floor, pulled down quickly with little ceremony. She lifted her feet, stepping out of her fallen garments, and obediently bent over her headmistress’s knee.

Miss H began her inspection of Addison’s bottom. The pinkness of yesterday’s spanking had already almost faded, but her expert eye could still see the faint marks left by the ruler.

“You were spanked yesterday?”

“Umm… Yes, Miss.”

“By whom?”

“Er… Alice, Miss. But we were just messing around!”

Miss H didn’t respond, but continued her inspection, encouraging Addison to spread her legs wider, and tugging buttocks apart. It seemed it wasn’t just her mound that had been recently shaved bare, the area around her slit and perineum was completely bald too. And between her cheeks a thin red line was still clearly visible, now a faint purple bruise in places. Now this was interesting.

“What’s this, girl?”


“There seems to be a stripe from a panty-pulling between your bottom. How did this happen?”


“Well let’s see if a good hard spanking jogs your memory.”

The slipper began pattering against her bottom immediately, and Addison had to stop herself from mewing appreciatively. The headmistress kept a pair of soft rubber-soled slippers in her desk for misdemeanours that didn’t quite merit stripes from the cane. Individual spanks from their soft soles didn’t hurt as much, permitting longer whackings, allowing the sting in the miscreant’s cheeks to build steadily.

The headmistress particularly loved the moment when a slippering overwhelmed a girl’s attempts at maintaining a face of stoic resistance. It was that moment when the girl’s hips started squirming, as she tried to manoeuvre her sore bottom away from the incessant bombardment. It was the time when her phlegmatic silence gave way to ouches, cries and pleas, the point when her feet started kicking like a silly little girl. Her yelps and pleading would now accompany the sound of every spank, helpfully flooding the minds of those outside with frightful visions of pain and punishment.

Slipperings over Barbara Hastings’ knee were measured not in smacks, but in minutes. Six of the best was not half a dozen slaps with the slipper, but a good six minutes of whacking long enough to ensure the punished girl was quite sore and absolutely sorry. Such extended spankings sometimes meant those being disciplined really lost control, flailing and kicking and crying. Not that such childishness made the slightest difference to the headmistress, who’d simply use her free hand to pin the girl’s outermost flailing arm behind her back, and lock her leg across her writhing calves, so there was absolutely no doubt as to who was in control.

As the stinging smacks escalated, Miss H could see Addison’s hips beginning to wriggle. By now the girl’s bum was bright pink, and she was breathing heavily. The headmistress punctuated the spanking by regularly reminding Addison that she had seen everything, and that she wouldn’t be stopping until she got some answers.

“Sorry Miss!”

Ah, Miss H smiled to herself, that’s better. An apology.

Experience had taught her that spanked girls didn’t say sorry unless they had something to apologise for. That they had been talking in class, or there really wasn’t any reason why their homework was late. Now Addison had inadvertently validated her suspicions, that all four girls had indeed been up to no good. Perhaps she would be more cooperative now? She tugged Addison’s bottom apart, examining the faint stripe between her cheeks again, letting her finger linger on the tender area of her perineum.

“How did this happen, young lady?”

“Alice did it, Miss.” she confessed.

“After Alice had come back from the bench?”

“Yes Miss!”

Now that was an interesting revelation, albeit a puzzling one. Alice was a friendly and well-regarded student, she didn’t seem to be the kind of girl who’d go around giving others playground wedgies. Unless…

Miss Hastings pondered her interrogation strategy for a moment. It was likely that further spanking would be ineffective, after all, the four girls did seem to have been playing spanking games, and probably quite enjoyed sore bottoms. There was an alternative approach though, one she reserved for only the most obstinate of visitors. That might work.

She ushered Addison from her lap, and sent her to stand in the corner with her hands on her head. She put the slipper against the wall, and made Addison hold it in place with her nose. That would ensure no peeping as the headmistress made her preparations. Her special procedure was always much more effective when it came as a shocking surprise.

The musty smell of the slipper filled Addison’s nostrils, as behind her, she heard the scraping of drawers being opened, determined footsteps, and the rustle of clothes being rearranged. Her nose was beginning to hurt by the time she eventually heard her name being called. She plucked the slipper from the wall, and turned around to see her headmistress sitting once more on the sofa.

Then Addison’s jaw dropped in astonishment when she saw just what was in store for her.

“Now young lady, you’re going to sit on my knee like a good girl, and tell me everything…”

Meanwhile, in the adjoining waiting room, Lola had arrived. She found herself listening to the unmistakable sounds of Addison’s spanking, something she found very exciting indeed. Then much to her disappointment, the smacking stopped. There was a long subsequent silence, followed by a short conversation she couldn’t quite hear. What followed were entirely different sounds, faint smacks and arousing escalating moans. Amongst them Lola thought she could hear Addison’s voice, talking excitedly.

Then the conversation stopped, there was a brief silence, followed by a few high-pitched shrieks that Lola found impossible to distinguish as being due to pain or pleasure. But both possibilities made Lola’s tingling slit seep, making her clammy underwear cling to her crotch like a groping palm.

The study door opened a few minutes later, and Addison emerged, legs wobbly, as if she’d just stepped ashore from a long boat trip. Miss Hastings stood behind her, resplendently white like a vision of justice, ushering Addison out, and beckoning Lola in. Their eyes met as they crossed, Lola searching her friend’s face for clues, but finding nothing in her woozy daze.

Once the door had closed behind her, the headmistress retook her place on the sofa, and got straight to the point, without even saying hello.

“Come here, Lola. And take down your skirt.”

In response, Lola sauntered over to where her headmistress was sitting, and indolently unbuttoned her skirt, letting it drop to the ground.

Miss Hastings noted how the girl didn’t try to protest, a sure sign of a guilty conscience.

“Addison told me everything,” the headmistress said triumphantly, studying Lola’s face for her reaction. She was sure she could see the girl’s self-confident smirk falter.  

Miss H could see the conspicuous wet spot on the crotch of Lola’s white briefs, the clinging material already revealing the contour of her cleft. But she said nothing, content to hook her fingers into the waistband and unceremoniously tug Lola’s panties down to her ankles, leaving a bead of her sticky arousal dribbling from her slit.

Just like Addison, Lola’s mound was completely bare, with a faint pink line visible in the cleft below. After a few moments of scrutiny, the headmistress put Lola over her knee, spreading her legs wide continue her inspection. Her examination found all the same marks as she’d seen on Addison, a thin pink line running all the way from just above her bottom hole to the bump of her mound.

“I know how this happened, young lady. I know all about the naughty games you play, and your panty-pulling chairs.”

“What, Miss?” teased Lola mischievously.

Facts! Such an old-fashioned view of reality; so black and white. These days, surely everyone knew that everything was contestable. For a professional brat like Lola it wouldn’t have been proper to surrender the truth without a tussle, no matter how blatant the evidence. She delighted in hearing her headmistress emit a frustrated, exasperated sigh, it made her nipples hard.

The first slap of the slipper landed moments later. Lola took her spanking impassively, her tall willowy stature enabling her to simultaneously keep both palms and the tips of her toes on the floor. This enabled her to keep her legs apart, for what was by far her favourite position for a spanking. This way it felt as if the force of each whack was focussed directly between her legs, each stinging smack on her bum followed an instant later by a shockwave of pleasure in her cunt.

Miss Hastings spanked until her arm began to tire, by which time, Lola’s bottom was a vivid pink, and her clit felt like a hot little marble, throbbing between her sticky lips. It was at this point that Lola was sent to stand in the corner, to hold the slipper against the wall with her nose just as her predecessor had done. Meanwhile, Miss H went back to her desk to make the same preparations. Her method of interrogation had been remarkably successful when Addison had sat on her knee, and she was sure Lola would be equally cooperative.

The dildo Miss H had used on Addison was still sitting on her desk. She took another condom from the top drawer and rolled it down the tacky rubbery shaft, then took a little bottle of lube back with her to the sofa.

When she sat down again, she lifted the hem of her own skirt, revealing a strap-on band on her right thigh, like some extra-wide garter. She fixed the dildo into the fitting, so that the curved knobbly protrusion pointed crudely into the air. Then she squeezed some lube into her palm, stroking it up and down the dildo in an lurid parody of a wanking schoolboy.

Lola was going to a do a sit-down dance of a very different kind.

Just like Addison, Lola had gasped in awe when she turned around and saw the lubed dildo glinting. For a moment, Lola thrilled to the thought of straddling her headmistress’s thigh, bouncing up and down as she vigorously rode the protrusion, her sore stinging buttocks parted by Miss H’s leg every time the dildo filled her cunt to her deepest point.

But such fantasies were quickly dispelled. Miss H instructed Lola to hold out her palm, and squirted a tiny puddle of lube into her hand, and then told her to reach underneath herself and apply the slippery goo all around her bottom hole. Lola complied indignantly.

From her seated position, Miss Hastings opened her own legs, using her hands to guide Lola into position, so she stood perpendicular to her lap, facing away from the slick projection, which lurked just beneath her pink bottom cheeks.

“Now young lady, you’re going to sit on my knee like a good little girl, and tell me everything.”

Miss H put her right hand under Lola’s left arm, and shut her own legs until her own left thigh was tight against Lola’s knees. With that, she gently encouraged Lola to shift her weight backwards, until she could feel the dildo being pushed against her thigh as it began to enter her student’s tightest hole.

As it happened, Lola needed little encouragement. She loved having her bum penetrated, and would often impale herself on one of her long bony fingers when she was ready to come. Soon she could feel the knobbly bulges of the dildo stretching her bottom hole ever wider as she sank further and deeper upon it.

It wasn’t long before Lola’s sore spanked cheeks were sitting on her headmistress’s lap, and all of the slippy protrusion had filled her passage. It left pink-faced Lola feeling like a ventriloquist’s dummy, mute and immobile, her body positioned at her controller’s command. Despite, or possibly because of this humiliation, Lola could feel her wetness dripping from her aching slit.

Miss Hastings began her interrogation by asking questions to which she already knew the answers.

“So, you were playing spanking games with your friends yesterday?”

Lola nodded testily, playing spanking games wasn’t breaking any school rules, not in her interpretation anyway.

“And your little group seems to enjoy panty-pulling too?”

Lola elected not to respond to that particular allegation, prompting Miss H to bounce the leg she was sitting on, jolting her thigh upwards, making the intruding dildo stretch Lola’s bottom further.

“Do I need to jog your memory?”

Lola pondered, then acquiesced, confirming her headmistress’s suspicions.

“And how often do these little get-togethers take place?”

Lola held her tongue again, reluctant to reveal just how regularly their group convened. Her silence prompted Miss H to repeatedly smack the curve of her exposed bottom with her right palm – giving Lola what was, in effect, a sit down spanking.

To better emphasise her desire for cooperation, she concentrated her smacking on the same area of Lola’s already stinging cheeks. Held in position by the dildo deep within her, Lola found herself unable to squirm out of the way, and was soon riding up and down its length as she sought to mitigate the growing soreness beneath her.

“Be a good girl, Lola, and tell me the truth. I might even let you rub yourself better…”

In between the incessant spanks, Lola’s giddy mind pondered the offer. Her spanking had already crossed the threshold, it had ceased being pleasurable and was now growing increasingly painful. And the dildo in her bottom was an additional torment, teasing and arousing her, but leaving her frustratingly unsatisfied.  

“Or if you’d prefer, we can go for a little walk. To the nurse’s office. I have a lovely new enema bag I’m itching to test. Perhaps you’d rather answer my questions with a bottom-full of warm soapy water…”

Lola felt the dildo fill her bottom again, and moaned.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the door, Penny had just arrived. She sat in the waiting room, squirming but smirking as she listened to the emanating smacks. What a delightful sound a hard good spanking was, she never tired of listening to a bare bottom being smacked.

When the slaps abruptly stopped, she couldn’t quite make out the subsequent conservation. But what followed were high-pitched cries and gasps, which Penny immediately recognised as the unmistakable sound of Lola climaxing. It was such a distinctive gasping giggle, one she’d last heard only yesterday, in fact. When Alice had licked Lola’s cunt and plunged her finger deep into her bottom.

The door opened about five minutes later, and Lola emerged, seen out with a friendly smile by her headmistress. As Lola passed her in the waiting room, Penny couldn’t help noticing her flushed cheeks and woozy smile on her face.

This can’t be too bad, she thought.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Lola encountered Addison on the way to their next class.

“So, er… what did you tell her?” Lola asked tentatively.

“Everything,” Addison replied with a conspicuous blush. “What did you tell her?”

Lola felt her face burn as she answered. “Everything.”

Then added: “She can be very persuasive…”

Both girls nodded vigorously, searching the eyes of the other for clues as to what the other might have experienced. Eventually, Addison said what they’d been both thinking.

“Did you sit on her knee?”

“Ooo, yes!” giggled Lola.

“Good wasn’t it!”

“Wow!!” whispered Lola behind her hand conspiratorially, “I came so hard on that thing… I thought I was going to snap it!”

The sparkle in Addison’s eyes suggested she knew exactly what Lola was talking about.

“I’m sure Alice knows what she’s doing.”

The girls playfully nudged shoulders, shared a smile, and walked onwards together to class.

* * 7 * *

Penny had entered the inner sanctum, and now faced off against her headmistress, staring back from across her desk, keeping her gaze in a confident display of self-control. For Miss Hastings, this was a chance to scrutinise her visitor’s composure, to see if Penny appeared apprehensive or shifty, and to assess how receptive she might be to answering what she was asked.

Penny was a tall, slender girl with shoulder-length hair that was the colour of copper, just like her monetary namesake. Miss Hastings knew Alice and Penny were close, probably even lovers, so she appreciated it would have been insulting to ask Penny to implicate her best friend. No, obtaining Penny’s cooperation would require far more subtlety, and so she decided to open by revealing what she already knew.

“Over the last hour, both Addison and Lola have spent some time sitting on my knee, like good little girls…”

Miss H let her eyes drift down to the dildo on her desk. The messy condom that had sheathed it had since removed and discarded, and now the rubbery protrusion stood proudly on her desk, like some shiny trophy for sexual excellence. Penny’s eyes followed her lead, widening with sudden surprise as she realised what “sitting on her knee” might really have entailed.

“… oh yes, that marvellous little thing proved very useful in focussing their minds. And resolving a few inconsistencies in their stories.”

The headmistress locked eyes with Penny again, who did her best to retain her best poker face.

“I know all about your little Red Stripe Gang. I know all about the secret meetings, the spankings and the panty-pullings.”

Penny remained impassive at this revelation, as if her headmistress had just told her today’s weather mere moments after she’d just looked out the window.

“But now I’d like to hear your side of the story, Penny.”

Penny considered the current state of affairs for a moment, and remembered what Alice had told her.

“Perhaps you’d like to make me an offer, Miss?”

Miss Hastings smiled at Penny’s bravado, congratulating herself on having foreseen this eventuality. Yes, young lady, she thought to herself, I have an offer I think you’ll find very difficult to refuse. Then she stepped out from behind her desk, and strode past her student to open the study door.

“Come with me, Penny…” she beckoned.

Penny followed obediently as they walked down the long drab corridor of the staff wing. In the distance she could already see the dark mahogany brown door of the Punishment Room, its brass plaque glinting, as if the very room was winking at her. She could already feel her slit tingling, moistening in expectation of what was likely to be a very sore and frustrating sit-down dance.

But then, just in front of her, Miss H stopped suddenly, and opened an adjoining door. One decorated with a bold red cross: the School Nurse’s Office.

Penny blinked as she stepped inside, sunlight was streaming through the blinds of the room’s long single window, reflecting off the brilliant sheen of the bare white walls to dazzle her eyes. A faint chemical odour lingered in the air, making the space smell clean and clinical.

“We’re here, Penny, because I’ve been contemplating some refinements to the school’s disciplinary process. And I think you might be well-qualified to offer some assistance. From what I hear, you’re rather skilled at inspections…”

Penny could feel her face blushing, but said nothing.

“So, Penny. I’m going to walk you through the new disciplinary process, so you can experience it for yourself. Then afterwards, you can decide if you’d like to take the job of being my new Deputy Disciplinarian, in charge of punishing naughty girls.”

At that, Penny’s countenance faltered, her expression a mixture of surprise and delight. Her headmistress noticed, but continued.

“I’m thinking of an alternative Sit-Down Dance for those not-quite naughty enough to deserve a visit to The Bench. Or for those deserving extra punishment after they’ve had their panties pulled.”

“So, when a naughty girl is sent here to see you, the first thing you’ll need to do is perform a thorough inspection. So that’s what we’re going to do next. Get undressed, Penny, there’s a good girl.”

Penny hesitated, unsure whether this instruction was the prelude to a reward or a punishment. But what her headmistress had just described did sound intriguing, so she decided to just roll with her directions, and see what would happen. She loosened her tie, and began unbuttoning her shirt. Soon, her clothes were neatly folded on a nearby chair, and she was reaching behind her shoulders to unfasten her bra. She pulled down her panties last, holding eye contact with her headmistress as she did so, all the way down, in an act of such nonchalant insolence it made both of their clits ache.

In the middle of the room was an examination couch, which looked like a short camp bed on tall shiny tube metal legs, covered with a green paper sheet. Miss Hastings patted the top of the mattress near one end, indicating where she wanted Penny to sit, and she did so obediently, her legs swinging casually as she waited for her headmistress to return from the supply cupboard. Then there was a squelching noise, and then two distinctive snaps, as Miss H pulled on a pair of latex gloves.

“Lie back on the bed please, Penny.”

Miss H fiddled with the frame of the bed, raising two bars with U-shaped mountings, and adjusting them until they were just above the level of Penny’s knees.   

“Legs up and apart girl, ankles into the stirrups.”

Penny was quite used to being naked in front of others, but now her face burned with embarrassment. Her slit was already slick and puffy with excitement, now as she raised and spread her legs she could feel her lips separating, exposing the creamy little hole of her vagina to her mistress’s eyes. Cool air meandered between her thighs, cruelly teasing her newly revealed places.

For Miss Hastings, Penny’s conspicuous arousal was endearing, but unremarkable and quite expected, and she continued with her usual sense of professional detachment. She moved her swivel chair to the bottom of the couch, and placed what looked like a journal on the nearby worksurface.

“Now Penny, I want you to pay close attention, as I’m going to talk you through the inspection procedure.”

“This is the observation book, I’d like you to write down your findings as you go along. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you what to look out for.”

She scribbled Penny’s name at the top of a blank page, before standing and taking a few steps forward, until she was looming above Penny’s face. Then she reached across with both hands, gently cupping the small mounds of Penny’s breasts.

“Begin by examining the subject’s chest, Penny. Start at the top of each breast, spiralling slowly inward with your fingertips. Notice her contours, how the slope of each mound changes until you encounter the areola. Every young lady should be taught how to examine her own breasts.”

Penny stifled a gasp as the warm, slightly tacky gloves touched her skin. Yet her inspector wasn’t stroking her, rather she was probing her with clinical intermittent touches.

“Brush each nipple gently, feeling the subtle changes in texture from the skin around it. Gently pluck and squeeze, feel how it stiff and swollen it becomes when the subject is aroused.”

Penny felt her arms flinch, as if they were about to instinctively fold and cover her chest, something Miss H readily noticed.

“Keep your arms by your side, young lady. We have ties here if the subject is awkward and needs to be restrained.”

Then Miss Hastings shifted her stance slightly, turning to examine Penny’s thighs.

“Next, you should examine the subject’s legs. At the top of each thigh is an exquisitely sensitive crease that fringes her mound. Stroke it, explore it, see if the elastic of her panties have left impressions on her skin. Follow it all the way to her hip, then round the back of her leg, passing but not touching her outer labia, until you’ve come full circle.”

“Now examine her mons – her mound. Start at her tummy, and feel where her mound begins to rise. Locate the apexes of her pubic triangle, and trace lines between them. Run your fingertip through her public hair, or if she’s shaved like you, examine this expanse of exquisitely smooth and sensitive skin.”

Penny moaned appreciatively, sensations like this was why she always kept herself bare.

“And also check for marks. Girls who’ve been sent here after a panty-pulling will usually have little pink impression marks on their mounds. Fancy that, I see you do, too. Find and document them please.”

“Next, follow the curve of her mound down into her pudendal slit. Examine her outer labia, dwelling in the little valley between her cleft. Trace the contours of each fold, feel the difference in texture of the inner and the outward sides. Again, girls who’ve recently been to the bench will have pink marks here, for you to record.”

“Continue down to her perineum, and delicately explore this exquisitely sensitive little patch. Girls who’ve recently been to the Bench will often have a tender stripe here that’s pink, red or even purple. I see you still have a nice pink stripe from yesterday’s frolics. Again, write down what you find.”

She stepped away for a moment to do just that, scribbling a few lines in the notebook.

“Are you enjoying your inspection, Penny? You’re getting very wet indeed. That’s perfect. Just what we need.”

“Now return to the furrow of her slit, and examine the hood that shelters her clitoris. Stroke it gently, observe how she responds. Delicately pull it back until you have revealed her little pearl. Your subject will find this very humiliating. But extremely arousing.”

“Then you can delicately part her inner labia, pushing each gently to the side, and check for any redness caused by panty-pulling. By this stage of the inspection these lips should be slick, swollen and easy to separate.”

Penny couldn’t help but whimper as her own folds were delicately spread apart.

“And there, we can stop, ” announced the headmistress suddenly, “After all, our subject is here to be inspected, not masturbated.”

Penny found herself squirming in frustration.

“I want to stress again that the purpose of these inspections is not to pleasure the young lady on the couch, but to humiliate her. I find such intimate exposure can collapse the pride of even the most arrogant young ladies. It also ensures they experience the subsequent, more shameful parts of their punishment in a state of elevated sexual excitement. That just makes compliance easier, and the message more effective.”

There was more? The thought made Penny’s already dizzy head spin.

“You can take your legs out of the stirrups now. Good girl. Now, turn around, and kneel on the couch with your head down, and your bottom up in the air.”

Penny did as she was told, surprising herself with her own eagerness.

“Next then, you’ll put the young lady in the position you’re currently holding, and inspect her bottom.”

Penny heart lept, and felt her bottom clench. Ever since her first bottom inspection at the hands of Alice’s domineering governess, having her bottom thoroughly and humiliatingly examined had become one of her biggest turn-ons.

She often thought about inspections as she played, imagining the thrill of being bent over by some strict authority figure. One who’d ignore her factitious pleas for modesty, and forthrightly tug her cheeks apart. One who’d explore every region of her bottom, memorising it like a map, because this was the most important region of her body, the special place where she was disciplined. One who’d spend an age examining every fold and wrinkle between her cheeks, delicately stroking and stretching her tightness whilst her clit ached and cream oozed from her cunt.

“Oh… yes… Miss…” she purred.

“You’ll begin by examining her buttocks. Sometimes the girl you inspect might have a spanked bottom…”

By now the marks on Penny’s bottom from yesterday’s spanking were quite faint, so her headmistress delivered a volley of hard smacks with her gloved hand, until Penny’s bum was blushing once more. She’d never been spanked by a rubber-clad hand before, and it seemed to sting even more than hand-spankings usually did. In fact it wasn’t long until Penny was pressing her forearm into her mouth in an attempt to maintain a dignified silence, and her whole bottom was pink, sore and smarting.

Miss H concluded her spanking by moving back to the notebook, and scribbling briefly.

“Be sure to record the condition of her bottom as part of your inspection.”

“Ooo … of course, Miss.”

“Now, reach backwards please, young lady, and hold your bottom cheeks apart.”

Penny gulped, but did as she was told, finding her spanked cheeks hot to the touch as she cupped each small firm globe in her hands. She tugged herself open, exposing her wrinkled hole to her disciplinarian’s gaze.

“Yes, just like that. Now keep yourself open.”

Miss Hastings picked up a wet-wipe from a box on the worksurface, and slowly drew the tissue down between Penny’s buttocks. She finished by circling her bottom hole twice, before raising the tissue to examine her cleanliness.

“What a clean little bottom! What a good little girl!”

Penny was mortified. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had her bottom wiped. Or indeed the last time she’d been treated so childishly. Her face burned with embarrassment, but this was the shame of Penny the headstrong young woman – deeper inside, Penny the submissive little girl was loving her treatment. She wished she could tell her headmistress how she felt, but the awkwardness was too great, it all seemed far too filthy.

Yet she needn’t have worried, her headmistress could read the signals from her body, and message from her arousal was perfectly obvious. She spent some time examining the stripe between Penny’s cheeks, as she was particularly intrigued to see the end-results of the girls’ home-made panty-pulling chairs. Her stripe had faded overnight, of course, but there were still faint pink lines above and below both holes.

“A nice stripe here, Penny. Very effective. Maybe I’ll visit you girls soon, and watch you all dance on your little chairs.”

Penny had to admit that would be devastatingly humiliating and brilliant.

Miss H stepped back to scribble some more notes, and returned with something new in her hand, which Penny could see was a little glass pot.

“The next step is to apply this lubricant to the miscreant’s bottom hole.”

She dabbed her index finger into the pot, showing Penny the lump of clear sticky goo to demonstrate how much was required. Moments later, Penny gasped aloud as she felt a warm wetness against her bottom hole. Her mistress rubbed the gel in gently, all around her tight crinkled orifice, pushing with a firm consistent pressure until her fingertip was admitted.

“You might feel a bit of heat, Penny. This lubricant contains ginger, which you’ll find helps prevent obstinate clenching.”

Penny could indeed feel her bottom burning, and as the heat grew, she could feel her resistance weakening. Somehow her reflex to clench seemed to have been subverted, now she was desperate for intruding finger to venture deeper, and stretch her hole wider.

“That’s it,” observed the headmistress, “Make sure you work the lube in, nice and deep.”

Miss H slowly slid her finger in and out, marvelling at how the once vice-like grip of Penny’s sphincter around her probing digit was weakening with every stroke.

“Oh, very good. Make the young lady’s bottom loose and slippy, that will make the forthcoming penetration much easier.”

She withdrew her finger, experiencing barely any impedance, and cleaned the residual stickiness from her finger with a wipe.

“Now, whilst the ginger is working, we can prepare the enema bag.”

The mention of the word enema set Penny aquiver. No one had ever given her an enema before. Surely that was a treatment reserved for constipated little girls, and visitors to hipster health spas. It was notorious enough that she already knew the basics, how you’d have a fat nozzle pushed into your bottom, a tap would be turned to start the flow, and then your insides would be filled with warm soapy water, as you laid there, helpless. And you got smacks on the bottom from Matron for being awkward. Yes, pondered Penny, it was actually quite an erotic setup, if you thought about it.

As Miss Hastings busied herself in the corner behind her, Penny found herself increasingly desperate for the nozzle, anything to wash away the burning in her passage.

“Right. Penny…” she called, “You can get up and come over here now.”

Penny hopped down from the bed obediently, and approached her headmistress’s beckoning finger. She was standing beside a tall shiny chrome-tube stool. The top of the stool was a round shallow mesh, which would be where you’d expect the seat cushion to be. But instead of a normal seat cushion, here was a rubbery pink oval bag with a black ostentatiously tall nozzle pointing straight upwards. At the base of the nozzle was a little lift-tab tap, like one might find on a water cooler.

“Let me introduce you, Penny, to my new cushion enema.”

This device came as a considerable surprise to Penny. In her mind enemas were bags like hot water bottles, hung up like saline drips, with a long thin hose snaking down into the recipient’s bottom.

“The principle here is very simple, Penny. The cushion bag is filled with warm water, and then the young lady sits upon it. Then this tap is opened, and her own weight sitting on the bag is sufficient to push the water deep into her bowels.”

She pointed to a near-empty jug of cloudy liquid with a thermometer inside.

“I’ve already filled the bag with warm water. Mix warm and cold water until you achieve body temperature, 38 degrees, then add a spoonful of enema soap. The bag is filled by removing the nozzle, pouring the water through the ring at the top, then screwing the nozzle back into place.”

As her headmistress spoke, Penny’s eyes were transfixed by the cushion’s long thin nozzle. She couldn’t wait to have it inside her. Perhaps that had been the aim of the meticulous examinations she’d just endured all along, to overwhelm any protestations, and ensure she went to her enema willingly.

“Now, you escort the naughty girl to the stool…”

The school nurse’s portable plastic step had been placed in front of the stool, the one she stood on to reach the room’s taller cabinets. It meant Penny could back onto the cushion and stand with her bottom hovering above the nozzle.

“Now you’ll hold the nozzle between your fingers to keep it steady, and encourage the girl to sit down. If she’s disobedient, you may deliver a few quick slaps to her thighs, and threaten her with more ginger in her bottom.”

Penny needed no such encouragement, she lowered her hips, feeling the nozzle poke against her bottom hole. Then she sank down a little further, feeling the slippery rubber arrowhead stretching her open. As the nozzle slid inside her, the burning sensation in her passage gave way to a feeling of fullness. And then she gave a little yelp as her sore spanked bottom finally came into contact with the hot rubber surface of the cushion.

Miss H smiled approvingly.

“I’ve always thought the burning heat of a spanking fades too soon. But I think sitting on a hot cushion with a smacked bottom will help prolong the lesson!”

Penny sat with just her feet on the step, the curve of the cushion naturally splaying her thighs apart. The horizontal stem of the tap jutted out between her slit, just beneath the hood of her clitoris.

To hold her in position, Miss H took each of Penny’s wrists behind her back and secured them with the velcro ties that were attached to the back of the stool. Then she whisked away the portable step leaving Penny’s bare feet trailing above the floor. There were velcro ties that went just under Penny’s knees too, ensuring that her thighs remained open but her feet dangled free.

“These ties will help keep the sitter in place, so all her weight is concentrated on the cushion. We wouldn’t want any silly struggles, or perching on the frame of the stool, would we?”

The headmistress took a moment to admire the scene. Penny was as pretty as a picture. Bound and immobile, her small bosom heaving heavily in excited expectation. Her once immaculate auburn hair now tousled and unkempt. Her eyes were staring back at her, sparkling and wild, as if daring her headmistress to open the tap that crudely jutted out between the lips of her sticky swollen slit.

“Now, this…” she announced theatrically, “is what happens to naughty girls…”

Penny looked on helplessly as her mistress reached between her legs and opened the spigot tap. The flow commenced immediately. Penny moaned as she felt it surge up inside her, like a fountain, a steady pressure powered by the force of her own weight, as she squirmed on the hot pink cushion beneath her.

Penny could feel the water pulsing into her in waves. She closed her eyes and imagined the nozzle was a stiff cock, plunged deep in her ass. She imagined she was so tight, and so hot, that her lover just kept on cumming, repeatedly filling her with gushes of hot creamy cum from his copious balls.

As she wriggled, Penny could feel the warm horizontal tube of the tap against the sticky opening of her vagina. How her clit throbbed. She was pretty sure she was just a quick rubbing away from coming on this devious contraption. If only her hands weren’t tied. All she could do was squirm, contorting herself in a vain attempt to rub against the tap just beneath her cunt, but that only pushed more water inside her, making her insides grumble.

It was an exquisite torment, a completely new and original Sit-Down Dance.

“What do you think, Penny?”

“Oh Miss!” she answered breathlessly, “It’s just what naughty girls deserve!”

“I’m glad to hear it. Now I think I may have mentioned that the school nurse is rather busy, and she’s been asking for an assistant. Someone responsible ad trustworthy who might help her administer the necessary enemas, inspections and shavings. Do you know anyone who might be interested in that role? I understand from your friends you have an interest in intimate inspections…?”

For a moment, Penny saw herself standing where her headmistress stood, her Prefect badge glinting on her lapel like a Western Sheriff’s star. Strict and punctilious, her hands clasped behind her back, she’d watch intently as some naked ne’er-do-well did the sit-down dance right in front of her. She imagined a naughty minx sitting where she was now, bucking and squirming disgracefully on the scalding hot cushion, as her bottom suffered for her crimes.

“Oh yes Miss! Please Miss!”

The following conversation was more job interview than interrogation, as Penny chatted rapidly, almost deliriously, about her spanking expertise, her inspection experience, and her knowledge of intimate anatomy. In the end Penny was quite happy to tell Miss Hastings everything she wanted to know about the Red Stripe Gang, talking loquaciously as she writhed on the cushion.

“Thank you Penny, this has been fascinating to hear.”

Miss H would have loved to have kept Penny here longer, but she also knew she needed to keep an eye on the time. Alice would be visiting her study soon, and that was one conversation she was looking forward to immensely.

The headmistress edged towards where Penny was sitting, close enough to smell her sweat and the sweet musky scent of her arousal, and to hear every detail of her shallow wheezing gasps. She paused, placing a firm fingertip under Penny’s swollen glistening clitoris, as if she was about to turn on a light.

She lowered her head, and whispered into the seated girl’s ear:

“Consider yourself hired.”

And then she flicked the switch, and watched Penny dance.

To be concluded…




@spankingtheatre 2017

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The Sit Down Dance Returns!

The latest part of The Sit Down Dance has just been posted!

Will strict Miss Hastings uncover what the girls were up to? Or will the girls outsmart and evade their headmistress?

If you haven’t read the two previous parts yet, do start at the beginning, here are links to all the parts of the story:

And here’s a sneak preview. When you’re ready, please do report to the waiting room and remove your underwear. The headmistress will see you soon…

On an average afternoon, Miss Hastings would tend to open her door to discover one or two red-faced young ladies waiting outside. She would ask each girl for her note, tsk-tsk her displeasure, then spin her around, lift her skirt, and tuck the hem into back of her waistband. She would then promptly pull the poor girl’s panties right down to her ankles, dashing the miscreant’s faint hopes she’d somehow be reprieved. In this school, all naughty girls were spanked on bare bottoms.

Once the girl had stepped out of her panties, they were hung up on a little hook on the wall, and she was told to sit back down on the bench. Bottoms now bared, most would gasp in surprise as they sat down on the cold surface of the varnished wooden bench. The seat was deliberately high off the ground, so most girls had to place their hands on the bench and hoist themselves onto it. As her feet dangled nervously above the floor, anyone sent here couldn’t help but feel like a very silly little girl indeed.

The slipper wasn’t the most painful implement the headmistress possessed, but it was easily the most noisily ostentatious. Each spank produced a loud slapping whack, which carried through the door and beyond, permeating deep into the ears and minds of those waiting outside. Each girl would stare at the floor contritely, squirming as she sat on her bare bottom, already imagining her spanking had started…

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