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Spanking stories for the theatre between your ears

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The Sit-Down Dance: part 2

This is the second part of three part story, you can read the first part here.

The location of Alice’s first sit-down dance wasn’t at all where you might expect.

It took place in a long-forgotten corner of Firecrest Manor’s sprawling gardens, where a prodigious moss-cloaked sycamore tree soared out of the bushes and into the skies. Its bark was a dappled silver parchment, in places peeling off in palm-sized splats, revealing a hundred different shades of grey beneath. Where the sun’s rays never reached, a carpet of fuzzy emerald moss clung to its branches, giving the impression that the grand old tree possessed its own lush green shadow.

This was Alice’s tree. Her sentinel. When she was smaller, she used to stare up at its billowing leaves as she sat on the swing in the little playground nearby. Watching it loom and recede as she rocked back and forth. Until one day, when she finally felt strong enough and adventurous enough to try and climb it.  

She only got a few metres off the ground on her first attempt, revelling in the experience of doing something so risky, and so daring! But her arboreal adventure had filthied her clothes, long dark dirty smears of crumbled bark streaked across her pale summer dress. That had earned Alice a good hard spanking from her governess when she’d got home, and a scolding admonishment not to ever go climbing trees again. But as Alice lay on her front in bed that night, her bottom still hot and smarting, she’d listened to the leaves’ seductive rustle outside her window, and resolved to climb again regardless.

From then on, whenever Alice climbed her tree, she always undressed completely first, folding her clothes into a neat pile and hiding them behind its enormous trunk. Here they were perfectly hidden, even if someone did happen to stumble into this particular clearing, they’d find no trace of her; unless they looked right behind this very tree. Or straight up, of course.

Alice found climbing bare an exhilarating experience. Her naked thighs embracing the smooth mossy bark as she stretched for the branches above, hauling herself ever higher and higher until she was completely inside the canopy of giant star-shaped leaves. It was cool up here, even on the hottest days, a soothing breeze percolating through the foliage, whispering across her naked skin.

She loved being here during summer rains, hearing drops of water pattering all around her, some trickling through the leaves to splatter and flow across her skin in soothing rivulets. In autumn, she’d pluck the winged seeds and release them in swarms, watching their little rotors spin as they spiralled away beneath her.

Alice always sat in the same place, on a thick, almost horizontal bough. She would kneel first, holding tight to a branch in front of her, then swing each of her legs out into the void, until she was straddling the branch, her feet dangling in free space with almost childish abandon.

There was also a bulge on this bough, just where she liked to sit. She would shuffle forward, until she could feel its knobbly, rutted surface against her soft smooth slit. Then she’d grip her thighs together, locking herself in place, until she could feel her own juices dribbling from her open lips.

This was where Alice liked to masturbate. Far away from the prying eyes of her governess, where she never needed to worry about her bedroom door suddenly swinging open, or explaining away what she’d been doing for so long behind a locked bathroom door. At first, she had played by rubbing her own clit, but soon found slowly grinding herself against the bulge in the branch far more satisfying. As if she was making love to the tree itself.

As she got ever closer, her thighs would grip the bough more tightly, and she’d feel the scratchy bark begin to prickle against her skin. She’d peek out through the foliage ahead of her, through the waving branches to glimpse the grand old house beyond. Sometimes she’d even catch sight of her governess, bustling with purpose, prowling around like an immaculately dressed predator. Alice knew if she was ever caught here, not just completely naked, but so dangerously high above the ground, she’d certainly be severely punished. She’d spend the rest of the summer in punishment panties for sure, and could probably expect to be put to bed with a well-spanked bottom every night.

Yet the thrill of her jeopardy always made Alice come hard. Her thighs would tense, locking around the bough she straddled, pushing her sticky throbbing slit firmly against the bulge in front of her. It made her clit feel like a match-head, rubbing against the rough side of a matchbox, ready at any moment to ignite into flames. When it did, a wave of pleasure surged through her body, loosening her legs’ grip, and sending her feet kicking into the empty air. And that was how, high in her tree, and far away from any disapproving eyes, Alice would pant and gasp in the ecstatic throes of her very first sit-down dance.

On her return to the ground, she’d often be filthy, her hands and thighs soiled with the dark marks of bark-dust and lichens, her crotch sticky from her session of wicked mischief. But the evidence of her illicit misadventure was easily concealed, she always brought a little bottle of water and a flannel when she visited her tree. In minutes, she could be cleaned and dressed, before wandering back to the house, happily and innocently.

The way home always took Alice through the little playground, a circular lawn surrounded by high hedges, home of a still-shiny slide and a pair of swings. This had been where her younger self had once whooshed back and forth, staring upwards at the grand old tree that loomed above her so imposingly at the zenith of her trajectory.

As you passed it, you wouldn’t think there was anything unusual about the playground’s slide, a simple stainless steel ladder with bright green plastic rungs, leading to a little platform about three metres off the ground. Its balcony was decorated to appear like a castle, little square battlements at the top, with arrow-slit windows moulded into the plastic fascia, a little play-tower, just big enough for two to stand at the top.

The slide itself was a shiny metal slope; there used to be a threadbare patch of ground at its end, where kicking feet of squealing sliders had once scuffed away the grass. But Alice and her friends were far too old for slides now, and what once was bare had now regrown.  Yet this slide held a very special erotic secret of its own.

Because it was right here that the notorious Red Stripe Gang began…


* * 4 * *

As Headmistress Hastings was reading Alice’s essay in shocked astonishment, its author was dandering casually back to her room. Alice couldn’t help but wonder if her essay had been too forceful, too explicit. It would almost certainly lead to more visits to the ‘dreaded’ Punishment Room – but the truth was, that was just what Alice wanted. Stern authority figures turned her on. Getting spanked turned her on, and being undressed and intimately scrutinised certainly turned her on.

Yet Alice was fed up with all the subterfuge of ‘getting into trouble’, the charade of being whacked like just another silly little schoolgirl. Alice wasn’t a troublemaker, or a delinquent, quite the contrary, she liked rules, and could be very obedient indeed. She thought of her essay as an invitation. It was time for Alice and her Headmistress to get to know each other. Properly. Like grown-ups do.

She pushed through the double doors of her dormitory block, and strode jauntily down the corridor to the room she shared with Penny. She knew without even trying the handle that the door was locked, so rapped briskly with her knuckles. A pause, then the sound of a key turning, and the door opened just a fraction to reveal Penny’s suspicious frown, which lightened immediately when she recognised who it was.

Penny shared this two bed dorm room with Alice, and the pair had been best friends ever since their first year at this school. Penny had an infectious carefree vivacity, something  Alice had noticed only days after arriving at the school. It was in the changing rooms after a swimming lesson, whilst most of her classmates were swaddling themselves in oversized towels careful not to reveal too much of themselves, Penny was casually naked, drying herself with a towel in her hand. It had immediately struck Alice how comfortable Penny was in her own body, exhibiting not a hint of shame or embarrassment.

As the other girls cowered, covering their waists like their anxious parents had warned them, Penny stood nonchalantly with her legs astride, the furrow of her slit evident and unconcealed. Moments like these change the courses of lives. Alice stood up, and let her big fluffy towel fall to the bench beneath her. Then she mirrored Penny’s stance, standing proudly naked in front of her peers, and picking up a small towel to continue drying herself. That’s when Penny saw Alice, and realised a kindred spirit too.

Penny pulled the door ajar and ushered Alice inside, locking the door again behind her. Inside two other girls were already waiting, their long-time partners-in-crime Lola and Addison. They’d been sitting on two of three high-backed chairs that were lined up facing her bed, and both stood as Alice entered.

“Good Afternoon, Miss” said Lola, Addison and Penny in unison.

Alice acknowledged their welcome with a smile and signalled to her friends that they could retake their seats.

Each of them was almost completely undressed, only wearing a pair of white panties. It was little wonder that Penny had opened the door so cautiously.

Together, the four of them were the Red Stripe Gang. A secret group of friends who shared a mutual fascination with spanking, kinky games and erotic punishments. They always got together after one of their number had done the Sit-Down Dance. If one of them got their panties pulled, all of them got it; it was gang rules.

And right now was an ideal time for mischief, in that hour after school when the girls of the school were allowed to wander out of the school grounds and into the local village. Very few stayed behind, meaning their neighbouring dorm rooms were practically empty. Those who did stay behind and who might overhear the odd smack and moan – well – too bad. They could make up their own minds about what was causing it, and whatever they imagined still wouldn’t come anywhere close to the outrageousness of the real thing.

Alice sat down on the bed facing the three chairs, feeling the sting from her recent caning and the hot line between her legs throbbing underneath her. But she did her best to remain calmly authoritative.

“Well, girls. Shall we get started?” she asked.

“Yes Miss!” her friends chorused in response.

“Lo, you can be first.”

Lola rose from her seat and took a few strides forward until she was standing in front of Alice, who tugged down her panties to her ankles without saying a word. Lola was shaved bare, of course, as per gang rules. Alice ran her fingertip across her smooth mound and down into her cute little furrow, making Lola coo frustratedly.

“Bend over, naughty girl.”

Lola did as she was told, bending over Alice’s left thigh, reaching over the corner of the bed until her palms were on the floor.

The gang didn’t have a cane for their whackings, but they had managed to improvise the next best thing. On the bed beside Alice was a long wooden school ruler, and a little bowl of cold water, into which she dunked a flannel, first to wet Lola’s bottom, then running the damp flannel along the length of the ruler. They’d discovered long ago that a wet bottom intensified a spanking, making their humble school ruler begin to sting like the fearsome cane of their Headmistress.

Alice moved her right shin against the back of Lola’s legs, pinning her in position, then tapped the ruler threateningly against her cheeks.

“Pay attention, girls,” Alice warned her onlooking friends, “you’ll be getting the same! A good hard whacking on your bare bottoms!”

Her audience squirmed in their seats, their hands fidgeting on their laps. Their nipples already hard, each like little pink buttons.

Alice’s ruler descended with a swish, delivering a resounding whack to the lower part of Lola’s left buttock. A second whack followed to the other cheek. Alice spanked in rapid pairs, left then right. Then after the sixth smack, Alice paused, dampening Lola’s bottom again, and re-wetting the ruler too.

Six more whacks quickly followed, leaving Lola’s bottom as pink as the glistening slit that lay between it. That was the intention, after all.

Her designated whacks received, Lola rose from Alice’s lap and placed her hands obediently on her head, awaiting her inspection.

Lola was the tallest of her four compadres, the proud possessor of extremely svelte physique. She wore her light brown hair in a two braids, which had fallen forward when she’d bent over, and now dangled just above the small round mounds of her breast. Lola had an attention-catching face, with cat-like almond shaped eyes, whose colour somehow seemed to change with her mood, from smouldering grey to excitedly green.

Along with many of the young ladies at this school, Lola was articulate and extremely well-spoken. She had a strong personality, and could come across as aloof and dismissive, but her friends knew her true nature: rambunctious, bubbly and cheeky. Her height had helped make her assured and self-confident, allowing her to swan through life as though nothing could touch her. Only when faced with the consequences of rule-breaking did her mask of composure slip. Whenever she’d waited in the Punishment Room for her Headmistress, she’d found herself trembling with fear. Yet unmistakably aroused too.

Lola’s fateful meeting with Alice in the Punishment Room had occurred after she had encouraged a few of her classmates to sneak out after hours to spy on one of their lady teachers. It had been an open secret that she was sneaking off to the caretaker’s outhouse, and rumours abounded that it was for passionate encounters with the burly young man who was the caretaker’s new assistant.

The giggling group was discovered by a patrolling teacher as they peeked through the outhouse’s foggy window, but Lola was so engrossed in watching the couple in congress she was the only one who was caught red-handed, (actually, wet-handed). Nevertheless, she refused to divulge the names of those who’d accompanied her, claiming it was much too dark to see. (It clearly wasn’t). But that sense of protecting your closest against authority’s cruel whims struck a chord with Alice, and they soon became firm friends. And then something rather more.

Alice reached down to Lola’s ankles, pulling up her panties carefully, ensuring the gusset parted Lola’s puffy wet lips, and was snug against her clit. Then she took Lola’s hand and lead her back to her chair, on top of which were a couple of cushions. Lola took her seat, and Alice knelt behind her, tying the waistband of Lola’s panties to the back of the chair with a shoelace, then tugging the cord until it was quite tight.

Now Lola obediently placed her hands behind her back, on either side of the middle slat of the chair back, allowing Alice to slip a cuff onto each of her wrists. These were improvised too, two old tennis sweatbands sewn together. By having their hands bound behind them they were putting themselves completely under their Mistress’s control. And it kept wandering fingers well away from naughty places.

And that was Lola, ready to dangle. Her white panties tight against her slit, a wet spot already visible between her legs.

Addison was summoned across Alice’s lap next, she was a petite girl, with skin so fair it resembled fine porcelain, something that gave her the appearance of an old-fashioned doll. She wore her honey-coloured hair in long tresses, but the most physically captivating thing about her was her eyes, little green orbs that danced bright with impish amusement. Addison was one of those people who laughed regularly, with a rich and infectious giggle.

Addison was the kind of girl quite determined to never take life too seriously, and whose natural expression was a subtle crooked grin, as if she’d just pulled off some particularly entertaining mischief and was just dying for someone to find out. That propensity for mischief had lead to many visits to the Punishment Room, where she’d met the other members of their little spanking gang, finally discovering three new friends who shared her  nefarious mutual interest.  

Twelve spanks later, Addison found herself sitting beside Lola with her panties tight against her aching clit, both squirming as they watched Penny’s cute little bottom turn pink. And then there were three; three naughty girls ready to do the sit-down dance.

“Lift up, girls.” Alice announced.

In response, the seated trio braced their heels on the frame of the chair, lifting themselves up from their seats slightly. Alice then moved between them, whipping away the top cushion from beneath each, then reaching down to take their feet down from the chair and onto the floor.

Suddenly, there were gasps and squeals.  

As each girl dropped onto the lower cushion, her panties were sharply pulled upwards, dragging harshly against her bottom hole, and burrowing into her weeping slit. At first, they can’t help but squirm, but gradually their movement diminishes, as they realise it’s only making their predicament worse. Clenching their fists bound behind them, all they can do is moan, tormented by the burning strip now running between their legs. Alice could recognise that ragged breathing from her own recent time on the Bench, those short gasps that accompanied the incessant upward tugging friction against her twitching clit…

Alice stood back to admire the sight of her friends bound and helpless, doing the sit down dance, as the evidence of their growing excitement seeped through their underwear. She watched with studious interest for The Pinch, that singular moment when their panties finally tugged back the hood of their clits. A moment marked by a desperate gasp.

Alice could resist the urge no longer. Her own pearl had been throbbing unsatisfied for hours now, as she had been undressed, inspected and spanked, and then left to dangle on the Bench. She began removing her school uniform, not salaciously, but meticulously, folding each garment neatly on the bed as her friends looked on.

Her undressing concluded by unhooking her bra, and then slowly drawing down her own sticky panties. She mounted her bed, and laid on her back, opening her legs and raising her knees to her shoulders, giving her friends a perfect view of her cane marks, a bright pink band of stripes on the lowest part of her bottom.

Given their current predicament, those seated couldn’t help but stare at another stripe, the solitary pink line that ran between Alice’s legs. When they looked at Alice’s swollen clitoris, they couldn’t help but become acutely aware of their own, erect and tender, rubbing against their own underwear. When they each stared at the red stripe around Alice’s bum hole, the fiery heat smouldering between their cheeks seemed to burn more intensely. And when they looked into the gaping wet gash of Alice’s vagina, they could feel the material of their own panties intruding deep between their lips, feeling like it was just one thrust away from delivering the fucking they craved.

Alice playfully ran her fingertip up and down her slit, gathering streams of glistening goo. She raised her head, issuing a challenge to those seated opposite.

“Are you ready to dance for me? To dance like good little girls whilst I come?”

“Yes Miss!” her friends shouted eagerly.

Alice rose, and approached the chairs again. Their occupants lifted themselves up in preparation, placing their heels on the legs of their seats, allowing Alice to whip away the second and last cushion each had been sitting on.

As they lowered their feet to the floor, each girl found her panties pulled uncomfortably, almost brutally, tight, a thin fiery line stretched between their buttocks, threatening to intrude between their soaking slits.

As Alice laid back on the bed, those seated compliantly spread their legs, displaying the narrow white bands now tight against their crotches, perhaps hoping the sight of their vulnerability might somehow quicken their mistress’s climax. Alice certainly relished the sight, propping a couple of pillows behind her shoulders, so she wouldn’t miss a thing as she played.

She let her fingers stray between her lips, finding every part of her vulva delightfully tender. She wondered what Marian and Pansy were doing in their rooms right now. Probably exactly what she was doing now, but without an audience. Alice often pondered that if the sit-down dance was truly a punishment, those who’d done it should be put into some kind of chastity garment for a day, so they had no way of relieving themselves. 24 hours of erotic torment, dominated by the sensation of a hot stripe between one’s legs. That would be punishment. If I was Headmistress, Alice thought, that’s just what I’d do.

Alice’s rubbing had started slow, but was now getting faster and faster. Ever since her caning she’d had an ache deep inside her cunt; and having her panties pulled had just exacerbated it. Now she slid her fingers deep inside in search of long-anticipated relief.

“Please Miss! Hurry Miss!” her friends implored.

The rules of the Red Stripe Gang were you did the sit down dance until the girl in charge finally climaxed.

Each of the members has their own favourite technique. Lola liked to stand astride those seated, facing away if they were to lick her bottom hole, facing towards if they were to lick her cunt. Addison liked to use her hand-held “massager”, running it up and down her slit before pressing its little rubber vibrating head against her clit. Penny liked to come using both holes, rubbing herself to the edge before pushing a finger deep into her bottom. As for Alice, she just liked to rub slowly, and watch. To just let time pass, until her own climax was suddenly imminent and inevitable.

She took a moment to survey the sight before her. There was a clear gap underneath each of her friends as they hovered above their seats, suspended only by the thin shoelace tied to their panties, and whatever strength they had left in their cantilevered thighs. All had stopped fidgeting, admitting defeat in their attempts to find comfortable position, realising any movement just made things worse. And each had a conspicuous wet spot where their underwear disappeared beneath their bodies.

Then she became aware of a rhythmic gasping, eventually realising she was the one who was causing it. Those seated were gasping in unison each time her fingertips completed a full circuit of her vulva, almost willing the orgasm to wash over her. Alice revelled in the growing feeling of tightness in her groin, the pleasurable sensations now overwhelming the burning discomfort of her marks. She could feel herself getting close. So close…

“Please! Miss! Please!”

Alice teetered on the edge, curling two fingers onto the rough patch at the front of her vagina and gripping hard, whilst her other hand rubbed her clit in ever tighter, faster circles. Images from the past flooded her mind, and she somehow found herself thinking back to when the Red Stripe Gang had all begun. In her old childhood playground.

Ah yes, the Play Ground.


Alice and Penny had always enjoyed hanging out in the playground, even though they were both much too old to play on the rather juvenile apparatus. They came here because of its seclusion, a quiet little nook, conveniently ringed by high hedges, well away from the walls of old Firecrest Manor. Were you to sit on the top of the slide, you could peer over the foliage and keep on eye on the only approaching path, the winding line of stepping stones that lead up from the herb garden. Here, Alice had discovered a haven, somewhere her governess couldn’t stumble across her, and that meant it soon became their favourite site for all kinds of naughty mischief.  

It had only been a couple of days after Alice and Penny had been put into Punishment Panties by Alice’s governess, Miss Audrey. For Penny, this had been a radically new experience, one that had been indelibly seared into her mind, and one she was rather keen to recreate.

Ever since that event, for which Alice had apologised profusely, and which Penny had told her was no big deal, adding in passing that she was sure she’d think of something Alice could do in recompense. Usually such forfeits involved going over a playmate’s knee, this time however, Penny was to surprise her friend with her ingenuity.

It started when Penny told Alice to take her shoes off, and then led her by the hand towards the playground slide, instructing her to climb to the top. Alice did as she was told, and was surprised to see Penny climbing up behind her, and that she had a skipping rope in her hand. She hadn’t noticed the rope before, so Penny must have taken it out of her knapsack.

When Alice reached the top, she sat down as directed, whilst Penny stood a few rungs from the top of the ladder behind her. Then she felt her skirt being lifted, and the handle of the skipping rope being was passed through the tops of her panties. When the ends of the rope were tied around the balcony rail of the slide, Penny’s intention became perfectly clear.

“Oh Penny, no please!” she pleaded.

“Naughty girls get their panties pulled.” replied her friend, quite unmoved.

“What if She checks my bottom?”

“You’ll just have to stay out of trouble for a few days. Sit forward, on the edge.”

Alice shuffled forward reluctantly, allowing Penny to stand behind her and reach over to push a sweatband over both hands, so it gripped her wrists together.

“Alice Montreux. You have been found guilty of conspiracy to commit mischief, and getting a friend spanked. The sentence of this court is you shall be hanged by your panties, until you are sore. Do you have anything to say?”

“I’ll never forsake mischief!” joked Alice defiantly.

And then Alice felt a sustained shove against her back, enough to push her off the edge and send her slipping down the slide, but only a short distance, as the skipping rope tied to the top of the slide arrested her descent, immediately tugging her panties upwards, painfully between her legs. Initially she brace herself with her feet on the sides of the slide, but her socks offered no grip, and it soon became apparent squirming just made her discomfort worse.

Having one’s panties pulled on The Slide was to become a rite of passage for prospective members of the Red Strip Gang who came to stay at Alice’s house. The playground quickly became a favourite venue for all manner of naughty games.

But Alice and Penny never told their friends the full story of what happened the first time on the slide. How Alice felt the urge to pee, how she pleaded with Penny to release her, and how her cold-hearted refusals just made her predicament even more exciting. And as her excitement grew, the urge to pee intensified.

“Please Pen! I can’t hold on!”

“Don’t you dare, young lady! Or I shall spank your bare bottom!”

Alice could still remember the sudden humiliation of wetting herself, she had tugged up the hem of her skirt, and watched with shocked fascination as her hot gush filled her tightened panties. See could still picture how her stream dribbled and tinkled onto the slide chute, pattering like rain on a sheet metal roof, before trickling down the slide beneath her. The accompanying surge of pleasure wasn’t quite an orgasm, but it felt like the next best thing.

It was a memory so strong, so visceral, it never failed to push her over the edge. But mindful of dorm etiquette, she tried not to cry out too loudly as she came.

Opposite Alice, three faces grinned in unison as they saw Alice cease her rubbing and plunge her fingers deep inside, curling her limbs into her body like a shrinking ball. Mistress had come, and that meant it would be their turn soon.


* * 5 * *

Slowly, Alice’s awareness coalesced, like steam condensing on a bathroom mirror. Her whole body was still humming, as if she was a violin string, still resonating from the crescendo of her ecstatic performance. She opened her eyes reluctantly, blinking amid the light that seemed to have suddenly become so much brighter and more intense. Beyond her, vague figures materialised in her visual haze, her playmates, still dangling by their panties, watching her expectantly.

At this moment she just wanted to lie there, enjoying the after-tingles as she stroked her wet folds, teasing those she was disciplining as they squirmed, gasped and begged. What a wonderful erotic torment the panty-pulling chair had turned out to be, a triumph of their collective improvisation. An inescapable and escalating torment, that not only never failed to arouse its sitter, but always had them pleading for release too. A perfect apparatus to encourage sexual submissiveness. Alice suspected Headmistress Hastings felt exactly the same way.

Speaking of the devil: if she were here now, what Miss Hastings do? That would be fun to role-play, Alice thought, even more fun than rubbing herself. So it was that she began to channel her inner domme, and rose from the bed as authoritatively as her wobbly limbs would allow.

“Well, girls. I hope you all appreciate the consequences of your misbehaviour…”

Alice found herself speaking more slowly, and quietly, as if she didn’t expect anyone to dare interrupt her.

“Yes Miss!” the trio said together.

Alice strode towards Lola, reaching out to her chest to pinch her hard nipples.

“Are your panties tight enough, Lola? Can you feel them deep inside your slit?”

“Oh yes Miss!” she answered desperately.

She pinched Addison’s nipples next, rolling the little pink bulbs between her fingers.

“What do you say, girl?”

“Thank you for my punishment, Miss!”

Satisfied, Alice moved on towards Penny, pinching both her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers.

“And what would you do, Penny, for your release?”

“Anything, Miss! Anything!”

Alice didn’t often take control, but when she did, she found the power of command intoxicating. She turned her back, and stood astride Penny’s chair, bringing her own bare bottom close to Penny’s panting face.

“Do you like my stripes, girl?”

“They’re beautiful, Miss!”

“They do sting. Kiss them better.”

Penny complied immediately, covering Alice’s bottom in a slow line of warm, wet kisses.

“Are you sore between your legs, Miss? May I kiss you better there too?”

Alice didn’t reply, but bent over, reaching back to hold her own bottom apart, muffling her own sighs as she felt Penny’s firm tongue on her slit. The wet little intruder roved and explored, identifying where Alice flinched, then covering those places with licks and dainty kisses. Penny did the same for the tender bruise on Alice’s perineum, following it upwards until her tongue was circling her bottom hole. And then, threatening to push inside it.

“Ohh. Good girl…” Alice sighed contentedly, half-wanting to stay in position, and let Penny’s tongue work its magic. But she couldn’t help feeling her Headmistress would not be so easily distracted. Maybe later.

She moved forward from Penny’s chair and then behind it, kneeling on the floor whilst she untied Penny’s panties. When the tension was finally released, she dropped a tiny distance to her seat with a gasp of sheer gratitude. Then she stretched open the sweatbands, freeing Penny’s wrists.

“On the bed for bottom inspection, Penny!”

Penny assumed the position expected of her, kneeling on the bed, resting her forehead and hands on the floor, so her bottom was her highest point. Between the pink patches on her buttocks from her earlier spanking, ran the thin band of material of her panties, still deeply embedded into her bottom crevice.

Soon, Addison and Lola had joined Penny on the bed, and Alice stood behind them, ruler in hand. Before her, three naughty bottoms, ready to be inspected. She started spanking, moving briskly between the trio, enforcing her authority by adding a brand new pink hue to their cheeks. She delivered the smacks whilst gripping the waistbands of their panties, now pulled up to the smalls of their backs, which helped deter any childish wiggling.

Then it was time for panties to come down. Each girl gasping aloud as the band of fabric that had been pressing so cruelly between her legs was suddenly loosened. Alice waited for each girl to raise her knees from the bed in turn, allowing her panties to be removed completely, which she then turned inside out and placed on the bed between their owner’s legs. Predictably, the gussets were soaked, with a large glistening circle of stickiness clearly visible on each.

Alice began her inspection by placing her hands on Lola’s bottom. She could immediately feel the heat from her spanked bottom warming her palms. She lingered for a moment, and then tugged Lola’s buttocks apart, revealing the thin red stripe in all its glory.

Alice leant forward, and with her tongue, traced the stripe from Lola’s swollen labia and all the way up to the top of her bottom crevice, skirting her little wrinkled dimple with a couple of playful circuits en route. Lola tasted so good, but not of the kind of sugary confections a juvenile sweet-tooth desires. This was the kind of taste that required an adult palate and a certain maturity to appreciate. Musky and salty, like burnt earth cooled by lapping waves; to Alice, Lola tasted better than the most decadent gateaux.

Addison was to be inspected next, she had the same thin red line between her legs, and mewed appreciatively as Alice’s tongue roved along it, giggling endearingly as Alice tickled her bottom hole.

Then it was Penny’s turn, Alice had seen her friend’s intimate places more times than she could remember, but always felt a special thrill when she inspected a stripe between her legs. It reminded her of that first time, after her governess had put them both in punishment panties, and they’d sneaked off at the first opportunity for a hurried game of show-me-yours, bending over as she was now, feeling Alice’s inquisitive fingertip tracing across her tender flesh.

“Now let that be a lesson to you all,” scolded Alice, as sternly as she could manage. “Naughty girls get sore bottoms.”

“Yes Miss…” the trio agreed solemnly.

“You may sit up now…” added Alice, as she fetched a little velvet bag from her bedside table.

She shook it a few times, prompting the click-clack of small pebbles, then invited her friends to put a hand inside and draw one out.

Lola went first, and drew a white stone.
Addison then drew a black stone.
Penny also drew a black stone, and immediately shared a playful nudge with Addison. That left one pebble for Alice, which was white.

Thrown together by fate, Addison and Penny crossed the room to lie on Penny’s bed, whilst Lola sidled beside Alice, wrapping her long arms around her in a passionate embrace.

“I’ve been such a naughty girl, Miss…” Lola whispered saliciously into Alice’s ear.

“Will you slipper my bum hard before we fuck?”

Just hearing those words sent a jolt of excitement through Alice’s groin. As Lola laid down, Alice fetched a leather slipper from underneath her bed before straddling her playmate’s face, whose tongue wasted no time in lapping at her folds appreciatively. But rather than repay the compliment, Alice remained upright, allowing Lola to rest on her shoulders and raise her long legs until they had passed under Alice’s armpits.

In manuals of sexual ecstasy, this position the two had adopted probably had a suitably exotic name. Two Cranes at Sunset perhaps, or The Strict and Most Munificent Empress. But if that was the case, Alice didn’t know of it; to her, it was just the spank-whilst-being-pleasured position – a chance to soundly slipper Lola’s bottom, and enjoy the sight of her crinkled little hole winking after every whack. Meanwhile Lola attempted to distract Alice from her disciplinary duties by sucking her clit, and gasping her cries into Alice’s tingling cunt.

Alice began by rubbing her partner’s buttocks with her slipper, building her anticipation before unleashing the first volley of spanks. Alice had another hand free as well, of course, and used it to caress the lips of Lola’s slit, depositing her stickiness provocatively on her friend’s own bottom hole, and letting her fingertip intrude a bit deeper every time.

Another flurry of spanks had Lola moaning. By now, there was also a great deal of panting and squelching coming from the other bed too. Alice glanced over to see Penny and Addison already entwined in the 69 position, mutually soothing the sore stripes between their legs with their tongues. It was a position quite familiar to Alice, she and her room mate never went to bed without giving each other a goodnight kiss.

Alice spanked again, as she applied another dozen whacks, she let the index finger of her other hand slide deeper and deeper into Lola’s bottom. She could feel the resistance of her friend’s tight little hole weakening after every smack. Another dozen spanks and her finger was fully inserted, gripped tight in its little vice.

That was when Alice put down her slipper, moving her head forward until the lips of her own mouth could kiss Lola’s gaping pussy. What particularly delighted Alice was feeling the soft warmth of the spanking she’d just given radiating against her forehead. She began to lick, kiss and suckle her playmate’s clitoris, maintaining the pressure of her finger in her bottom until she began to feel the tell-tale trembles, the little squeezes and tremors that indicated a climax was near. Underneath her arms, Alice could feel Lola’s long legs flailing, definitely on the verge of losing control.

Perhaps – Alice thought, as her own climax neared – she’d invite her friends over to stay at Firecrest during the next Easter holidays. She was sure that they’d love to meet her governess, and very sure Ms Audrey would be delighted to meet them – and, if they were naughty, to spank their bare bottoms, and pull up their punishment panties, nice and tight.

Oh wouldn’t that be quite a sight? The infamous Red Stripe Gang in their pretty little girl dresses, panties pulled up especially tight, all lining up to have their sore bottoms inspected.

And then, the room began to fill with the mellifluous sounds of orgasm.


On the other side of Alice’s dormitory door, Miss Hastings knelt, watching everything.

The stripe between her own legs ached, exacerbated by watching the filthy goings-on in the room beyond. Her own view had been limited, through the tiniest gap between the door and its frame, but by shifting her point of view the headmistress had been able to drink in the entire scene.

On each bed a pert little bottom was bobbing in the air, pink patches from a recent spanking clearly visible on each. On one bed, a naked girl laid underneath, lapping between her partner’s legs with her tongue. On the other bed, she easily recognised Alice who was spanking the girl contorted beneath her. They were trying to be quiet, but Miss could still hear their little mews, interspersed by urgent stifled panting.

After Miss Hastings’ own, rather wonderful, climax on the Bench, she had decided to pay Alice a visit. She had wanted to discuss the rather provocative contents of her essay and had a feeling she’d find her in her dorm, rubbing her discomfort away. But she had not expected to find her with company, and so brazenly occupied.

She had been about to knock on the door when she’d noticed the glint of mortice bar in the gap of the door frame, indicating it was locked. This was unusual, dorm rooms weren’t usually locked at this hour – unless nefarious activities were taking place. And so she had decided to kneel in front of the door and see what she could glimpse.

And she had seen everything. Three chairs with the shoelaces dangling. Two pairs of naked young ladies each delightedly licking each other’s places. Pink patches from recent spankings and bright red stripes between their bottom cheeks. She had arrived just in time to witness Alice’s inspect the bottoms of her playmates, a task she had to admit Alice performed with great alacrity.

But the girls had now had their fun, and it was time to re-impose some discipline, to demonstrate who was really in charge around here. And to get to the bottom of what had really been going on behind that door.

She stood, and knocked…

“Alice? Ah, you’re in!” she called, trying to preempt the silly charade whereby the occupants stay silent, desperately trying to pretend there’s really no-one present in the room.

The headmistress knew they’d recognise her voice, and it certainly had the desired effect. From behind the door, there were panicked squeals. A flurry of putting things away and getting dressed again. It was a full 5 minutes before a red-faced Alice finally opened her dormitory door.

Miss Hastings smiled, in the manner of a stalking cat.

“Oh hello Alice…” she said, definitely overdoing the friendly sincerity.

“I thought we might have a little chat…”

To be continued…

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@spankingtheatre 2016

spankingtheatre at gmail dot com

Originally posted at spankingtheatre.tumblr.com

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The Sit-Down Dance: part 1

Every girl in the school knew about it, even if they’d just heard the whispered rumours. They talked about it ominously, like a ghostly legend, or a terrible curse. And when it was discussed, it was only ever in hushed voices and the merest mumblings. It was the threat that hung over them all, the most feared punishment, the just deserts awaiting the perpetrators of the very naughtiest misbehaviour.

How many times had a group of friends begun to scheme some illicit hijinks, only for one of them to stop, and suddenly exclaim: “We can’t do that! We’d all do the Sit Down Dance for sure!”

There was no greater shame than to be summoned to the front of the class, having finally exhausted your teacher’s patience. And then having to stand there, head bowed, as she scribbled your name and misdemeanour onto a little red-bordered card. All while your classmates were excitedly whispering and sniggering just behind you…

“The Sit Down Dance! She’s going to do the Sit Down Dance!”

There was no greater embarrassment than pushing through the double doors of the staff wing, an area normally strictly off-limits for pupils, once the final bell of the school day had rung. Clutching your little red-bordered card to your chest, proffering it to each passing teacher, your pass to the inner sanctum, shirking with shame as they read your name and your crime, scowling disdainfully.

And there was no greater anxiety than trudging down the long corridor, past all the staff rooms and the Headmistress’ office. To shuffle inevitably towards the Punishment Room, tummy tumbling with trepidation.

The door to that notorious room was old and heavy, a dark mahogany hunk that looked incongruously out of place amidst the school’s modern decor, like a pirate ship had somehow been moored at the end of the corridor. Even just turning the ornate brass handle gave the feeling you were about to leave the modern world behind and step beyond into the captain’s cabin.

Visitors saw a small brass plaque mounted at eye-height, a few lines engraved in cursive writing for those about to enter to ponder. It was a quotation from long ago, from when school itself had still been young.

Heaven is not always angry when he strikes,

But most chastises those

Whom most he likes.

– John Pomfret

Alice could feel the dampness of her own palm as she gripped the handle, but after a moment’s hesitation, she pushed the heavy door ajar.

Yet no matter how many times Alice had visited the Punishment Room, the world beyond that antiquated door never failed to surprise her…


* * 1 * *

The Punishment Room had no windows. About the size of a typical classroom, it was a large space that somehow still felt claustrophobic. The cherrywood panelling that clad each of its walls from floor to ceiling deadening any sound, exacerbating the sense of enclosure and its occupants’ feeling of captivity.

On two sides a pair of brass brackets protruded from the walls just above head-height, on each was the bulbous frosted glass globe of a gas lamp. Should a visitor happen to look more closely, they’d see the flame flickering inside; an even closer inspection would reveal the flame was actually an intimation bulb. Considerable care had clearly been taken to preserve the ambience of this room, even during the school’s periodic modernisations, retaining the flickering light that glinted off the antique wooden panels, basking the whole room in a bright but intimate rosy light.

Against one wall was a rack of various disciplinary implements, dozens of canes of various lengths and thicknesses, as well as a whole array of leather straps, whips and paddles. The first time Alice saw it, she thought it was ludicrously overstocked, as if the room was readied for the mass outbreak of delinquency, and the whole school suddenly turning up. But Alice understood better now, those implements were here in such numbers not to be used, but to intimidate.

And then there was The Bench, which completely dominated the centre of the room. It was an unusually tall item of furniture, its seat, a thick flat plank of varnished mahogany wood, stood chest high off the ground. The underside of the bench seat itself had no legs, it was solely supported from its sides by a pair of thick wooden columns, linked at the back by a two thick connecting beams.

The first beam ran behind the seat, to which it was connected by a row of glistening brass hinges. The second beam also ran the full length of the bench, but was located just above the seat, serving as a backrest. Where the bench seat met its supporting posts it was braced on either side by what seemed like brass pistons. The whole apparatus looked archaic, like it belonged in an industrial heritage museum.

In front of the bench were three tall movable lecterns, like the one in the stage in the assembly hall. She could see a blank pad of paper and a pen on the sill of each, at just the right height for anyone sitting on the bench to write on.

Alice let her eyes wander. A framed notice hung on the wall, its gilded frame now rather tarnished with age, advising newcomers what to do when they arrived, whilst they were waiting for their Headmistress to join them. A bold headline left its readers in no doubt what state their disciplinarian expected to find them: Absolute Silence.

Beyond the bench, two stood girls facing the far wall. Alice recognised one immediately, a dark-skinned girl with short curly black hair, but wasn’t quite sure of the other, a pale brunette with her hair tied behind in a single shoulder-length bunch. Both had taken off their skirts, and were standing contritely with their hands on top of their heads. Each stood in her white school regulation panties, with her blouse rolled up neatly above her hips. Neither turned around, or even said a word as Alice entered.

Hanging beside each girl, on a little hook, was her blazer. Underneath hung her skirt, and beneath that, her shoes, neatly paired together. The arrangement made each girl seem like she was standing beside her invisible twin.

Alice looked back at the canes hanging on the wall, imagining for just one moment what it would be like to stride purposefully into this room – to pluck a cane from the rack, and call each girl forward to bend over. She relished the delicious delight of slowly pulling down her panties, tapping the rod against her bare quivering cheeks, and then administering a good hard whacking as the miscreant squirmed, jerked and sniffled.

Alas, Alice wasn’t here to punish them, she was here to join them. She gently pulled the heavy door shut behind her, and crept over to the row of empty hooks on the far wall that awaited her arrival.

As she approached the two girls already present, Alice could see the little brass frame beside them both. Inside the frame was a red-bordered card with the girl’s name hand-written in block letters, and the misbehaviour that sent her here beneath. When Alice was close enough to read the details, she slowed to a dawdle. The one on the left read:

PANSY PARKINSON

FLASHING

Seeing Pansy here came as a tremendous surprise to Alice, she didn’t know her well, but they were in the same English class. Alice had always considered Pansy to be a bit of a teacher’s pet. Always getting the highest marks, always being first to hand in essays, always the first hand raised to answer questions in class. She could quote whole sonnets, she was like a walking encyclopedia of Shakespeare. But flashing? My goodness, Alice thought, it’s true what they say about the quiet types.

Almost instinctively, Alice let her eyes run over Pansy’s body. She was a tall, athletic girl with lithe legs and perfectly pert buttocks, toned through her love of running. She also had the most exquisite coffee-coloured skin, which Alice found tremendously alluring. She’d often wondered what a dark-skinned bottom looked like after a good spanking, and couldn’t help but smirk as she realised she was about to find out.

Beside Pansy, stood a tall slender brunette girl. Alice craned her neck to read what it said on the card beside her:

MARIAN ALMASSY

CAUGHT OUTSIDE SCHOOL GROUNDS

Ah yes, Alice remembered. Marian was one of the foreign exchange students, from somewhere in Eastern Europe, was it Hungary? Alice didn’t really know her, only that she spoke excellent English with an exotic accent which, along with her height and proud, aloof demeanour, gave the impression that she was actually some mysterious aristocratic countess, somehow exiled from her native lands.

What had been her crime? Sneaking out of school? Whatever for? A secret assignation no doubt, probably to suck off some dashing young grenadier, or whatever horny European countesses went for these days.

But Alice couldn’t stand gawping, she realised, the Headmistress would be here soon, and she would expect to find them all ready. Ready for… well, you know.

Alice was already quite familiar with what she had to do, beginning with fishing her punishment card out of her pocket and slotting it into the little frame beside her. Then she took her blazer off completely, hanging it on the hook on the wall along with her skirt, before kneeling to untie and take off her shoes, placing them neatly side-by-side, before rolling up the loose flaps of her blouse to her waist.

Tummy trembling, Alice placed her hands on her head, edged forward so the wooden panel was just in front of her nose. She stood like a museum exhibit, the handwritten caption card beside her exclaiming her crime for all to see:

ALICE MONTREUX

PUBLIC MASTURBATION

Alice eyed her own card with a mix of chest-lifting pride and cheek-pinkening shame. Her own offence made her seem so edgy! So free-spirited! So comfortable with her own sexuality that she thought nothing of satisfying herself whenever and wherever she pleased. On the other hand, she couldn’t help feeling it also made her sound like a horny little slut, so wanton and sex-crazed she couldn’t keep her fingers off herself. The truth, she had to admit to herself, was probably somewhere in the middle. Yet if only the teacher who’d caught her knew the truth of her conspiracy, she’d barely believe it.

In the silence, each girl’s hearing began to tune into the clatter of faraway footsteps. Until one particular cadence began to emerge, getting progressively louder, until the clopping of the approaching shoes began to thunder in each of their ears. There could be no doubt who was nearing, nor about what would be happening next. It was a prospect that made each girl’s knees tremble, even if at least one of them was secretly rather looking forward to it.


* * 2 * *

Headmistress Barbara Hastings strode towards the Punishment Room propelled by an earnest sense of purpose. Three names had been written by her colleagues on the today’s Sheet of Shame, the sheaf of paper pinned to the cork board in the staff room, the one used to record who’d been issued with the infamous little red-bordered card.

She paused for a moment outside the door, taking a deep breath, establishing the persona who would march into the room beyond and begin dispensing discipline. She would be a chastening force of nature, a castigating angel. And those who found themselves being punished by her would help sustain her notoriety, whisper by reverent whisper.

The headmistress dressed with equally authoritative deliberation. A high-collared black jacket that concealed most of her neck, and whose shoulder pads added gravitas to her tall slender frame. Underneath, an ivory coloured blouse, and long coal black skirt, nipped in her waspish waist, its fabric pouring over her modest hips, and falling straight down below her knees like some elegant velvet waterfall.

Moments later, when the door suddenly flew open, the three girls facing the opposite wall couldn’t help but flinch. Their Headmistress entered dramatically, surging into the room like a tsunami wave, slamming the heavy door behind her with a resounding boom.

“Good afternoon, you naughty girls!” she scolded, by way of greeting.

“Good afternoon, Miss” the girls chorused in reply, somewhat half-heartedly.

Miss Hastings surveyed this afternoon’s lineup, each girl looked like a page from one of those spiral bound books, the ones where the page were thick glossy cardboard, divided into thirds, and you could change the costume of a character by turning over the strips to choose a different outfit for her head, torso and legs.

Best get started then, Miss Hastings thought.

“Come here, Alice.”

Alice turned from facing the wall and edged slowly towards where her headmistress was standing, beside a little raised plinth. The platform was barely ankle high, just a square block of wood with two hoops on its top, each about 2 ruler widths apart.

“Such a naughty girl, Alice!” she scolded. “Playing with yourself like that! I expect girls at this school to behave with more decorum. You shall be caned on your bare bottom.”

Alice nodded respectfully. Her sentence had been what she’d been expecting, senior girls almost always got their bare bums whacked. Younger girls sometimes escaped the cane and got the leather slipper instead. But regardless of what implement their disciplinarian choose, everyone sent to the punishment room always left with a very sore bottom.

Alice had been here several times before, and was quite familiar with the procedure without needing to be told. She stepped onto the plinth, putting her feet into each hoop, then bending over to clasp the top of each hoop with her fingers.

Before Miss Hastings had introduced this particular innovation to the punishment process, there had been a lot of silliness from too many girls who should have known better. Far too much flailing of arms as panties were pulled down, and jumping around when their bottoms came to be whacked, not to mention all that clenching of their legs together when it was time to be inspected. The hoops in the plinth kept naughty girls in the proper position for punishment, bent over with their legs apart.

Miss H crouched behind Alice and slowly tugged down her panties until they were stretched between her knees. The creamy smear she saw in the gusset of Alice’s underwear was so unremarkable she let it pass without comment.

The plain fact was, almost every girl sent to the punishment room soaked her panties. Some would seep in anticipation of their whacking, spending a long afternoon of classes squirming in their own wetness. For others the trigger was different, perhaps stepping into the punishment room itself, or seeing the canes and the infamous bench. Or undressing and having to hang up her uniform and stand facing the wall in just her panties. It was a truth universally accepted: discipline made girls wet.

Alice gulped as she felt cool air waft across her wet slit, but remained in position obediently as her headmistress knelt behind her. She was now close enough to inhale the scent of Alice’s arousal. The smell made Miss Hastings’ vagina clench, squeezing the Kegel ball she’d slipped inside herself before she left her office.

Nothing smelled as wonderful as a girl in the moments before she was spanked.  The musky fragrance of her arousal mingling with the pungent earthy odour of her exposed bottom hole – and, another smell. Something more ephemeral, something more difficult to explain, an aroma she could only recall encountering when a girl bent over to have her bare bottom spanked. Was it the sweet sweaty tang of nervous anxiety, or some inscrutable pheromone of submission?

The Kegel ball gave Miss H an secret outlet for her arousal. After all, it wouldn’t have been proper for a headmistress to rub herself as she was punishing her pupils. So rather than stand frustratedly whilst her clit throbbed beneath her skirt, the ball allowed her to discreetly relieve some of her tension by flexing her pelvic floor. On occasion she’d even been able to make herself climax, timing her orgasm so it commenced just as the last whack of her cane landed.

Miss H took her time inspecting the region between Alice’s legs. Like an increasing number of girls in the school, Alice kept herself shaved bare, the bump of her mound flawlessly smooth, the thin pink folds of her labia proudly neat and tidy.  

“Hold still, Alice” she instructed, as she plucked a tissue from a box on the floor.

She pressed two of her fingers into the tissue and then gently positioned the tissue against Alice’s perineum, before slowly drawing it upwards, between her buttocks until it reached her bottom hole. She circled that little dimple three times, before withdrawing the tissue and noticing, to her satisfaction, that Alice had indeed kept her bottom commendably clean.

Miss H had found the humiliation of bottom wiping particularly useful in dispelling any lingering wilfulness, reminding those about to be punished who was in charge, and if they intended to act like silly little girls, they would most certainly be treated that way. There was a practical purpose too, a chance to check no girl was trying to escape her punishment by surreptitiously applying a numbing gel or lubricant to her buttocks or the crevice between her cheeks. By now, the headmistress knew all the tricks.

The punishment room was not a place for pleading, postponements or reprieves. Once a girl was sent here, she could be sure of being punished. As per school rules, those currently in the midst of their period would be wearing a menstrual cup. Not that some of the older girls bled any more anyway, having taken advantage of hormonal implants that liberated them from that particular palaver.

Even an urgent call of nature was no excuse. Hanging beside the rack of canes was what looked like a giant porcelain slipper, raised at one end, where the heel might be. It was an antique chamberpot kept here for those who, faced with the prospect of imminent punishment, might be suddenly overcome by a need to relieve themselves. Such a chancer would find herself sitting on the potty, piddling like a little girl as her cheeks burned with shame, before Miss wiped her dry and smacked her bottom.

Satisfied by what she’d seen, Miss H concluded her inspection, standing and discarding the folded tissue in a little bin, before plucking a cane from the wall.

Alice flinched as she felt the cane tapping underneath the curve of her bottom, just above the tops of her thighs. A tender region, chosen deliberately. Because in the punishment room, naughty girls always ended up sitting on their stripes.

Facing the wall, Pansy and Marian flinched as they heard a swish, a thwack and a stifled moan.

Alice gripped the handles by her feet, trying hard not to yelp out loud as the cane stung her bottom. Her headmistress gave her no respite, another whack landing mere seconds after the first, unbeknown to Alice, a pause just long enough for Miss Hastings to clench her Kegel ball and reposition her cane for the next stroke.

Miss H caned quickly and accurately, rapidly inflicting a bright pink band of stripes on the lowest half of Alice’s poor cheeks. It was a whacking that burned with such intensity that Alice found herself wondering whether her headmistress had surreptitiously soaked her cane in oil and set it alight.  

It seemed like her spanking would go on forever, but after twelve whacks, Miss H stopped.

She laid the cane back in its cradle, then knelt behind Alice once more. This time it was to inspect the warm marks she had inflicted, her thumbs straying inside her thighs to briefly massage Alice’s folds and splay open her little butterfly wings. Her own little act of mercy, she knew the sit-down dance hurt much less with a soaking slit.

Alice found herself pushing back against the fingers of her headmistress, eager for some relief. But her disciplinarian wasn’t here to masturbate her, instead she slowly tugged Alice’s panties upwards, until they were tight against her crotch, then tugged them up even tighter, ensuring the gusset parted her innermost lips.

“There. Stand up, please.”

Alice let go of the handles, and stood as she was instructed, wobbling slightly as blood left her head. At the direction of her headmistress, she stepped out of the hoops, and down from the little plinth, and towards the ominous hulk that was the bench.

The seat of the bench was about chest high off the ground, so a little footstool was kept nearby, allowing Alice to step up and take her place. She gasped out loud as her sore bottom encountered the cold wooden seat, but soon found it was only a temporary discomfort. As any naughty schoolgirl will tell you, sitting on a cold hard wooden seat actually numbs the fiery sting of a spanked bottom, dulling its ache. Had her headmistress had wanted to prolong the discomfort of her whacking, she would have sent Alice to face the wall again.

But Alice had not been seated on the bench for a grandstand view of her classmate’s spankings. She felt Miss H moving behind her, reaching up to tug the waistband of her panties over the backrest, then inserting the two prongs of what looked like a miniature croquet hoop through the tops of each leg hole, which then slid snugly into corresponding slots on the top of backrest.

One final act was to lift Alice’s hands from her lap and place them on the bench by her sides.

“Let’s remove the temptation from those naughty fingers, shall we?” she chided gently, in what Alice construed as a subtle jibe, given the events had brought her here.

“Now, Marian, you’re next. Come here please.”

Alice squirmed as she watched Marian undergo exactly the same routine of inspection she’d just experienced. She found watching it intensely arousing, she longed to rub herself, to just lift one of her hands from the bench, and let it drift over her thigh and in between her legs. But she didn’t dare disobey her headmistress.

So Alice patiently sat where she’d been seated, her feet dangling in the air, well above the ground, which made her feel like she’d been placed in an infant’s high chair. Meanwhile, she could feel her clit throbbing, hot and swollen, pressed tight against the sodden band of fabric between her legs. If she squirmed, even just a merest fraction, an ache of unfulfilled longing radiated through her crotch.

It reminded her of a sensation she’d experienced when playing with Penny, Alice had let herself be tied up, and Penny had taken full advantage, teasing her to the point of agonised pleading. Her favourite trick was to pull the hood of Alice’s swollen clit right back with her fingertips, and just hold it there, completely exposed, just aching for the faintest touch.

But this time, with her panties so tight, the ache in her clit was accompanied by a burning sensation between her legs, as the narrow band of material rubbed between her delicate lips and across her sensitive perineum.

So rather than rocking herself to climax as she watched Marian spread her legs to have her bottom wiped, Alice found herself sitting as still as she possibly could. It became even more difficult when Miss H fetched the cane and Marian got her whacking. It was like watching an artist at work, painting pretty pink lines of exquisite beauty. She couldn’t help but writhe in sympathy with every stroke, each stripe added to Marian’s bottom echoed in a fiery jolt between Alice’s legs.

When her caning was over, and she had been thoroughly inspected, Marian thanked her headmistress and followed her to the bench. She shared a smile with Alice as she took her seat beside her, wincing slightly as her disciplinarian tugged up her panties and fixed them in place.

“Your turn, Pansy. And since you were so keen to expose yourself, I’ve gathered a little audience for you.”

Miss H turned to Alice and Marian, their eyes wide, their feet dangling childishly from their vantage point.

“Pay close attention, girls. Pansy likes to be watched.”

Alice and Marian did what they were told, although in truth, there was precious little else to do. Pansy took her inspection stoically, whilst the girls behind her couldn’t help but stare at her pussy, a mesmerising pink slit glistening in the dark black sea of her trimmed pubic hair. And when Pansy was caned, Alice finally got to see the results of a spanking on ebony skin. Pansy’s bum went pink, bright pink, just like smacked bottom of any other naughty little girl.

Once the whacking had finished, Pansy took her own place on the bench, moaning softly as her panties were tugged up and fixed behind her.

And then, they were all ready. Because painful though their canings had been, the three girls were about to discover that the lines on their bottoms were merely the prelude for what was to come.

Miss Hastings edged each of the lecterns forward, positioning them so they were within arm’s reach, and addressed them all again.

“Now girls. You have some paper in front of you, and a pen. I expect each of you to write an essay for me, explaining what brought you here, and why you are sorry.”

She glanced pointedly at the round clock on the wall.

“You will have half an hour. Is that understood?”

The three girls nodded vigorously in agreement.

“Alice, you know all about this bench, but I’d better explain to the others what is going to happen…”

She walked over to the side of the bench, and rested her hand on a chunky brass lever.

“When I pull this, the seat you’re all sitting on will begin to drop. But you will have noticed that I have attached your panties to the frame behind you. This will not move, so as your seat tips lower, you will slide forward, and find your panties will be pulled tight behind you.”

The headmistress paused for moment to let what she’d just said sink in. She looked at the trio’s feet, high above the ground, dangling nervously in mid-air, like little girls sitting on grown-up chairs.

“In half an hour I shall collect your essays, then I shall pull down your panties to examine the stripe between your legs.”

If any of the girls felt like expressing any dissent at what was in store for them, they hid it well.

Without saying anything more, Miss Hastings pulled the lever downward, there was a faint hiss of air, but nothing dramatic happened. The girls took that as the cue to pick up their pens, and begin scribbling.

The tilt of the bench was so gradual it was imperceptible, but after a few minutes, the girls began to feel themselves slipping forward, and their panties tightening. This growing discomfort seemed to concentrate the girls’ minds, accelerating the speed at which their pens skittered across their pages.

From a distance, Miss Hastings watched the row of three pairs of white-socked feet beginning to dance in the air. The more the girls squirmed and kicked, the tighter she clenched the Kegel ball deep inside her. Beneath her own skirt, she could feel her own wetness seeping, her clitoris swollen, erect and eager for attention. All in good time, she told herself, gripping the ball in her cunt again, like she was squeezing water from a stone, tight inside her closing fist.


* * 3 * *

The Bench really was an unusual contraption. No one among the school staff knew for certain how this piece of outlandish engineering had ended up in this school, or even its original purpose, assuming it hadn’t always been intended as a seat of punishment.

When Miss Hastings had asked one of the school governors about the bench, he had mumbled something about a wealthy benefactor in the school’s dim and distant past. Rumours of a foundry owner, who’d made his fortune casting the immense limbs of steam engines. But that was several generations ago, this was, after all, an ancient school with venerable and cherished traditions.

Affixed to the back of the bench were two dials showing the pressure in the pistons, one marked ‘Time’ and the other ‘Drop’ in archaically elegant copperplate writing. These dials allowed the resistance of the pistons to be altered. The Drop determined how far the seat of the bench will tip, and for this particular session Miss H had set the dial at 12, meaning the bench’s hinged seat would be about 12 inches lower when it finished its descent.

She could have set it lower, of course, the maximum setting would make the seat tilt until it was completely vertical, leaving its occupants completely suspended by their panties, like puppets on strings, the tips of their toes dancing just above the floor, relief cruelly just out of reach. But she tended to reserve that setting for the very naughtiest girls.

The other dial, Time, determined how long it would take for the seat to reach its final position. This allowed Miss H to choose between a quick fast drop, or a slow lingering discomfort. Thirty minutes was the setting she used most often, long enough for her charges to write a good focussed essay, whilst also imparting a nice pink stripe between their legs. A longer setting would, of course, result in an even more painful stripe, but she also had her own needs to consider, and it could be frustrating to wait that long.

Everything Miss H knew about the bench had come from a battered wooden box left by her predecessor, which she’d found in a drawer of her new desk. Inside had been a letter, explaining how the bench worked, and some recommendations related to the art of panty pulling. The new headmistress had read the instructions in rapt fascination.

A few days later, Miss H returned to her office late one evening. Her colleagues had since retired to their own homes, and the staff wing was eerily quiet, so she had gone to the punishment room, and begun to experiment. It wasn’t long before she was sitting on the bench herself, her knickers fixed behind her, the seat slowly tipping downward, pulling her panties ever deeper until they burrowed between her folds. She had looked down at her own feet, kicking uncontrollably in mid-air, and she had felt herself losing control. She had never felt a sensation quite like it.

And when she came, she soaked herself so copiously that she rained a little puddle onto the floor beneath.

Also inside the box were a set of short thin ropes, some covered in stitched leather, others bare scratchy hemp. These, the accompanying letter explained, were crotch ropes, the very cords used to suspend the first unfortunate miscreants who had been sentenced to dangle.

It made perfect sense when she thought about it, after all, elasticated cotton panties were a relatively new innovation. When this bench was installed, a century and a half ago, the school’s pupils would have worn bloomers under their dresses. The box had included a yellowed letter from an long-forgotten headmistress, describing to her successor how to best punish naughty young ladies.

Across the centuries, her elaborately cursive handwriting had advised:

“Those deserving of discipline should to sent to wait in the punishment room. Have her remove her dress and stand facing the wall in her undergarments. Then, when you arrive, be sure to first scold the miscreant for her transgressions, before completing her undressing. Have her touch her toes, and then commence her whackings. Ignore the inevitable pleas for modesty, reminding her that her misdemeanours have forfeited that privilege. The cane should always be applied the bare buttocks.”

“Once a girl has been caned to your satisfaction, select an appropriate rope girdle and have her step into it. The knot at the waist is adjustable, first ensure that it is quite taut, and that the inner cord passes between her labia and is tight to the crevice of her buttocks.”

“Now have the girl sit on the bench, and affix the cords using the slots and pegs. You may now choose a descent commensurate with the young lady’s crime, pull the lever and leave her to contemplate her naughtiness.”

“Afterwards, you may decide to release the miscreant from her girdle. Yet I have also found great improvements in behaviour can be gained by leaving it in situ for the remainder of the day, underneath her bloomers, as she returns to class with a lingering reminder of her wrongdoings.”

“In this case, have the girl report to you should she need the lavatory, whereupon you may temporarily loosen her rope before fastening it again. At the day’s end, you should pay a visit to the young lady’s dormitory to remove the girdle and examine her stripe before she is put to bed. You will find the shame of being exposed and inspected in front of her roommates will produce very positive effects on her future conduct.”

Miss Hastings did like the idea of sending girls away from the punishment room with their crotch ropes still pulled tight. Alas, the ropes she’d found in the box were now far too old to be used, all frayed and brittle with age. But she had contemplated having a new batch made up, as a special treat for the school’s naughtiest minxes.


The headmistress tightened her grip around the ball in her vagina, and checked the clock again. The half hour was almost up, the seat of the bench had tipped downwards to a very precarious slope, and now the only things stopping the three girls from sliding off entirely were their panties, firmly anchored and stretched high behind them.

Each of the three girls was still scribbling rapidly, as if trying to distract themselves from the fiery ache between their legs. Their panties were now just a narrow bands pressed tight between their slits, the white material so saturated by their own wetness it had darkened to grey. In places, some of their juices had collected on the varnished wooden seat in little pools, which had begun to trickle down the slope like raindrops on a window pane.

“Time’s up girls. Finish what you’re writing.”

The scribbling slowed and ultimately stopped.

Miss H approached the trio, lifting the lecterns out of the way so each girl would be able to dismount. She would collect and read what her pupils had written later, but first, there was the important business of inspection to take care of.

She fetched the footstool, placing it underneath Alice’s dangling feet, then reached behind to remove the two-pronged peg and release her stretched panties. Alice grimaced as she stepped down to the floor, and then stepped forward a few paces to where her headmistress had indicated. Marian and Pansy followed moments later, and the three found themselves lined up beside each other once again.

“Stand up straight, girls. Hands behind your backs. Legs apart.”

The trio obeyed, immediately adopting the stance they’d been told. Girls were always much more obedient and well-behaved when their panties were pulled tight, the headmistress thought to herself. She’d often contemplated putting little hooks in classroom chairs, so teachers could tug up the panties of the disruptive and wilful, a final warning, a foretaste of what they could expect in the Punishment Room unless their behaviour immediately improved.

“Now Alice, let’s take a good look at you.”

Miss H knelt in front of Alice, her panties had been pulled tight between her legs, the waistband now level with the bump of her mound, the gusset now just a narrow band of material, embedded between the folds of her slit. It was dark with her dampness, soaking wet, and reeked of arousal.

The headmistress began her examination by placing her fingers into the waistband of Alice’s panties, just below her hips, and slowly tugging them down. Alice wriggled and squirmed, clenching her wrists behind her, fighting the urge to bring her hands forward and rub her aching slit. Miss H could now see Alice’s clitoris, swollen pink and bathed in sticky juices. There was something deeply fascinating about staring at another woman’s clitoris, especially such an aroused one, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

As she lowered Alice’s panties further, revealing a bright red stripe running downward from her hood and between her innermost lips. One last tug down, and Alice gasped as the tight fabric between her legs finally came away from her crotch. Now Miss H could see the pool of stickiness at the entrance to Alice’s vagina, and the bright red line on her perineum that continued as far back as her bottom hole. She tugged her underwear just a little bit further, leaving it about mid-thigh, then moved behind Alice to scrutinise her bottom.

The lines of her recent caning were still conspicuous on her cheeks, but now the whole of Alice’s bottom was a warm, diffuse pink. Miss H gently spread Alice’s buttocks apart, examining the pale purple bruise-coloured line that ran along the length of her crevice. Perfectly punished, the headmistress thought to herself, a textbook example; before thinking: goodness, that would be an incredibly kinky textbook.

She concluded her inspection by smacking Alice’s bottom ten times with the palm of her hand, scolding as she spanked.

“Now, young lady. Let that be a lesson to you!”

Alice vigorously nodded her acquiescence, before her headmistress pulled her panties back up tight, and obediently waited with her hands behind her back as Miss Hastings moved on to inspect Marian who was standing beside her. As she waited, Alice was left to ponder: I do hope all this has been worth it.

Marian and Pansy were inspected just as intimately, both moaned and squirmed as their panties were slowly removed, revealing the same slick sticky slits, and the same bright red stripes running between their legs. Pansy was the last to have her bottom smacked and her panties tugged up, after which, the headmistress moved to the front to address them all one last time.

“Girls!” she said gruffly, “I do not expect to see you here again! You may now get dressed, and go back to your rooms.”

The trio shuffled back towards where they’d hung up their clothes, gingerly stepping into their skirts, each all too aware of the ache between their legs. When all three had dressed, Miss Hastings waited for them by the door, each of them politely thanking her for their discipline as they left the room.

The headmistress stood in the doorway, watching the trio shamble down the corridor in awkward silence, until they turned a corner, and vanished from view. But she did not follow behind them. Instead, she turned back into the Punishment Room, closed the big heavy door behind her, and flicked the latch to lock it.

Alone at last! Miss Hastings clenched the ball deep inside her, provoking a sudden tingling that made her legs wobble. She approached the bench, three little patches of moisture still visible where its occupants had been sitting, and lifted the tilted seat upwards, so it clicked back into its level position.

Then she went over to the lecterns and collected the three essays, placing them on the bench. Some light reading material to enjoy. Girls often wrote the most erotic words when sitting on a sore bottom.

She moved over to the hooks on the wall, where the triohad earlier hung their own clothes, and began to undress. The high-collared black jacket first, then the ivory blouse, her matte-black calf-length boots, and her long dark skirt, her stockings and then her bra, until she stood in just her underwear.

It might have surprised her pupils to learn that underneath her austere, authoritative outfit their headmistress wore the same white regulation school knickers. But while school underwear might not have been fashionable, it was stretchy, and that was precisely what Barbara Hastings needed right now. She stepped onto the footstool, sitting within arm’s reach of the lever, and reached back to peg her panties into the beam behind her.

And now the headmistress was ready to have her own fun. She picked up the essays, reached across to the lever at the side of the bench, and pulled it. It would take a while before she felt herself slipping down the slope, before her panties began to be pulled tight, so she’d often take her time reading the confessions of the girls she’d just punished, giving the Kegel ball inside her a good squeeze at the juicy bits.


* * 4 * *

Pansy’s Essay

“I am very sorry for my awful behaviour, Miss. I know my punishment is well-deserved. I behaved very recklessly, and quite disgracefully. I can hardly believe I did what I did, I apologise for the shame it has brought to the school.”

“It all happened on a trip to the local university library. As you know, a weekly trip is organised for the senior girls, to allow us to consult and work from that library’s extensive collection. Well, something else the university library has, that our school library doesn’t – is young men.”

“I am not used to being around boys, Miss. They make me feel funny inside. I feel weird when they look at me, but at the same time I feel like I want to impress them, to get them to notice me. But they don’t look at me like they look at the other, prettier girls. And I wanted them to look at me.”

“I tried moving in front of the male students, making little noises, aheming and coughing, but no one seemed to notice me. In desperation, I went to the lavatory and took off my panties. I wanted to see if they were secretly looking at me, just to see what reaction I might provoke.”

“When I came out of the lavatory, I began to expose myself. I would bend over to choose books from the lowest shelves, letting my skirt ride up, revealing a bit of my bottom to any young man who might be browsing nearby. Then I began to get bolder, contriving to drop books in front of male students then bending over to pick them up, perhaps revealing for just a fleeting moment that I wasn’t wearing any panties.“

“Fortunately, Miss Harper noticed what I was doing before I completely disgraced myself, and she escorted me back to the lavatory to restore my underwear. She told me off quite severely when we returned to school, and wrote out my punishment card that meant I was sent to see you here.”

“Again, I am most sincerely sorry for my behaviour. It was lewd and besmirches the good reputation of the school, which I would never knowingly want to harm. I want to thank you for punishing me, I know I deserved it.”

Miss Hastings shifted on the hard wooden bench, she could definitely feel her seat had tilted, and her knickers were definitely much tighter. She imagined what Pansy had got up to in the library, and how the young male students might have reacted to seeing fleeting glimpses of her most intimate places.

There was something undeniably erotic about libraries, the silence, the regimented order of the shelves, the enforced almost suffocating silence, and the sweet musty smell of old books. She imagined doing what Pansy had done, discarding her underwear, and audaciously flashing passing strangers. It was reckless, and indecent and disgraceful. But it was also unquestionably hot. The thought of exposing herself, however briefly, made her wet, it made her clench the ball inside her, tighter and tighter until surges of pleasure quivered through her torso. Yes, she might have to try it sometime.

She turned to the next page, which was written in Marian’s meticulously neat hand, and started reading again.


Marian’s Essay

“Dear Miss Hastings. When I heard from other girls that you get spanked if you are very naughty here, I confess I began to fantasise about what that would be like. I wanted to experience a proper English spanking before I went home. So I decided to let myself get caught wandering beyond the school grounds. I put the condom in my pocket deliberately, so it would seem like I was sneaking off to visit a lover, it was found when I turned out my pockets. It was the best way I could think of to be sent to be punished.”

“In my home country, I grew up hearing fairytales where errant children would get their comeuppance at the end of the story. Sometimes they would be eaten by terrible monsters, but other times they would just be spanked on their naughty bottoms. The latter form of poetic justice had always fascinated me.”

“I was never spanked when I was growing up, but perhaps that helped fuel my first ‘naughty daydreams’, the forerunners of my first fantasies, which swam around my fevered imagination before I properly became aware of my erotic side.”

“At the centre of my fantasies was The Punctilious Queen; I think she was inspired by all the wicked queens and witches my young mind had read about, but she was more austere than evil, more strict than draconian. In my mind’s eye I gave her the face of my sternest teacher. This Queen, I imagined, had assumed responsibility for all discipline throughout the kingdom. She’d decreed that parents were no longer allowed to spank their offspring, but if any were ever naughty enough to deserve a spanking, they should be brought to the castle, and she would do it herself.”

“I used to dream that I had been really naughty, that my parents had repeatedly warned me what would happen if I carried on misbehaving, but I was wilful and cheeky, and never listened. And now it was too late, I was being led up the hill, dragged struggling by the hand across the drawbridge, and into the ominous high halls of the Queen’s castle.”

“Inside I had to wait in a line with all the other naughty children. One by one we’d be called forward by her chamberlain, and then be sent alone through a thick curtain of embroidered purple velvet. Soon after, we’d all hear the unmistakeable sound of muffled whacks and whimpers, and my tummy would churn with apprehension. Several minutes later the same individual would emerge, often drying their eyes and rubbing their bottom, and their parent would grasp their progeny’s hand with a knowing look, and escort them home.”

“Eventually, it was my turn. The Royal Chamberlain looked down at me, his half-rim glasses precariously balanced on his long gaunt nose, making me feel so small. I felt his bony hand on my back, ushering me towards the slit in the curtains. I took a deep breath, and stepped beyond, and into the Queen’s chamber.”

“The Punctilious Queen was waiting for me, resplendent in a gown of white silk, a modest gold crown embedded in her immaculately plaited blond hair. In her hand was a long honey-coloured rod, like a sceptre, but thinner. It was the symbol of her authority, and also her means of dispensing her justice. She seemed to glow in front of me, like I was in the presence of a goddess. I was dumbstruck, all I could do was curtsey respectfully.”

““I imagined there was a waist high wooden frame in front of me, on top of which was a pile of plush pillows, each embroidered with the royal crest. I knew then my fate was inescapable.”

“Why are you here, child? She asked me.”

“My tongue suddenly loosened, and I impetuously blurted out all the naughty things I’d done, and not just the neglected chores and indolence that brought me here. The Queen paused for a moment, as if considering a fitting punishment for my crimes, before skewering me with her formidable gaze.”

“Bend over, and bare your bottom.”

“Her command was irresistible, as if I could feel her draconian voice thrum through every fibre of my body. I was desperate to obey her, to please her. I hurried towards the bench, hitching up my dress and tugging down my underwear before lurching over the pillows, wiggling forward until my exposed bottom was my highest point, and my hands and feet dangled in the air.”

“Meanwhile, in my bedroom, I began to act it all out, bending over a pile of pillows on my bed, lifting my own dress and pulling down my panties so my bare bottom was exposed to the cool air. I always made sure I wiped my bottom extra clean, I would have been mortified if Her Majesty ever checked between my cheeks and found my bum dirty.”

“Then I’d imagine her placing her rod against my pale little bottom. I never pleaded or begged for mercy, I knew I deserved what I was about to receive. And then I would be spanked, rising and falling, recoiling from my strict Queen’s intangible whacking.”

“It became my favourite fantasy. I’d often imagine being sent to see my Queen when I was in the house alone. Then, one day I happened to arrange my pillows differently, so they were between my legs rather than under my hips. Now when I recoiled from Her Majesty’s discipline, I felt a new and delightful sensation. Punishment and pleasure have been entwined in my mind ever since.”

“So, thank you for caning my bottom, Miss. I have dreamt of experiencing that sensation for many years. It was as painful as I’d hoped, but at the same time surprisingly arousing. I hadn’t expected to have to sit here and write as my panties were pulled tight, but it is an ingenious and effective means of discipline, I am opening myself and writing down secrets I never thought I’d share.”

Now that, Miss Hastings thought, was an intriguing essay! She wondered if Marian still ground herself to orgasm against her pillows, and whether the strict Queen she imagined now had the face of her own headmistress. Over the years she had managed this school, she had read countless essay confessions which revealed that many of her students did indeed fantasise about her. Some were happy to admit to rubbing themselves to bliss each night as they imagined being undressed by her, or inspected, or put over her knee.

Bedtime spankings seemed to be a particularly popular fantasy, ones where she’d enter their dormitory, and watch them as they undressed and put on their nighties. Yet, in a wonderful demonstration of the uniqueness of the erotic mind, each girl imagined a different kind of spanking. Some wanted to be told to touch their toes, and caned. Some imagined that a hairbrush or a slipper had accompanied them from home, along with a little note to the headmistress requesting it be used on her bare bottom if the girl was ever naughty. Others preferred to imagine the palm of their headmistress smacking their bottom pink, then rubbing it all better afterwards.

What all had in common was they found the thought of a spanking comforting rather than terrifying. She’d realised there was something reassuring about having a disciplinarian, someone who wanted the best for them, who would see through their nonsense, and who cared enough to discipline them, and then tuck them into bed afterwards. So in the dark, when all alone, they would imagine the delight of a sore and well-spanked bottom, and how it would throb against their soft cool bedsheets. And their fingers would begin to stray downwards, and begin to rub away the ache from between their hot wet folds.  

The thought of girls masturbating about having their bottoms spanked excited Miss Hastings immensely. Her left hand was now caressing the nubs of her stiff nipples, whilst her right had strayed to her crotch, now a hot wet patch beneath her palm. How she longed to stroke away the ache between her own legs, but now her tightened panties denied her fingertips, muffling her attempts to massage her clit. The tilt of the seat was obvious now, she could feel the friction rubbing against her bottom hole, and the weight of her feet dangling beneath her. And she knew it wouldn’t be long now until her squirming gave way to the frenetic uncontrollable throes of the sit-down dance.

She turned to Alice’s essay, and began reading with fevered expectation.


Alice’s Essay

“Dear Miss… a few months ago, my good friends Penny and Lola visited this very room. On their return, I encouraged them to show me their marks, so both knelt on my bed and flipped up their skirts and pulled down their panties.”

“I remember staring with morbid fascination. You had given them both such a good whacking Miss, they had clear pink lines across their cheeks. But what I really wanted to see was the line from their sit-down dance. So they both reached back and held their bottoms apart. It was an amazing sight. I got so wet immediately.”

“Afterwards, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d seen. I felt so naughty, that I’d been so turned on by my friends’ discomfort, but it made me so horny. Later, as I lay in bed, I couldn’t help playing with myself. I imagined Penny and the other girls doing the sit-down dance. I came so hard. That was when I knew it was something I had to try myself.”

“So I began to be careless and forget a few homeworks. I got my first warning. Then my final warning. Then I forgot once more and got myself sent here. And so a few weeks ago I got to experience the cane and do the dance myself. It was amazing Miss!”

“Obviously I had to try it again. But I didn’t want to blot my academic record, so I allowed myself to be caught masturbating. I noticed Mrs Watson was clearing up one of the changing rooms, so I sneaked past her into the showers. I was fully clothed, so I didn’t turn the water on, I just tugged my panties down to my ankles and put my hand up my skirt. I came so hard Miss, Mrs Watson found me sitting in the shower, slumped against the wall with my knickers on the floor. A woozy silly grin plastered on face. She made me lift my skirt and show my puffy wet slit. My guilt was undeniable. So here I am today.”

“I’ve been looking forward to my return visit so much, Miss. Did you notice how wet I was when you inspected me? Did you notice how I’d shaved myself bare especially for you, Miss?”

“Is this essay going to get me in trouble again, Miss? Maybe next time it will just be you and me in this room.”

“What would you do to me, Miss? Would you make me take off everything so I do the sit-down dance for you naked? Would you stand behind me and lean over to kiss me, and suck and nibble my little tits as the bench sinks downward? Or would you prefer to stand in front of me and put your hand up your skirt and rub yourself as you watch my little feet kick and struggle?”

“By the time you read this, Miss, I’ll be back in my dorm room, exploring the pink stripe between my legs that you gave me. I’ll be whispering your name under my breath as I rub away the heat from my poor caned bottom. Did you know what the girls you’ve whacked call you behind your back? When they pronounce your surname, we put the emphasis on the second half, Miss Hay-STINGS. That’s what I’ll be whispering right now.”

“I know how you like to stay behind after we’ve danced Miss, I’ve lurked at the end of the corridor several times, sometimes it takes you over half an hour to leave this room. Whatever could you be doing in here, Miss?”

“Are you bare, Miss? Do you shave yourself so you can feel your panties tight against your mound?

“Are you panties getting tight yet, Miss? Do you spank yourself before you take your seat? My bum is so sore, Miss, you caned me so hard. But I know why you do it Miss, smacking our bums makes our slits wet, so it doesn’t hurt as much when we get our panties pulled tight. Isn’t that right, Miss?”

Barbara Hastings read every tease of Alice’s insolent essay with a mix of seething indignation and voracious lust.

She could feel the burning sensation between her dangling legs, just as the girls would have felt. Her own panties were so tight now, she could feel her labia throbbing on either side of the narrow band of material. The hood of her clitoris had already been tugged back, so her swollen sensitive bead rubbed against the sodden fabric, so now even the slightest movement made her quiver and tremble.

She returned to Alice’s essay, eager to see what the impertinent little minx had written next, that girl would be getting such a sore bottom, that was for sure.

“Or perhaps you’d want to sit next to me on the bench, to fix your panties and dance alongside me, our fingers caressing between each other’s legs?”

“Afterwards, when you’ve pulled down my panties, would you put me over your knee and spank my bare bottom? Or would we lie on floor, kneeling over each other’s mouths, our tongues soothing the burning ache between each other’s legs? Would you like me to lick your bottom hole better, Miss?”

Barbara almost came there and then at that comment, imagining her pupil’s hot wet tongue probing and caressing so intimately. She could feel her underwear rubbing against her anus, intruding like an insistent tongue. She tried to hold herself back, but knew she was right on the brink, one last push would send her crashing over the edge. She forced her eyes back down to the page.

“Or would you make me keep my tight panties on, and make me kneel over the little potty, Miss? Would you demand that I service your bare cunt with my tongue? Soon I’d feel the need to pee, an urgent urge joining the ache within my crotch.”

“Please Miss, I’d beg, my lips and chin sticky with your juices. I need to go, Miss.”

“Don’t you dare stop” you’d reply, “I going to enjoy watching you wet your panties like a silly little girl.”

“And you’d feel my hot breath pleading, moaning, then gasping into your cunt as I gushed into the potty…”

It was all too much. Barbara felt the muscles of her vagina squeeze the ball inside, gripping the little globe intensely tight, then throbbing, then spasming wildly. The pages she was holding slipped from her fingers, fluttering to the floor like falling leaves.

A surge of pleasure flooded through her entire body, like her boiling blood had become petrol, and her clit had been a match. Her hands flew to her breasts, cradling herself as if her chest might explode. Her dangling feet kicked uncontrollably in the air, a fiery jolt burning between her legs with every convulsion, as Headmistress Hastings jerked deliriously towards the rapturous finale of her very own sit-down dance.

And as she came, she was thinking of Alice.

Naughty, naughty Alice.

  • To be continued…

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@spankingtheatre 2016

spankingtheatre at gmail dot com

Originally posted at spankingtheatre.tumblr.com.

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The Sit-Down Dance: part 1

Every girl in the school knew about it, even if they’d just heard the whispered rumours. They talked about it ominously, like a ghostly legend, or a terrible curse. And when it was discussed, it was only ever in hushed voices and the merest mumblings. It was the threat that hung over them all, the most feared punishment, the just deserts awaiting the perpetrators of the very naughtiest misbehaviour.

How many times had a group of friends begun to scheme some illicit hijinks, only for one of them to stop, and suddenly exclaim: “We can’t do that! We’d all do the Sit Down Dance for sure!”

There was no greater shame than to be summoned to the front of the class, having finally exhausted your teacher’s patience. And then having to stand there, head bowed, as she scribbled your name and misdemeanour onto a little red-bordered card. All while your classmates were excitedly whispering and sniggering just behind you…

“The Sit Down Dance! She’s going to do the Sit Down Dance!”

There was no greater embarrassment than pushing through the double doors of the staff wing, an area normally strictly off-limits for pupils, once the final bell of the school day had rung. Clutching your little red-bordered card to your chest, proffering it to each passing teacher, your pass to the inner sanctum, shirking with shame as they read your name and your crime, scowling disdainfully.

And there was no greater anxiety than trudging down the long corridor, past all the staff rooms and the Headmistress’ office. To shuffle inevitably towards the Punishment Room, tummy tumbling with trepidation.

The door to that notorious room was old and heavy, a dark mahogany hunk that looked incongruously out of place amidst the school’s modern decor, like a pirate ship had somehow been moored at the end of the corridor. Even just turning the ornate brass handle gave the feeling you were about to leave the modern world behind and step beyond into the captain’s cabin.

Visitors saw a small brass plaque mounted at eye-height, a few lines engraved in cursive writing for those about to enter to ponder. It was a quotation from long ago, from when school itself had still been young.

Heaven is not always angry when he strikes,

But most chastises those

Whom most he likes.

– John Pomfret

Alice could feel the dampness of her own palm as she gripped the handle, but after a moment’s hesitation, she pushed the heavy door ajar.

Yet no matter how many times Alice had visited the Punishment Room, the world beyond that antiquated door never failed to surprise her…


* * 1 * *

The Punishment Room had no windows. About the size of a typical classroom, it was a large space that somehow still felt claustrophobic. The cherrywood panelling that clad each of its walls from floor to ceiling deadening any sound, exacerbating the sense of enclosure and its occupants’ feeling of captivity.

On two sides a pair of brass brackets protruded from the walls just above head-height, on each was the bulbous frosted glass globe of a gas lamp. Should a visitor happen to look more closely, they’d see the flame flickering inside; an even closer inspection would reveal the flame was actually an intimation bulb. Considerable care had clearly been taken to preserve the ambience of this room, even during the school’s periodic modernisations, retaining the flickering light that glinted off the antique wooden panels, basking the whole room in a bright but intimate rosy light.

Against one wall was a rack of various disciplinary implements, dozens of canes of various lengths and thicknesses, as well as a whole array of leather straps, whips and paddles. The first time Alice saw it, she thought it was ludicrously overstocked, as if the room was readied for the mass outbreak of delinquency, and the whole school suddenly turning up. But Alice understood better now, those implements were here in such numbers not to be used, but to intimidate.

And then there was The Bench, which completely dominated the centre of the room. It was an unusually tall item of furniture, its seat, a thick flat plank of varnished mahogany wood, stood chest high off the ground. The underside of the bench seat itself had no legs, it was solely supported from its sides by a pair of thick wooden columns, linked at the back by a two thick connecting beams.

The first beam ran behind the seat, to which it was connected by a row of glistening brass hinges. The second beam also ran the full length of the bench, but was located just above the seat, serving as a backrest. Where the bench seat met its supporting posts it was braced on either side by what seemed like brass pistons. The whole apparatus looked archaic, like it belonged in an industrial heritage museum.

In front of the bench were three tall movable lecterns, like the one in the stage in the assembly hall. She could see a blank pad of paper and a pen on the sill of each, at just the right height for anyone sitting on the bench to write on.

Alice let her eyes wander. A framed notice hung on the wall, its gilded frame now rather tarnished with age, advising newcomers what to do when they arrived, whilst they were waiting for their Headmistress to join them. A bold headline left its readers in no doubt what state their disciplinarian expected to find them: Absolute Silence.

Beyond the bench, two stood girls facing the far wall. Alice recognised one immediately, a dark-skinned girl with short curly black hair, but wasn’t quite sure of the other, a pale brunette with her hair tied behind in a single shoulder-length bunch. Both had taken off their skirts, and were standing contritely with their hands on top of their heads. Each stood in her white school regulation panties, with her blouse rolled up neatly above her hips. Neither turned around, or even said a word as Alice entered.

Hanging beside each girl, on a little hook, was her blazer. Underneath hung her skirt, and beneath that, her shoes, neatly paired together. The arrangement made each girl seem like she was standing beside her invisible twin.

Alice looked back at the canes hanging on the wall, imagining for just one moment what it would be like to stride purposefully into this room – to pluck a cane from the rack, and call each girl forward to bend over. She relished the delicious delight of slowly pulling down her panties, tapping the rod against her bare quivering cheeks, and then administering a good hard whacking as the miscreant squirmed, jerked and sniffled.

Alas, Alice wasn’t here to punish them, she was here to join them. She gently pulled the heavy door shut behind her, and crept over to the row of empty hooks on the far wall that awaited her arrival.

As she approached the two girls already present, Alice could see the little brass frame beside them both. Inside the frame was a red-bordered card with the girl’s name hand-written in block letters, and the misbehaviour that sent her here beneath. When Alice was close enough to read the details, she slowed to a dawdle. The one on the left read:

PANSY PARKINSON

FLASHING

Seeing Pansy here came as a tremendous surprise to Alice, she didn’t know her well, but they were in the same English class. Alice had always considered Pansy to be a bit of a teacher’s pet. Always getting the highest marks, always being first to hand in essays, always the first hand raised to answer questions in class. She could quote whole sonnets, she was like a walking encyclopedia of Shakespeare. But flashing? My goodness, Alice thought, it’s true what they say about the quiet types.

Almost instinctively, Alice let her eyes run over Pansy’s body. She was a tall, athletic girl with lithe legs and perfectly pert buttocks, toned through her love of running. She also had the most exquisite coffee-coloured skin, which Alice found tremendously alluring. She’d often wondered what a dark-skinned bottom looked like after a good spanking, and couldn’t help but smirk as she realised she was about to find out.

Beside Pansy, stood a tall slender brunette girl. Alice craned her neck to read what it said on the card beside her:

MARIAN ALMASSY

CAUGHT OUTSIDE SCHOOL GROUNDS

Ah yes, Alice remembered. Marian was one of the foreign exchange students, from somewhere in Eastern Europe, was it Hungary? Alice didn’t really know her, only that she spoke excellent English with an exotic accent which, along with her height and proud, aloof demeanour, gave the impression that she was actually some mysterious aristocratic countess, somehow exiled from her native lands.

What had been her crime? Sneaking out of school? Whatever for? A secret assignation no doubt, probably to suck off some dashing young grenadier, or whatever horny European countesses went for these days.

But Alice couldn’t stand gawping, she realised, the Headmistress would be here soon, and she would expect to find them all ready. Ready for… well, you know.

Alice was already quite familiar with what she had to do, beginning with fishing her punishment card out of her pocket and slotting it into the little frame beside her. Then she took her blazer off completely, hanging it on the hook on the wall along with her skirt, before kneeling to untie and take off her shoes, placing them neatly side-by-side, before rolling up the loose flaps of her blouse to her waist.

Tummy trembling, Alice placed her hands on her head, edged forward so the wooden panel was just in front of her nose. She stood like a museum exhibit, the handwritten caption card beside her exclaiming her crime for all to see:

ALICE MONTREUX

PUBLIC MASTURBATION

Alice eyed her own card with a mix of chest-lifting pride and cheek-pinkening shame. Her own offence made her seem so edgy! So free-spirited! So comfortable with her own sexuality that she thought nothing of satisfying herself whenever and wherever she pleased. On the other hand, she couldn’t help feeling it also made her sound like a horny little slut, so wanton and sex-crazed she couldn’t keep her fingers off herself. The truth, she had to admit to herself, was probably somewhere in the middle. Yet if only the teacher who’d caught her knew the truth of her conspiracy, she’d barely believe it.

In the silence, each girl’s hearing began to tune into the clatter of faraway footsteps. Until one particular cadence began to emerge, getting progressively louder, until the clopping of the approaching shoes began to thunder in each of their ears. There could be no doubt who was nearing, nor about what would be happening next. It was a prospect that made each girl’s knees tremble, even if at least one of them was secretly rather looking forward to it.


* * 2 * *

Headmistress Barbara Hastings strode towards the Punishment Room propelled by an earnest sense of purpose. Three names had been written by her colleagues on the today’s Sheet of Shame, the sheaf of paper pinned to the cork board in the staff room, the one used to record who’d been issued with the infamous little red-bordered card.

She paused for a moment outside the door, taking a deep breath, establishing the persona who would march into the room beyond and begin dispensing discipline. She would be a chastening force of nature, a castigating angel. And those who found themselves being punished by her would help sustain her notoriety, whisper by reverent whisper.

The headmistress dressed with equally authoritative deliberation. A high-collared black jacket that concealed most of her neck, and whose shoulder pads added gravitas to her tall slender frame. Underneath, an ivory coloured blouse, and long coal black skirt, nipped in her waspish waist, its fabric pouring over her modest hips, and falling straight down below her knees like some elegant velvet waterfall.

Moments later, when the door suddenly flew open, the three girls facing the opposite wall couldn’t help but flinch. Their Headmistress entered dramatically, surging into the room like a tsunami wave, slamming the heavy door behind her with a resounding boom.

“Good afternoon, you naughty girls!” she scolded, by way of greeting.

“Good afternoon, Miss” the girls chorused in reply, somewhat half-heartedly.

Miss Hastings surveyed this afternoon’s lineup, each girl looked like a page from one of those spiral bound books, the ones where the page were thick glossy cardboard, divided into thirds, and you could change the costume of a character by turning over the strips to choose a different outfit for her head, torso and legs.

Best get started then, Miss Hastings thought.

“Come here, Alice.”

Alice turned from facing the wall and edged slowly towards where her headmistress was standing, beside a little raised plinth. The platform was barely ankle high, just a square block of wood with two hoops on its top, each about 2 ruler widths apart.

“Such a naughty girl, Alice!” she scolded. “Playing with yourself like that! I expect girls at this school to behave with more decorum. You shall be caned on your bare bottom.”

Alice nodded respectfully. Her sentence had been what she’d been expecting, senior girls almost always got their bare bums whacked. Younger girls sometimes escaped the cane and got the leather slipper instead. But regardless of what implement their disciplinarian choose, everyone sent to the punishment room always left with a very sore bottom.

Alice had been here several times before, and was quite familiar with the procedure without needing to be told. She stepped onto the plinth, putting her feet into each hoop, then bending over to clasp the top of each hoop with her fingers.

Before Miss Hastings had introduced this particular innovation to the punishment process, there had been a lot of silliness from too many girls who should have known better. Far too much flailing of arms as panties were pulled down, and jumping around when their bottoms came to be whacked, not to mention all that clenching of their legs together when it was time to be inspected. The hoops in the plinth kept naughty girls in the proper position for punishment, bent over with their legs apart.

Miss H crouched behind Alice and slowly tugged down her panties until they were stretched between her knees. The creamy smear she saw in the gusset of Alice’s underwear was so unremarkable she let it pass without comment.

The plain fact was, almost every girl sent to the punishment room soaked her panties. Some would seep in anticipation of their whacking, spending a long afternoon of classes squirming in their own wetness. For others the trigger was different, perhaps stepping into the punishment room itself, or seeing the canes and the infamous bench. Or undressing and having to hang up her uniform and stand facing the wall in just her panties. It was a truth universally accepted: discipline made girls wet.

Alice gulped as she felt cool air waft across her wet slit, but remained in position obediently as her headmistress knelt behind her. She was now close enough to inhale the scent of Alice’s arousal. The smell made Miss Hastings’ vagina clench, squeezing the Kegel ball she’d slipped inside herself before she left her office.

Nothing smelled as wonderful as a girl in the moments before she was spanked.  The musky fragrance of her arousal mingling with the pungent earthy odour of her exposed bottom hole – and, another smell. Something more ephemeral, something more difficult to explain, an aroma she could only recall encountering when a girl bent over to have her bare bottom spanked. Was it the sweet sweaty tang of nervous anxiety, or some inscrutable pheromone of submission?

The Kegel ball gave Miss H an secret outlet for her arousal. After all, it wouldn’t have been proper for a headmistress to rub herself as she was punishing her pupils. So rather than stand frustratedly whilst her clit throbbed beneath her skirt, the ball allowed her to discreetly relieve some of her tension by flexing her pelvic floor. On occasion she’d even been able to make herself climax, timing her orgasm so it commenced just as the last whack of her cane landed.

Miss H took her time inspecting the region between Alice’s legs. Like an increasing number of girls in the school, Alice kept herself shaved bare, the bump of her mound flawlessly smooth, the thin pink folds of her labia proudly neat and tidy.  

“Hold still, Alice” she instructed, as she plucked a tissue from a box on the floor.

She pressed two of her fingers into the tissue and then gently positioned the tissue against Alice’s perineum, before slowly drawing it upwards, between her buttocks until it reached her bottom hole. She circled that little dimple three times, before withdrawing the tissue and noticing, to her satisfaction, that Alice had indeed kept her bottom commendably clean.

Miss H had found the humiliation of bottom wiping particularly useful in dispelling any lingering wilfulness, reminding those about to be punished who was in charge, and if they intended to act like silly little girls, they would most certainly be treated that way. There was a practical purpose too, a chance to check no girl was trying to escape her punishment by surreptitiously applying a numbing gel or lubricant to her buttocks or the crevice between her cheeks. By now, the headmistress knew all the tricks.

The punishment room was not a place for pleading, postponements or reprieves. Once a girl was sent here, she could be sure of being punished. As per school rules, those currently in the midst of their period would be wearing a menstrual cup. Not that some of the older girls bled any more anyway, having taken advantage of hormonal implants that liberated them from that particular palaver.

Even an urgent call of nature was no excuse. Hanging beside the rack of canes was what looked like a giant porcelain slipper, raised at one end, where the heel might be. It was an antique chamberpot kept here for those who, faced with the prospect of imminent punishment, might be suddenly overcome by a need to relieve themselves. Such a chancer would find herself sitting on the potty, piddling like a little girl as her cheeks burned with shame, before Miss wiped her dry and smacked her bottom.

Satisfied by what she’d seen, Miss H concluded her inspection, standing and discarding the folded tissue in a little bin, before plucking a cane from the wall.

Alice flinched as she felt the cane tapping underneath the curve of her bottom, just above the tops of her thighs. A tender region, chosen deliberately. Because in the punishment room, naughty girls always ended up sitting on their stripes.

Facing the wall, Pansy and Marian flinched as they heard a swish, a thwack and a stifled moan.

Alice gripped the handles by her feet, trying hard not to yelp out loud as the cane stung her bottom. Her headmistress gave her no respite, another whack landing mere seconds after the first, unbeknown to Alice, a pause just long enough for Miss Hastings to clench her Kegel ball and reposition her cane for the next stroke.

Miss H caned quickly and accurately, rapidly inflicting a bright pink band of stripes on the lowest half of Alice’s poor cheeks. It was a whacking that burned with such intensity that Alice found herself wondering whether her headmistress had surreptitiously soaked her cane in oil and set it alight.  

It seemed like her spanking would go on forever, but after twelve whacks, Miss H stopped.

She laid the cane back in its cradle, then knelt behind Alice once more. This time it was to inspect the warm marks she had inflicted, her thumbs straying inside her thighs to briefly massage Alice’s folds and splay open her little butterfly wings. Her own little act of mercy, she knew the sit-down dance hurt much less with a soaking slit.

Alice found herself pushing back against the fingers of her headmistress, eager for some relief. But her disciplinarian wasn’t here to masturbate her, instead she slowly tugged Alice’s panties upwards, until they were tight against her crotch, then tugged them up even tighter, ensuring the gusset parted her innermost lips.

“There. Stand up, please.”

Alice let go of the handles, and stood as she was instructed, wobbling slightly as blood left her head. At the direction of her headmistress, she stepped out of the hoops, and down from the little plinth, and towards the ominous hulk that was the bench.

The seat of the bench was about chest high off the ground, so a little footstool was kept nearby, allowing Alice to step up and take her place. She gasped out loud as her sore bottom encountered the cold wooden seat, but soon found it was only a temporary discomfort. As any naughty schoolgirl will tell you, sitting on a cold hard wooden seat actually numbs the fiery sting of a spanked bottom, dulling its ache. Had her headmistress had wanted to prolong the discomfort of her whacking, she would have sent Alice to face the wall again.

But Alice had not been seated on the bench for a grandstand view of her classmate’s spankings. She felt Miss H moving behind her, reaching up to tug the waistband of her panties over the backrest, then inserting the two prongs of what looked like a miniature croquet hoop through the tops of each leg hole, which then slid snugly into corresponding slots on the top of backrest.

One final act was to lift Alice’s hands from her lap and place them on the bench by her sides.

“Let’s remove the temptation from those naughty fingers, shall we?” she chided gently, in what Alice construed as a subtle jibe, given the events had brought her here.

“Now, Marian, you’re next. Come here please.”

Alice squirmed as she watched Marian undergo exactly the same routine of inspection she’d just experienced. She found watching it intensely arousing, she longed to rub herself, to just lift one of her hands from the bench, and let it drift over her thigh and in between her legs. But she didn’t dare disobey her headmistress.

So Alice patiently sat where she’d been seated, her feet dangling in the air, well above the ground, which made her feel like she’d been placed in an infant’s high chair. Meanwhile, she could feel her clit throbbing, hot and swollen, pressed tight against the sodden band of fabric between her legs. If she squirmed, even just a merest fraction, an ache of unfulfilled longing radiated through her crotch.

It reminded her of a sensation she’d experienced when playing with Penny, Alice had let herself be tied up, and Penny had taken full advantage, teasing her to the point of agonised pleading. Her favourite trick was to pull the hood of Alice’s swollen clit right back with her fingertips, and just hold it there, completely exposed, just aching for the faintest touch.

But this time, with her panties so tight, the ache in her clit was accompanied by a burning sensation between her legs, as the narrow band of material rubbed between her delicate lips and across her sensitive perineum.

So rather than rocking herself to climax as she watched Marian spread her legs to have her bottom wiped, Alice found herself sitting as still as she possibly could. It became even more difficult when Miss H fetched the cane and Marian got her whacking. It was like watching an artist at work, painting pretty pink lines of exquisite beauty. She couldn’t help but writhe in sympathy with every stroke, each stripe added to Marian’s bottom echoed in a fiery jolt between Alice’s legs.

When her caning was over, and she had been thoroughly inspected, Marian thanked her headmistress and followed her to the bench. She shared a smile with Alice as she took her seat beside her, wincing slightly as her disciplinarian tugged up her panties and fixed them in place.

“Your turn, Pansy. And since you were so keen to expose yourself, I’ve gathered a little audience for you.”

Miss H turned to Alice and Marian, their eyes wide, their feet dangling childishly from their vantage point.

“Pay close attention, girls. Pansy likes to be watched.”

Alice and Marian did what they were told, although in truth, there was precious little else to do. Pansy took her inspection stoically, whilst the girls behind her couldn’t help but stare at her pussy, a mesmerising pink slit glistening in the dark black sea of her trimmed pubic hair. And when Pansy was caned, Alice finally got to see the results of a spanking on ebony skin. Pansy’s bum went pink, bright pink, just like smacked bottom of any other naughty little girl.

Once the whacking had finished, Pansy took her own place on the bench, moaning softly as her panties were tugged up and fixed behind her.

And then, they were all ready. Because painful though their canings had been, the three girls were about to discover that the lines on their bottoms were merely the prelude for what was to come.

Miss Hastings edged each of the lecterns forward, positioning them so they were within arm’s reach, and addressed them all again.

“Now girls. You have some paper in front of you, and a pen. I expect each of you to write an essay for me, explaining what brought you here, and why you are sorry.”

She glanced pointedly at the round clock on the wall.

“You will have half an hour. Is that understood?”

The three girls nodded vigorously in agreement.

“Alice, you know all about this bench, but I’d better explain to the others what is going to happen…”

She walked over to the side of the bench, and rested her hand on a chunky brass lever.

“When I pull this, the seat you’re all sitting on will begin to drop. But you will have noticed that I have attached your panties to the frame behind you. This will not move, so as your seat tips lower, you will slide forward, and find your panties will be pulled tight behind you.”

The headmistress paused for moment to let what she’d just said sink in. She looked at the trio’s feet, high above the ground, dangling nervously in mid-air, like little girls sitting on grown-up chairs.

“In half an hour I shall collect your essays, then I shall pull down your panties to examine the stripe between your legs.”

If any of the girls felt like expressing any dissent at what was in store for them, they hid it well.

Without saying anything more, Miss Hastings pulled the lever downward, there was a faint hiss of air, but nothing dramatic happened. The girls took that as the cue to pick up their pens, and begin scribbling.

The tilt of the bench was so gradual it was imperceptible, but after a few minutes, the girls began to feel themselves slipping forward, and their panties tightening. This growing discomfort seemed to concentrate the girls’ minds, accelerating the speed at which their pens skittered across their pages.

From a distance, Miss Hastings watched the row of three pairs of white-socked feet beginning to dance in the air. The more the girls squirmed and kicked, the tighter she clenched the Kegel ball deep inside her. Beneath her own skirt, she could feel her own wetness seeping, her clitoris swollen, erect and eager for attention. All in good time, she told herself, gripping the ball in her cunt again, like she was squeezing water from a stone, tight inside her closing fist.


* * 3 * *

The Bench really was an unusual contraption. No one among the school staff knew for certain how this piece of outlandish engineering had ended up in this school, or even its original purpose, assuming it hadn’t always been intended as a seat of punishment.

When Miss Hastings had asked one of the school governors about the bench, he had mumbled something about a wealthy benefactor in the school’s dim and distant past. Rumours of a foundry owner, who’d made his fortune casting the immense limbs of steam engines. But that was several generations ago, this was, after all, an ancient school with venerable and cherished traditions.

Affixed to the back of the bench were two dials showing the pressure in the pistons, one marked ‘Time’ and the other ‘Drop’ in archaically elegant copperplate writing. These dials allowed the resistance of the pistons to be altered. The Drop determined how far the seat of the bench will tip, and for this particular session Miss H had set the dial at 12, meaning the bench’s hinged seat would be about 12 inches lower when it finished its descent.

She could have set it lower, of course, the maximum setting would make the seat tilt until it was completely vertical, leaving its occupants completely suspended by their panties, like puppets on strings, the tips of their toes dancing just above the floor, relief cruelly just out of reach. But she tended to reserve that setting for the very naughtiest girls.

The other dial, Time, determined how long it would take for the seat to reach its final position. This allowed Miss H to choose between a quick fast drop, or a slow lingering discomfort. Thirty minutes was the setting she used most often, long enough for her charges to write a good focussed essay, whilst also imparting a nice pink stripe between their legs. A longer setting would, of course, result in an even more painful stripe, but she also had her own needs to consider, and it could be frustrating to wait that long.

Everything Miss H knew about the bench had come from a battered wooden box left by her predecessor, which she’d found in a drawer of her new desk. Inside had been a letter, explaining how the bench worked, and some recommendations related to the art of panty pulling. The new headmistress had read the instructions in rapt fascination.

A few days later, Miss H returned to her office late one evening. Her colleagues had since retired to their own homes, and the staff wing was eerily quiet, so she had gone to the punishment room, and begun to experiment. It wasn’t long before she was sitting on the bench herself, her knickers fixed behind her, the seat slowly tipping downward, pulling her panties ever deeper until they burrowed between her folds. She had looked down at her own feet, kicking uncontrollably in mid-air, and she had felt herself losing control. She had never felt a sensation quite like it.

And when she came, she soaked herself so copiously that she rained a little puddle onto the floor beneath.

Also inside the box were a set of short thin ropes, some covered in stitched leather, others bare scratchy hemp. These, the accompanying letter explained, were crotch ropes, the very cords used to suspend the first unfortunate miscreants who had been sentenced to dangle.

It made perfect sense when she thought about it, after all, elasticated cotton panties were a relatively new innovation. When this bench was installed, a century and a half ago, the school’s pupils would have worn bloomers under their dresses. The box had included a yellowed letter from an long-forgotten headmistress, describing to her successor how to best punish naughty young ladies.

Across the centuries, her elaborately cursive handwriting had advised:

“Those deserving of discipline should to sent to wait in the punishment room. Have her remove her dress and stand facing the wall in her undergarments. Then, when you arrive, be sure to first scold the miscreant for her transgressions, before completing her undressing. Have her touch her toes, and then commence her whackings. Ignore the inevitable pleas for modesty, reminding her that her misdemeanours have forfeited that privilege. The cane should always be applied the bare buttocks.”

“Once a girl has been caned to your satisfaction, select an appropriate rope girdle and have her step into it. The knot at the waist is adjustable, first ensure that it is quite taut, and that the inner cord passes between her labia and is tight to the crevice of her buttocks.”

“Now have the girl sit on the bench, and affix the cords using the slots and pegs. You may now choose a descent commensurate with the young lady’s crime, pull the lever and leave her to contemplate her naughtiness.”

“Afterwards, you may decide to release the miscreant from her girdle. Yet I have also found great improvements in behaviour can be gained by leaving it in situ for the remainder of the day, underneath her bloomers, as she returns to class with a lingering reminder of her wrongdoings.”

“In this case, have the girl report to you should she need the lavatory, whereupon you may temporarily loosen her rope before fastening it again. At the day’s end, you should pay a visit to the young lady’s dormitory to remove the girdle and examine her stripe before she is put to bed. You will find the shame of being exposed and inspected in front of her roommates will produce very positive effects on her future conduct.”

Miss Hastings did like the idea of sending girls away from the punishment room with their crotch ropes still pulled tight. Alas, the ropes she’d found in the box were now far too old to be used, all frayed and brittle with age. But she had contemplated having a new batch made up, as a special treat for the school’s naughtiest minxes.


The headmistress tightened her grip around the ball in her vagina, and checked the clock again. The half hour was almost up, the seat of the bench had tipped downwards to a very precarious slope, and now the only things stopping the three girls from sliding off entirely were their panties, firmly anchored and stretched high behind them.

Each of the three girls was still scribbling rapidly, as if trying to distract themselves from the fiery ache between their legs. Their panties were now just a narrow bands pressed tight between their slits, the white material so saturated by their own wetness it had darkened to grey. In places, some of their juices had collected on the varnished wooden seat in little pools, which had begun to trickle down the slope like raindrops on a window pane.

“Time’s up girls. Finish what you’re writing.”

The scribbling slowed and ultimately stopped.

Miss H approached the trio, lifting the lecterns out of the way so each girl would be able to dismount. She would collect and read what her pupils had written later, but first, there was the important business of inspection to take care of.

She fetched the footstool, placing it underneath Alice’s dangling feet, then reached behind to remove the two-pronged peg and release her stretched panties. Alice grimaced as she stepped down to the floor, and then stepped forward a few paces to where her headmistress had indicated. Marian and Pansy followed moments later, and the three found themselves lined up beside each other once again.

“Stand up straight, girls. Hands behind your backs. Legs apart.”

The trio obeyed, immediately adopting the stance they’d been told. Girls were always much more obedient and well-behaved when their panties were pulled tight, the headmistress thought to herself. She’d often contemplated putting little hooks in classroom chairs, so teachers could tug up the panties of the disruptive and wilful, a final warning, a foretaste of what they could expect in the Punishment Room unless their behaviour immediately improved.

“Now Alice, let’s take a good look at you.”

Miss H knelt in front of Alice, her panties had been pulled tight between her legs, the waistband now level with the bump of her mound, the gusset now just a narrow band of material, embedded between the folds of her slit. It was dark with her dampness, soaking wet, and reeked of arousal.

The headmistress began her examination by placing her fingers into the waistband of Alice’s panties, just below her hips, and slowly tugging them down. Alice wriggled and squirmed, clenching her wrists behind her, fighting the urge to bring her hands forward and rub her aching slit. Miss H could now see Alice’s clitoris, swollen pink and bathed in sticky juices. There was something deeply fascinating about staring at another woman’s clitoris, especially such an aroused one, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

As she lowered Alice’s panties further, revealing a bright red stripe running downward from her hood and between her innermost lips. One last tug down, and Alice gasped as the tight fabric between her legs finally came away from her crotch. Now Miss H could see the pool of stickiness at the entrance to Alice’s vagina, and the bright red line on her perineum that continued as far back as her bottom hole. She tugged her underwear just a little bit further, leaving it about mid-thigh, then moved behind Alice to scrutinise her bottom.

The lines of her recent caning were still conspicuous on her cheeks, but now the whole of Alice’s bottom was a warm, diffuse pink. Miss H gently spread Alice’s buttocks apart, examining the pale purple bruise-coloured line that ran along the length of her crevice. Perfectly punished, the headmistress thought to herself, a textbook example; before thinking: goodness, that would be an incredibly kinky textbook.

She concluded her inspection by smacking Alice’s bottom ten times with the palm of her hand, scolding as she spanked.

“Now, young lady. Let that be a lesson to you!”

Alice vigorously nodded her acquiescence, before her headmistress pulled her panties back up tight, and obediently waited with her hands behind her back as Miss Hastings moved on to inspect Marian who was standing beside her. As she waited, Alice was left to ponder: I do hope all this has been worth it.

Marian and Pansy were inspected just as intimately, both moaned and squirmed as their panties were slowly removed, revealing the same slick sticky slits, and the same bright red stripes running between their legs. Pansy was the last to have her bottom smacked and her panties tugged up, after which, the headmistress moved to the front to address them all one last time.

“Girls!” she said gruffly, “I do not expect to see you here again! You may now get dressed, and go back to your rooms.”

The trio shuffled back towards where they’d hung up their clothes, gingerly stepping into their skirts, each all too aware of the ache between their legs. When all three had dressed, Miss Hastings waited for them by the door, each of them politely thanking her for their discipline as they left the room.

The headmistress stood in the doorway, watching the trio shamble down the corridor in awkward silence, until they turned a corner, and vanished from view. But she did not follow behind them. Instead, she turned back into the Punishment Room, closed the big heavy door behind her, and flicked the latch to lock it.

Alone at last! Miss Hastings clenched the ball deep inside her, provoking a sudden tingling that made her legs wobble. She approached the bench, three little patches of moisture still visible where its occupants had been sitting, and lifted the tilted seat upwards, so it clicked back into its level position.

Then she went over to the lecterns and collected the three essays, placing them on the bench. Some light reading material to enjoy. Girls often wrote the most erotic words when sitting on a sore bottom.

She moved over to the hooks on the wall, where the triohad earlier hung their own clothes, and began to undress. The high-collared black jacket first, then the ivory blouse, her matte-black calf-length boots, and her long dark skirt, her stockings and then her bra, until she stood in just her underwear.

It might have surprised her pupils to learn that underneath her austere, authoritative outfit their headmistress wore the same white regulation school knickers. But while school underwear might not have been fashionable, it was stretchy, and that was precisely what Barbara Hastings needed right now. She stepped onto the footstool, sitting within arm’s reach of the lever, and reached back to peg her panties into the beam behind her.

And now the headmistress was ready to have her own fun. She picked up the essays, reached across to the lever at the side of the bench, and pulled it. It would take a while before she felt herself slipping down the slope, before her panties began to be pulled tight, so she’d often take her time reading the confessions of the girls she’d just punished, giving the Kegel ball inside her a good squeeze at the juicy bits.


* * 4 * *

Pansy’s Essay

“I am very sorry for my awful behaviour, Miss. I know my punishment is well-deserved. I behaved very recklessly, and quite disgracefully. I can hardly believe I did what I did, I apologise for the shame it has brought to the school.”

“It all happened on a trip to the local university library. As you know, a weekly trip is organised for the senior girls, to allow us to consult and work from that library’s extensive collection. Well, something else the university library has, that our school library doesn’t – is young men.”

“I am not used to being around boys, Miss. They make me feel funny inside. I feel weird when they look at me, but at the same time I feel like I want to impress them, to get them to notice me. But they don’t look at me like they look at the other, prettier girls. And I wanted them to look at me.”

“I tried moving in front of the male students, making little noises, aheming and coughing, but no one seemed to notice me. In desperation, I went to the lavatory and took off my panties. I wanted to see if they were secretly looking at me, just to see what reaction I might provoke.”

“When I came out of the lavatory, I began to expose myself. I would bend over to choose books from the lowest shelves, letting my skirt ride up, revealing a bit of my bottom to any young man who might be browsing nearby. Then I began to get bolder, contriving to drop books in front of male students then bending over to pick them up, perhaps revealing for just a fleeting moment that I wasn’t wearing any panties.“

“Fortunately, Miss Harper noticed what I was doing before I completely disgraced myself, and she escorted me back to the lavatory to restore my underwear. She told me off quite severely when we returned to school, and wrote out my punishment card that meant I was sent to see you here.”

“Again, I am most sincerely sorry for my behaviour. It was lewd and besmirches the good reputation of the school, which I would never knowingly want to harm. I want to thank you for punishing me, I know I deserved it.”

Miss Hastings shifted on the hard wooden bench, she could definitely feel her seat had tilted, and her knickers were definitely much tighter. She imagined what Pansy had got up to in the library, and how the young male students might have reacted to seeing fleeting glimpses of her most intimate places.

There was something undeniably erotic about libraries, the silence, the regimented order of the shelves, the enforced almost suffocating silence, and the sweet musty smell of old books. She imagined doing what Pansy had done, discarding her underwear, and audaciously flashing passing strangers. It was reckless, and indecent and disgraceful. But it was also unquestionably hot. The thought of exposing herself, however briefly, made her wet, it made her clench the ball inside her, tighter and tighter until surges of pleasure quivered through her torso. Yes, she might have to try it sometime.

She turned to the next page, which was written in Marian’s meticulously neat hand, and started reading again.


Marian’s Essay

“Dear Miss Hastings. When I heard from other girls that you get spanked if you are very naughty here, I confess I began to fantasise about what that would be like. I wanted to experience a proper English spanking before I went home. So I decided to let myself get caught wandering beyond the school grounds. I put the condom in my pocket deliberately, so it would seem like I was sneaking off to visit a lover, it was found when I turned out my pockets. It was the best way I could think of to be sent to be punished.”

“In my home country, I grew up hearing fairytales where errant children would get their comeuppance at the end of the story. Sometimes they would be eaten by terrible monsters, but other times they would just be spanked on their naughty bottoms. The latter form of poetic justice had always fascinated me.”

“I was never spanked when I was growing up, but perhaps that helped fuel my first ‘naughty daydreams’, the forerunners of my first fantasies, which swam around my fevered imagination before I properly became aware of my erotic side.”

“At the centre of my fantasies was The Punctilious Queen; I think she was inspired by all the wicked queens and witches my young mind had read about, but she was more austere than evil, more strict than draconian. In my mind’s eye I gave her the face of my sternest teacher. This Queen, I imagined, had assumed responsibility for all discipline throughout the kingdom. She’d decreed that parents were no longer allowed to spank their offspring, but if any were ever naughty enough to deserve a spanking, they should be brought to the castle, and she would do it herself.”

“I used to dream that I had been really naughty, that my parents had repeatedly warned me what would happen if I carried on misbehaving, but I was wilful and cheeky, and never listened. And now it was too late, I was being led up the hill, dragged struggling by the hand across the drawbridge, and into the ominous high halls of the Queen’s castle.”

“Inside I had to wait in a line with all the other naughty children. One by one we’d be called forward by her chamberlain, and then be sent alone through a thick curtain of embroidered purple velvet. Soon after, we’d all hear the unmistakeable sound of muffled whacks and whimpers, and my tummy would churn with apprehension. Several minutes later the same individual would emerge, often drying their eyes and rubbing their bottom, and their parent would grasp their progeny’s hand with a knowing look, and escort them home.”

“Eventually, it was my turn. The Royal Chamberlain looked down at me, his half-rim glasses precariously balanced on his long gaunt nose, making me feel so small. I felt his bony hand on my back, ushering me towards the slit in the curtains. I took a deep breath, and stepped beyond, and into the Queen’s chamber.”

“The Punctilious Queen was waiting for me, resplendent in a gown of white silk, a modest gold crown embedded in her immaculately plaited blond hair. In her hand was a long honey-coloured rod, like a sceptre, but thinner. It was the symbol of her authority, and also her means of dispensing her justice. She seemed to glow in front of me, like I was in the presence of a goddess. I was dumbstruck, all I could do was curtsey respectfully.”

““I imagined there was a waist high wooden frame in front of me, on top of which was a pile of plush pillows, each embroidered with the royal crest. I knew then my fate was inescapable.”

“Why are you here, child? She asked me.”

“My tongue suddenly loosened, and I impetuously blurted out all the naughty things I’d done, and not just the neglected chores and indolence that brought me here. The Queen paused for a moment, as if considering a fitting punishment for my crimes, before skewering me with her formidable gaze.”

“Bend over, and bare your bottom.”

“Her command was irresistible, as if I could feel her draconian voice thrum through every fibre of my body. I was desperate to obey her, to please her. I hurried towards the bench, hitching up my dress and tugging down my underwear before lurching over the pillows, wiggling forward until my exposed bottom was my highest point, and my hands and feet dangled in the air.”

“Meanwhile, in my bedroom, I began to act it all out, bending over a pile of pillows on my bed, lifting my own dress and pulling down my panties so my bare bottom was exposed to the cool air. I always made sure I wiped my bottom extra clean, I would have been mortified if Her Majesty ever checked between my cheeks and found my bum dirty.”

“Then I’d imagine her placing her rod against my pale little bottom. I never pleaded or begged for mercy, I knew I deserved what I was about to receive. And then I would be spanked, rising and falling, recoiling from my strict Queen’s intangible whacking.”

“It became my favourite fantasy. I’d often imagine being sent to see my Queen when I was in the house alone. Then, one day I happened to arrange my pillows differently, so they were between my legs rather than under my hips. Now when I recoiled from Her Majesty’s discipline, I felt a new and delightful sensation. Punishment and pleasure have been entwined in my mind ever since.”

“So, thank you for caning my bottom, Miss. I have dreamt of experiencing that sensation for many years. It was as painful as I’d hoped, but at the same time surprisingly arousing. I hadn’t expected to have to sit here and write as my panties were pulled tight, but it is an ingenious and effective means of discipline, I am opening myself and writing down secrets I never thought I’d share.”

Now that, Miss Hastings thought, was an intriguing essay! She wondered if Marian still ground herself to orgasm against her pillows, and whether the strict Queen she imagined now had the face of her own headmistress. Over the years she had managed this school, she had read countless essay confessions which revealed that many of her students did indeed fantasise about her. Some were happy to admit to rubbing themselves to bliss each night as they imagined being undressed by her, or inspected, or put over her knee.

Bedtime spankings seemed to be a particularly popular fantasy, ones where she’d enter their dormitory, and watch them as they undressed and put on their nighties. Yet, in a wonderful demonstration of the uniqueness of the erotic mind, each girl imagined a different kind of spanking. Some wanted to be told to touch their toes, and caned. Some imagined that a hairbrush or a slipper had accompanied them from home, along with a little note to the headmistress requesting it be used on her bare bottom if the girl was ever naughty. Others preferred to imagine the palm of their headmistress smacking their bottom pink, then rubbing it all better afterwards.

What all had in common was they found the thought of a spanking comforting rather than terrifying. She’d realised there was something reassuring about having a disciplinarian, someone who wanted the best for them, who would see through their nonsense, and who cared enough to discipline them, and then tuck them into bed afterwards. So in the dark, when all alone, they would imagine the delight of a sore and well-spanked bottom, and how it would throb against their soft cool bedsheets. And their fingers would begin to stray downwards, and begin to rub away the ache from between their hot wet folds.  

The thought of girls masturbating about having their bottoms spanked excited Miss Hastings immensely. Her left hand was now caressing the nubs of her stiff nipples, whilst her right had strayed to her crotch, now a hot wet patch beneath her palm. How she longed to stroke away the ache between her own legs, but now her tightened panties denied her fingertips, muffling her attempts to massage her clit. The tilt of the seat was obvious now, she could feel the friction rubbing against her bottom hole, and the weight of her feet dangling beneath her. And she knew it wouldn’t be long now until her squirming gave way to the frenetic uncontrollable throes of the sit-down dance.

She turned to Alice’s essay, and began reading with fevered expectation.


Alice’s Essay

“Dear Miss… a few months ago, my good friends Penny and Lola visited this very room. On their return, I encouraged them to show me their marks, so both knelt on my bed and flipped up their skirts and pulled down their panties.”

“I remember staring with morbid fascination. You had given them both such a good whacking Miss, they had clear pink lines across their cheeks. But what I really wanted to see was the line from their sit-down dance. So they both reached back and held their bottoms apart. It was an amazing sight. I got so wet immediately.”

“Afterwards, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d seen. I felt so naughty, that I’d been so turned on by my friends’ discomfort, but it made me so horny. Later, as I lay in bed, I couldn’t help playing with myself. I imagined Penny and the other girls doing the sit-down dance. I came so hard. That was when I knew it was something I had to try myself.”

“So I began to be careless and forget a few homeworks. I got my first warning. Then my final warning. Then I forgot once more and got myself sent here. And so a few weeks ago I got to experience the cane and do the dance myself. It was amazing Miss!”

“Obviously I had to try it again. But I didn’t want to blot my academic record, so I allowed myself to be caught masturbating. I noticed Mrs Watson was clearing up one of the changing rooms, so I sneaked past her into the showers. I was fully clothed, so I didn’t turn the water on, I just tugged my panties down to my ankles and put my hand up my skirt. I came so hard Miss, Mrs Watson found me sitting in the shower, slumped against the wall with my knickers on the floor. A woozy silly grin plastered on face. She made me lift my skirt and show my puffy wet slit. My guilt was undeniable. So here I am today.”

“I’ve been looking forward to my return visit so much, Miss. Did you notice how wet I was when you inspected me? Did you notice how I’d shaved myself bare especially for you, Miss?”

“Is this essay going to get me in trouble again, Miss? Maybe next time it will just be you and me in this room.”

“What would you do to me, Miss? Would you make me take off everything so I do the sit-down dance for you naked? Would you stand behind me and lean over to kiss me, and suck and nibble my little tits as the bench sinks downward? Or would you prefer to stand in front of me and put your hand up your skirt and rub yourself as you watch my little feet kick and struggle?”

“By the time you read this, Miss, I’ll be back in my dorm room, exploring the pink stripe between my legs that you gave me. I’ll be whispering your name under my breath as I rub away the heat from my poor caned bottom. Did you know what the girls you’ve whacked call you behind your back? When they pronounce your surname, we put the emphasis on the second half, Miss Hay-STINGS. That’s what I’ll be whispering right now.”

“I know how you like to stay behind after we’ve danced Miss, I’ve lurked at the end of the corridor several times, sometimes it takes you over half an hour to leave this room. Whatever could you be doing in here, Miss?”

“Are you bare, Miss? Do you shave yourself so you can feel your panties tight against your mound?

“Are you panties getting tight yet, Miss? Do you spank yourself before you take your seat? My bum is so sore, Miss, you caned me so hard. But I know why you do it Miss, smacking our bums makes our slits wet, so it doesn’t hurt as much when we get our panties pulled tight. Isn’t that right, Miss?”

Barbara Hastings read every tease of Alice’s insolent essay with a mix of seething indignation and voracious lust.

She could feel the burning sensation between her dangling legs, just as the girls would have felt. Her own panties were so tight now, she could feel her labia throbbing on either side of the narrow band of material. The hood of her clitoris had already been tugged back, so her swollen sensitive bead rubbed against the sodden fabric, so now even the slightest movement made her quiver and tremble.

She returned to Alice’s essay, eager to see what the impertinent little minx had written next, that girl would be getting such a sore bottom, that was for sure.

“Or perhaps you’d want to sit next to me on the bench, to fix your panties and dance alongside me, our fingers caressing between each other’s legs?”

“Afterwards, when you’ve pulled down my panties, would you put me over your knee and spank my bare bottom? Or would we lie on floor, kneeling over each other’s mouths, our tongues soothing the burning ache between each other’s legs? Would you like me to lick your bottom hole better, Miss?”

Barbara almost came there and then at that comment, imagining her pupil’s hot wet tongue probing and caressing so intimately. She could feel her underwear rubbing against her anus, intruding like an insistent tongue. She tried to hold herself back, but knew she was right on the brink, one last push would send her crashing over the edge. She forced her eyes back down to the page.

“Or would you make me keep my tight panties on, and make me kneel over the little potty, Miss? Would you demand that I service your bare cunt with my tongue? Soon I’d feel the need to pee, an urgent urge joining the ache within my crotch.”

“Please Miss, I’d beg, my lips and chin sticky with your juices. I need to go, Miss.”

“Don’t you dare stop” you’d reply, “I going to enjoy watching you wet your panties like a silly little girl.”

“And you’d feel my hot breath pleading, moaning, then gasping into your cunt as I gushed into the potty…”

It was all too much. Barbara felt the muscles of her vagina squeeze the ball inside, gripping the little globe intensely tight, then throbbing, then spasming wildly. The pages she was holding slipped from her fingers, fluttering to the floor like falling leaves.

A surge of pleasure flooded through her entire body, like her boiling blood had become petrol, and her clit had been a match. Her hands flew to her breasts, cradling herself as if her chest might explode. Her dangling feet kicked uncontrollably in the air, a fiery jolt burning between her legs with every convulsion, as Headmistress Hastings jerked deliriously towards the rapturous finale of her very own sit-down dance.

And as she came, she was thinking of Alice.

Naughty, naughty Alice.

… Continued in Part 2…

.

.

.


@spankingtheatre 2016

spankingtheatre at gmail dot com

Originally posted at spankingtheatre.tumblr.com.

You’re welcome to repost and share.

What if Punishment Panties had a sequel?

And there’s still a chance to appear in it

What if Punishment Panties had a sequel?

And there’s still a chance to appear in it

Star in my next story!

spankingtheatre:

With the final part of Coming of Age now finished, I’ve begun work on a brand new story… let’s just say it’s one a lot of people have been looking forward to.

And as a thank you to all my wonderful readers, I thought I’d run a competition with a difference – one where the winners get to appear in my next story!

I know many of you have fantasy alter-egos, and have imagined yourselves getting up to all kinds of misbehaviour, and then later having your bare bottoms well spanked as a consequence.

The upcoming story has a school setting, so if you’ve ever imagined yourself as a mischievous schoolgirl, this is your chance to have her immortalised in words, and in the minds of thousands around the world.

There are 4 characters to cast, to apply to be one of them, send me a message or reblog this post and add a comment with the following details:

  • your character’s name
  • something distinctive about her personality or appearance
  • and the misdemeanour for which she has been sent to the dreaded punishment room

You can also email your entry to spankingtheatre at gmail if you don’t have a Tumblr account.

Then 3 weeks from now, I’ll choose the best submissions, and incorporate the characters into the story. You might even get a sneak preview too!

Some terrific submissions so far, keep them coming!

Reblog, email or message!

Star in my next story!

spankingtheatre:

With the final part of Coming of Age now finished, I’ve begun work on a brand new story… let’s just say it’s one a lot of people have been looking forward to.

And as a thank you to all my wonderful readers, I thought I’d run a competition with a difference – one where the winners get to appear in my next story!

I know many of you have fantasy alter-egos, and have imagined yourselves getting up to all kinds of misbehaviour, and then later having your bare bottoms well spanked as a consequence.

The upcoming story has a school setting, so if you’ve ever imagined yourself as a mischievous schoolgirl, this is your chance to have her immortalised in words, and in the minds of thousands around the world.

There are 4 characters to cast, to apply to be one of them, send me a message or reblog this post and add a comment with the following details:

  • your character’s name
  • something distinctive about her personality or appearance
  • and the misdemeanour for which she has been sent to the dreaded punishment room

You can also email your entry to spankingtheatre at gmail if you don’t have a Tumblr account.

Then 3 weeks from now, I’ll choose the best submissions, and incorporate the characters into the story. You might even get a sneak preview too!

Some terrific submissions so far, keep them coming!

Reblog, email or message!

Lupercalia

spankingtheatre:

Keep reading

It’s three years to the day since I first posted this story of discipline, discovery and Latin homework. It’s still one of my favourites, I think newcomers to this blog will enjoy it.

Wishing you all a very happy Lupercalia!

Lupercalia

spankingtheatre:

Keep reading

It’s three years to the day since I first posted this story of discipline, discovery and Latin homework. It’s still one of my favourites, I think newcomers to this blog will enjoy it.

Wishing you all a very happy Lupercalia!

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