The ladies have another appointment


Mrs Penny Brown was apprehensive. Her idea of booking another spanking from Mr Simmons, the Headmaster of her daughter Helen’s last school, had seemed like a good idea at the time. Penny and Helen Brown had been caned, at their own request and in their own lounge, after Mrs Brown had discovered her daughter was occasionally returning secretly to Archdean to receive motivational corporal punishment from Mr Simmons in a private capacity.

Initially horrified when first finding out about this she had intensively interrogated her daughter and later had forced a meeting with Mr Simmons, the result of which had convinced Mrs Brown that the arrangement was indeed exactly as her daughter had explained and had no sexual overtones. However what had also happened after Mrs Brown’s initial anger had stabilised was that she had herself become infatuated with the idea of receiving corporal punishment, and so after these machinations had played out and time had moved on, one day in September Mother and Daughter had duly received Mr Simmons into their home and taken turns to bend over to have the cane applied to their bare bottoms; eight strokes for Mrs Brown and twelve for the more experienced Helen, who was far keener on the discipline itself and for who the motivational aspect was an inferior reason compared to her deep enjoyment of the ritual and sheer masochistic sensation of feeling the cane deliver its hot sting to her bottom.

On that day and despite her discomfort, just before he left, Mrs Brown had sneaked a look at the punishment book he carried and had seen a variety of initials there. Somehow she had felt comforted by it; her daughter and herself were not alone in undergoing occasional spankings to help maintain their motivation, or at least use this as a part reason. Nor could she forget looking into his map case and finding a heavy and flexible tawse there, of a type she had felt across her own bottom whilst at school. This discovery had given her a serious, deeply thrilling surge of adrenaline that seemed to run right into her very soul and she had gasped while running it through her hands. Despite the effect of the hard caning she had received just minutes before, Mrs Brown was so moved by the feel and smell of this beautiful leather strap she determined there and then she wanted to feel it stinging her bottom, she wanted to receive formal corporal punishment from it and accordingly a date had been agreed for this. The date was now fast approaching.

Penny Brown was looking forward to her appointment with a mix of trepidation and other emotions. She was not really being helped by Helen raising the tension when she asked her Mother in their regular phone calls how she was feeling and if she would like some moral support.

Mrs Brown brushed off these questions with: “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” and: “I survived once before, I think the next time will be OK,” but her nerves were jangling.

Helen, for her part, was slightly jealous and was hankering after another spanking herself, for while there was an appointment booked for her and Mrs Brown to be caned together in January, that seemed ages away. At the end of September, when she had headed back to University, Helen’s diary was showing the weekend her Mother was due to meet Mr Simmons was the last one that term that she was going to see her boyfriend, but needless to say plans had changed in the meantime and that was now going to happen earlier. Mischievously, Helen started plotting to go home for ‘that’ weekend. It was time to remind herself again of what a proper caning felt like. She would need a reason, of course, but the intelligent and resourceful Helen Brown was sure she could find one.

Meanwhile in ‘normal’ life the motivational aspects of corporal punishment had worked a treat for her Mother, Penny. She had thought the forthcoming appointment with the tawse would help her focus on keeping arrangements for the family Yuletide rolling smoothly along, and in this she was absolutely correct. The Christmas card list had been ready and rechecked weeks ago. About half the cards had been written and completing them was this weekend’s job, as was buying Christmas stamps. The Christmas tree ornaments had been purged and new ones bought as soon as they had appeared in the shops. The Turkey had been ordered and shopping lists compiled. In fact, by mid November Mrs Brown felt that she could do little more. The impending meeting between her bottom and Mr Simmons’ tawse had certainly focused her mind. Now, being well in command of her timetable, she idly wondered about cancelling the meeting as it was not without its risks, but her curiosity was in control. She had survived a caning and she was certainly going to survive a tawsing. In fact, deep down, although she would not openly admit it, she was looking forward to the strapping and every thought about it gave her some very intimate thrills.

One evening, just over a week before the big event, her days work over and glass of refreshing white wine to hand, she had the television on in the background and was idly glancing through a clothing catalogue fresh off the doormat that morning. It was a range of mail order womens wear that Mrs Brown was giving half her attention to. Suddenly she noticed a range of kilts and an illuminati moment happened. Yes! She should present to Mr Simmons wearing an authentic kilt to receive her authentic Scottish tawsing! She looked at the page again, decided on a style and, pleased as punch, headed to the computer to place an order.

Just then Helen rang.

Mrs Brown was unable to contain her excitement at the idea of wearing a kilt for her strapping, and was busy describing it to her daughter, who quickly picked up how keen her Mother was to do this. Dressing the part indeed! Helen laughed to herself as she saw how her Mother had changed. From sampling the cane with her daughter, Mrs Brown seemed to have become rapidly attracted to the idea of receiving corporal punishment. But the kilt idea had given Helen a sudden thought too. She saw an opening unexpectedly present itself.

“Are there any tartan trousers, Mum? I was just thinking I would quite like a pair.”

So, without much ado, the catalogue was inspected again and confirmation given. “Quite reasonably priced too,” said Penny Brown, so there was an agreement made.

“I’d like to see them, though Mum, and try them on. I’ve still got slightly longer legs for my hip size, so if they don’t fit you’d need to send them back. I could come home next weekend.”

Mrs Brown agreed. There was another of life’s factors going on in her mind and that was being seen having a strange man arrive at her door part way through a Saturday afternoon, then the same man possibly be seen to leave an hour or so later. It was a nice neighbourhood, but gossip was gossip and while Mrs Brown was quite confident to be alone in Mr Simmons’ company, wagging tongues were wagging tongues, so Helen being at home gave his visit a sheen of respectability should anyone notice. Helen, for her part, felt she had levered the door open to get home and left it at that for now, but she was determined her Mum wasn’t going to be the only one receiving Mr Simmons’ attention. However, Helen really desired to feel the sharp bite and blazing sting of the cane, so somehow she would need to convey this to James Simmons.

The midnight oil burned late in an ivory tower that night as plans were considered. What about trying out each other’s clothes and seeing what they might look like to be spanked in? Yes, she thought. That might work. That might well work. Next afternoon, after her lectures had ended, Helen called home, and in a nice chatty call made a couple of suggestions for the weekend that had quite appealed to her Mother.

‘Good, fixed,’ thought Helen, and worked her way down to the station for a weekend with her boyfriend, the last time she would see him before getting together at Christmas.

The next week dragged for Mrs Brown, the sole highlight being the clothes delivery which gave her a few hours of enjoyment, as Helen had prophesied, to herself.

The days were short by now and the light was low, even at midday. Although she had a plentiful assortment of friends, Penny Brown was looking forward to her husband’s present turn of duty ending. While they spoke regularly, she missed having her man around. However, there was compensation on the horizon with a trip out to America in the spring to join him for ten days and see something of the social whirl of diplomatic life in Washington, which of course meant more clothes shopping. Mmm.

In the meantime, she had the phone call to make to Mr Simmons, with a slight change of plan to announce as Helen would be present and wanted her own session with him. Slightly nervously, she picked up her mobile at the appointed time on the Thursday and of course Mr Simmons was waiting for the call.

“Yes, yes of course,” he responded as Mrs Brown said she was confirming the appointment.

Then she went on. “I hope you can accommodate Helen being here, Mr Simmons. I know it’s a slight diversion from what was originally planned but she has an unexpected free weekend. Would it be possible to see both of us, as happened before?”

Mr Simmons chuckled silently to himself. He just knew Helen would be there.

“Of course, Mrs Brown,” he replied, then moved the conversation along further. “I am aware of your own request for the day, which I will be pleased to fulfil. Can I perhaps anticipate that Helen would like to partake of, er, her own preference?”

Mrs Brown said she assumed that would be the case, so he concluded: “I will ensure I come with a variety of equipment. I will try to arrive shortly before 2.30.”

Penny Brown had a further small matter to introduce, however; the matter of clothing.

“If I may, Headmaster,” she started, “rather than Helen and I dressing in the clothes worn last time, we have bought some tartans which we felt more appropriate this time. I thought I ought to mention it, that’s all. And yes, we will be ready for you.”

They exchanged mutual good wishes and the call ended. Mrs Brown poured herself another glass of wine, shivered, and sent a text to Helen. Fifteen minutes later came Helen’s reply.

‘Thanks Mum, see you tomorrow evening, xx. PS really looking forward to it.’

Mrs Brown couldn’t be aware of it, of course, but Helen was shaking as she typed, full of nervous anticipation after having had a quick word herself with Mr Simmons, once she knew her Mother had confirmed. For her part, Helen didn’t know her Mother had been unable hold back a smile at the reply.

‘It will be nice to see Helen again,’ thought Penny Brown. But that was not the only reason for smiling. And she knew it.

As it was, the train was slightly late but Mother and Daughter had a good chat in the car on the way back from the station. Helen tried on her tartan trousers as soon as they got in and, as hoped, they were a good fit, especially around her bottom. She wore them into the kitchen to show Mum as a light supper was being prepared.

“Mmm,” said Penny Brown. “They look to be a good fit. Are you pleased with them?”

Helen nodded and smiled as she acknowledged they were, and thanked her Mum for getting them. The plan they had hatched during the week, as they were both about a size 10, or Mum very slightly more and Helen rather slightly less, was to try on each others’ tartans later.

“I’ll get the kilt down soon,” said Penny Brown, after supper. “It’s lovely, slightly lighter weight than I thought it would be, but, well, er, you know,” and after a second or two of silence a rather naughty smile hovered on her face as she looked back at her daughter.

‘Mum’s really into this now,’ thought Helen, taking the wine and some glasses into the lounge and returning to help carry the food through.

They both tried on the kilt and swapped with the trousers which Mrs Brown liked but felt they were slightly more on the size 8 side, then professed themselves satisfied with what had been bought. Following the fashion parade, they sat and munched and chatted and sipped wine, half watched the television and decided to leave the dishes for tomorrow morning. Tiring quickly and feeling the effects of a half bottle of wine each, they went to bed quite early, nervous but looking forward to the intensity of tomorrow.

Next morning, Penny Brown set off to the shops while Helen treated herself to a lie in before getting up and showering. Then, after having just a cup of coffee for breakfast, she started to put a small salad together for lunch. The butterflies were active, as they always were on such days, and as she sipped another coffee, waiting for her Mother to return she felt a slight tremor run through her lower lip. She also felt tremendously alive and extremely alert, a heightened, almost spiritual state of existence that she only ever knew in the hours before receiving the cane.

Mum arrived back and they made nervous small talk, picked at the lunch and the fresh coffee went cold as they passed the time until deciding to get changed, Mrs Brown going for a blue shirt that picked out a similar shade in her tartan skirt, but keeping her ‘going outside’ slacks on for now, just in case. Helen dressed in her own white shirt which she left loose outside her new trousers. In her researches on spanking on the internet she had discovered a theory that the right kind of trousers could sometimes focus the cane and increase its intensity. Needless to say, she was now very keen to try. She was certain Mr Simmons would support the experiment.

At about two-twenty the doorbell rang and Helen, nearest at the time, answered it. Mr Simmons stood there, map case in hand, framed by the glowing orange sky lit by the now setting sun. Helen, dry mouthed, had to swallow hard as she invited him inside. Mrs Brown, stepping towards the door, was at least able to offer Mr Simmons a cup of tea in the kitchen, telling him, like last time, she had delayed getting completely changed in case anything cropped up. Then, having given him a welcoming peck on the cheek, she scooted off upstairs saying that she would join them for tea as quickly as possible.

Helen switched the kettle on and quickly told Mr Simmons, after clearing her throat a couple of times, that she would like an initial caning over her trousers. She found being with him face to face made her quite nervous and she was only able to say, somewhat sheepishly, that she had come across an article on the internet suggesting that the right type of trousers could, in some circumstances, change the feel of a caning and she was curious to find out if this might be true. Quietly and somewhat shyly she then said she would of course like to undergo a further session bare bottomed as usual, struggling to get the words out, so much so that Mr Simmons actually had to ask her to repeat a lot of the last sentence. He of course agreed, although asked if this plan had been discussed with her Mother earlier, Helen confirming it had. Her former Headmaster then said that it might be better to wait for Mrs Brown to join them before agreeing on a course of action for the whole afternoon, but he put Helen’s mind at rest by telling her immediately that he would carry out what she had proposed.

The kettle had just boiled as Penny Brown made an appearance, all make up removed, her dark blue blouse a nice match for the colour in her knee length tartan skirt.

“Hello again, Mr Simmons,” she said, receiving a nod.

Helen swirled the tea around in the pot, obviously nervous. The conversation was stilted for a few moments but Mr Simmons took control, beginning to outline how he wanted the afternoon to proceed.

“I would like to change things slightly, Mrs Brown, if I may. Now that Helen is here I will see her first, as her session will best be carried out in two separate sections. I would therefore like to see you after Helen has undergone the first part of her discipline.” He paused, looking at both and taking a slow and deliberate sip of his tea.

There was no sound, just two nods. The ladies followed his lead and also sipped some tea. All three were actually very nervous but Mr Simmons showed it the least; another sip of tea was taken and he said simply: “Good, I’m glad you agree. I think we ought to get on with it now. I see you have set the chairs outside the lounge and the room is set as before. I would like you to take your places on those seats, I will need to spend a few minutes just preparing before I call you, Helen, in first. Once we are over,” indicating to Helen, “and I have completed my notes, then, Mrs Brown, I will call you in. Then when we have completed your procedure I will call Helen in again and that will complete the afternoon. Is that all clear?”

Both Penny and Helen Brown muttered agreement and, hearts thumping madly, did as they were told, exchanging glances, their now serious and anxious faces showing clear nerves and fear, although Mr Simmons noted both seemed to be as determined as they had been on the first occasion he had called. He himself went into the lounge and closed the door behind him, taking out his canes, the tawse, and his punishment book which he part filled in, then waited for effect, looking out of the window at the now rapidly dimming winter sky. He realised he would need to put the light on as the dusk was going to be gathering shortly, so did so then drew the curtains. Task over, he sat back down, counted to 100, and studied his punishment book in order to increase the tension for Penny and Helen Brown.

Looking at the most recent entry, he smiled as the memories of last night came to mind when he had paid a visit to another Mother and daughter, Mrs Hunt, also called Penny, and Annabel, another former pupil. Twelve stokes of the cane each, landing alternate single strokes on their bottoms as they bent, skirts up and panties down, over opposite sides of the dining room table with their hands meeting across the middle, supporting each other as the cane did its work.

He nodded to himself, but in his mind saying ‘now for the present’, rose from his chair, rattled the door handle slightly before opening it and said in a strong voice: “Helen Brown, come in please,” then not-quite-closing the door as she entered the room. The first thing Helen saw was the dragon cane laid on the stool before her. They were old acquaintances.

Knowing Mrs Brown would be listening outside, Mr Simmons kept things simple. “Helen, we both know why you are here. You have requested two sessions of motivational discipline and you see the cane before you, a cane I know you are familiar with. I propose we start, unless you have any questions, or anything to say?”

He looked at Helen. She met his gaze and after a couple of seconds just nodded and said: “No, Sir,” in a quiet voice.

He acknowledged with a slight nod himself. “In that case please bend right over the stool. Six strokes. You are aware of the rules which I intend to enforce if necessary.”

At this, he picked up the cane and, as his ex-pupil bent tightly over the stool, he carefully measured the distance to the centre of Helen’s well-presented bottom. Mr Simmons, too, had read that sometimes a covering of tight but thin fabric could enhance the sting of the cane, and Helen’s trousers were indeed a tight fit around her bottom. He had been curious about this too, having read about the same ideas. Now Headmaster and his favourite ex-pupil were about to put it to the test.

He tapped one more time, then unleashed the first stroke. Helen yelped, just a little, and he heard her breathe in hard, but she maintained her position, presenting her bottom perfectly for the second stroke.

After the customary several seconds of delay, the cane swished against Helen’s bottom for the second time, unleashing another burst of intense fiery pain and causing another small cry and a stifled groan. Mr Simmons was used to caning Helen and her capacity to absorb this kind of pain was no longer a surprise to him. He waited another few moments to allow the sting to be replaced by the smarting, burning sensation a good cane stroke leaves behind, then delivered the third.

This too Helen felt as a scorching line of fire. The trousers were making the pain worse, she thought, as she exhaled hard and fought an urge to put her hand behind her and give her bottom a much needed rub. She rocked slightly on the balls of her feet instead, but then she felt the tap and knew the fourth stroke was imminent. This time she could not help herself from crying out as it hit, a little more loudly.

“It really does bite more, sir,” she said through gritted teeth after taking two hard breaths.

Mr Simmons, for his part, said nothing. He just waited for a few more seconds, then measured the distance again, tapped the target and delivered another swishing cut that caused Helen to rock on her toes again, several times, as she fought hard against this new level of pain. She clenched her bottom and breathed out, slowly and loudly, before tucking her head slightly further down and saying in a strong voice: “Ready Sir.”

If anything told James Simmons that Helen was really feeling a heightened intensity from this new method of being caned, it was her speaking before the end, even in a positive way. Helen never spoke when she was being caned. A gasp, a stifled cry, a stamp of the foot or a raising of the leg; a few seconds of hard breathing perhaps. But not a remark.

‘So,’ thought Mr Simmons, ‘tight trousers do accentuate the sting.’

He had no time to dwell on the matter immediately as Helen was obediently waiting for her sixth and final stroke. He tapped her then waited just another second before firmly applying the intensely stinging dragon cane for the last time in this first session, seeing Helen jerk sharply and again cry out, softly, more like a loud, truncated sigh.

“You may get up, Helen, and return to the seats outside, please,” said Mr Simmons in a flat but authoritative tone. Helen, for her part, urgently needed a quick rub of the seat of her trousers. He was surprised to see tears in her eyes as she tried to sooth away the powerful burning sensation imparted by six strokes of an expertly administered cane.

After a few seconds she left the room without another word and closed the door behind her. Mr Simmons strained for a sound, but noise came there none.

He spent a few minutes making a short note of what had happened and then, as usual, he slowly counted to a hundred before placing the tawse on the top of the stool, returning the cane to his map case for now, and repeating the procedure of rattling the door handle slightly as he opened it, calling Mrs Brown into the room. However he took the precaution of stepping just beyond the threshold. Helen was indeed sitting down as told, but looking quite uncomfortable. Mrs Brown stood up, her breath audibly catching in her throat as she did so.

“Good luck, Mum,” said Helen who managed to give an encouraging smile as Mr Simmons stood aside and allowed Penny to enter the room first. As ever the door was only partially closed so that that Helen would be able to follow events.

Mr Simmons was quickly into his stride. “Mrs Brown, we have had discussions before and I feel there is no need to repeat what has been said. This is the tawse and you requested a spanking, ten strokes from it. Unless anything has changed, that is what I propose to administer. Do you have any questions, or is there anything you would like to say?”

Penny Brown felt the silence quickly close in around them, hanging like a dank, chill fog. She did want to speak but couldn’t find the words. And she couldn’t remember what she wanted to say in the first place, so just mutely nodded her head from side to side.

Mr Simmons nodded in a return gesture and spoke. “Please bend right over the stool, Mrs Brown, and raise your skirt right up, away from your bottom. I want it well out of the way. You are aware of the rules about interrupting the punishment.”

Mrs Brown had decided on slight decorum and a white G string covered her most intimate parts. Despite having been caned on her bare bottom in the previous appointment, she was slightly reserved about displaying herself completely and had said so in the conversations leading up to today. Now, though, she was in position, breathlessly awaiting her first taste of the tawse in thirty years.

Mr Simmons was rather less used to administering the tawse than he was the cane, so he had practised all week. On top of that, he had of course practised caning. Then, yesterday, he had administered a total of 24 powerful, precise strokes to Mrs Penny and Miss Annabel Hunt, and just ten minutes ago another six strokes to Helen Brown. He knew he had a twinge in his arm from all the punishment, real and practiced, he had dished out during the week. Nevertheless Penny Brown was deserving of his full attention and she was about to receive it. Ten strokes from a long, heavy, supple, two tailed tawse. He expected to turn Mrs Brown’s bottom into a furnace.

With a deep breath he stepped back, drew back the leather and with a twist and spring of his shoulder landed the first stroke.

There was a heavy splatting sound as the flexible leather strips made contact and Mrs Brown cried out loud, lifting her left leg off the ground.

“Arghh!” she said, unable to keep silent, but remaining in position.

As ever, Mr Simmons took his time before strongly lashing down the second stroke, the tawse flashing through the air and causing Mrs Brown to almost stand up as the flaming fire and sheer shock of the impact spread right across her bottom.

“Oof!” she said and swayed from side to side.

Mr Simmons was impressed with the noise the tawse made, for while the cane made a sort of solitary ‘thwick’ the strap was quite a loud crack in comparison. However, his time for comparing the sonic qualities of his punishment instruments was short as Mrs Brown had remained in position and he quickly gathered his wits and aimed the next stroke a little lower. His aim was true, and for a third time Mrs Brown gasped, loudly this time, tensed up her bottom and swayed from side to side.

Stoically though, she remained bent over, offering her bottom for further discipline, for a fourth stroke from the tawse and still with six to go after it. Mr Simmons obliged and Penny Brown gasped again, the deeply stinging leather tails striking hard into her already reddened bottom cheeks, causing her to tense them up sharply in an attempt to absorb the impact. At the same time she gasped out loud again and sucked in her breath at the ferocity of the wall of pain she was enduring.

And then it was time for the fifth stroke, then the sixth. By now her bottom was scarlet and Mrs Brown was struggling to keep control, raising one leg then the other, madly tensing her bottom, gasping and crying out loud, sucking in her breath then exhaling loudly and slowly, all indications of the effect the strapping was having, the strap she had almost fallen in love with on sight those months before. Her mind by now totally blank, she wasn’t able to question her decision.

Mr Simmons raised the leather and brought it down with a crisp smack and Mrs Brown gasped and tensed up from head to foot again, raising her left leg and breathing out and in, loudly and slowly. Mr Simmons waited until this little performance was over, then applied his formula for delay; two slow, complete breath cycles, before raising the tawse, then fixing his eyes on where he wanted it to land, this time low down, near the crease with her thighs. Whack!

Mrs Brown jerked nearly upright, her bottom ablaze after eight searing strokes. However after a minute of moving about, still bent over but clearly now in some considerable pain and now with some soft but audible sobs, she regained her composure and stilled herself, a signal to Mr Simmons that she was ready to receive the ninth stroke which, after a few more seconds, he delivered with his usual powerful style. This made Penny Brown start hopping from foot to foot, raising herself onto the balls of her feet and gasping loudly, breath by breath. She was clearly nearing her limit and her bottom was red and swollen in parts, yet through strong will power she calmed down and after adjusting her skirt to make sure it was not in the way, settled to receive the last stroke but could not avoid a sob as she did so.

After another pause she felt the hard, stinging impact for the final time, the great concentrated burst of pain, the searing heat, the smart, the burn, the power of those leather strips to inflict pain in the most intense way in those few seconds after the tawse struck was all she was aware of, the thinking part of her mind had stopped working a long time before. Nothing else mattered, no other thoughts were possible, only the heat in her bottom and the infernal accumulation of even more heat, more sting, more smart, more fire. More heat, more hurt, if that was possible.

A long way away, Penny Brown heard a man’s voice telling her to get up and return to the chairs outside the room. She was in a trance now and just obeyed, tears filling her eyes and hands clamped to her blazing bottom as she tried to massage away the effect of ten strokes of a tawse which, she had just been made to remember, was an instrument very effective at scorching girls’ bottoms.

“Oh Mum,” was voiced from outside the door as Mrs Brown left, no doubt being comforted by Helen.

“I’m OK,” he heard but then there was the sound of snuffled tears and several sharp gasps, despite the door being closed. These were ignored as James Simmons wrote up a couple of lines of notes then exchanged the strap for the cane again and counted slowly to one hundred before returning to the door, rattling the handle slightly then stepping into the hallway. He saw Helen and her Mother were both standing, Mrs Brown’s hands trying to massage away the severe smarting.

“Helen, could you come in please?” he said, turning and standing with a hand on the door frame, waiting for Helen to come inside.

“Good luck,” said Penny Brown, with half a watery smile as her daughter stepped away to take her second caning.

Helen was more used to discipline and, despite the burning in her own bottom, had been impressed that wearing the correct sort of trousers had without doubt amplified the effectiveness of the cane. So much so that she asked Mr Simmons if they could have a change of plan as she wanted to receive the second batch of strokes over her trousers again.

Mr Simmons thought for a moment. “I don’t normally change an agreed procedure, as you know.” He paused for effect and shook his head. “However as we have had this arrangement for some time I will in this case agree, subject to a small amendment of my own, and that is the discipline is increased from six strokes to eight.”

Despite her very sore bottom, Helen quickly agreed with a nod and then said simply: “Yes, Headmaster. Thank you,” before picking up the cane and handing it to him. “Here you are Sir,” she said and took up position bent over the stool with her bottom well presented in her now special tartan trousers.

It took just three minutes for Helen to receive the eight stokes promised by Mr Simmons. Eight strokes, each carefully and accurately applied, had Helen shuffling from foot to foot and tensing up her body regularly, balling her hands and rising onto her toes, breathing in and out slowly but noisily, yet with only the occasional yelp. At the end, though, she had tears in her eyes and a roasting fire burning in her bottom. She waited obediently to be told to stand up and did so when the order came, placing her hands behind her, feeling the heat coming through her trousers.

“Thank you for caning me, Mr Simmons,” she said in the best voice she could summon, seeing him indicate the door.

“I’ll be with you in a minute or two,” he said and, as his former head girl left, he closed the door and returned to his chair.

He carefully noted what had gone on in his special shorthand and paused for a moment, staring at the curtains. He wondered if he had taken Mrs Brown too far this time but he was pleased at Helen’s reaction. While never spoken in words, it was clear to him that the girl was a glutton for punishment, although he wondered if now she might have reached her limit.

His mind flashed back to last night again, when a clearly inflamed Mrs Penny Hunt had stood before him, unashamedly naked from the hem of her short T shirt downwards, and had said, smiling, after receiving twelve full strokes from the same cane: “Best yet, Headmaster, thank you, a really good swishing!” and had been further rewarded by Annabel saying: “Mum!” but displaying a broad grin as she did so. Both had taken their canings from the dragon cane as if it were a toy.

He snapped out of his daydream and went to the door, calling in Helen and Penny Brown and asking them to initial against what had happened. As ever, of course, it was on a fresh page, but both women noticed writing on the page before. However, with Mr Simmons present they were not really able to have a peek. They did manage to offer Mr Simmons some more tea, which he accepted graciously then waited for the ladies to disappear before packing his various belongings together and joining them in the kitchen. He noticed Mrs Brown was still very tearful and a lot more soft spoken than usual.

Conversation was not easy. He asked both ladies if they were all right and Mrs Brown said, tearfully, that she was but that she was extremely sore and the strap was more effective than the cane. Helen, for her part, simply said she was but Mr Simmons noted that, although flushed, she was dry eyed now, although like her Mother preferred to take tea standing up.

Then, magically, Mr Simmons asked if he could use the bathroom. Although the downstairs facilities were just behind the office, he was directed upstairs again. Smiles were forced as he thanked them for the tea and said he would be ready to go as soon as he returned.

Like bullets from a gun, Mother and Daughter shot into the lounge to look for the appointments book and quickly found it in the map case. There were two appointments for early December; ‘Ms SH’, and then some squiggly writing; Ms CH possibly. But it was the last few appointments that caught the eye. Yesterday had been Ms AH and Mrs PH and Helen knew straight away who they were. Then last weekend Mr Simmons had been with CH; was that MCH or Ms or Mrs CH? But he had also seen Ms SF a few weeks ago.

Mrs Brown said: “I think CH might be Clare Henderson, do you think? Gosh, he’s a busy man! Better put this back. We don’t want any more punishment!”

They were standing at the edge of the kitchen as Mr Simmons returned and he quickly took his leave of them. Helen, despite her burning bottom, was feeling slightly better but Penny Brown had gone quite as far as she could and her bottom was hurting far more than she had expected. Her strapping had been extremely intense and had left her sore and very tender. She still mused over the initials although Helen could see her Mother was in quite a fragile state.

“I think CH is Clare Henderson,” she said again as Helen passed her some cold moisturiser from the fridge after Mr Simmons had gone.

“It could be,” she said in reply. “There was a Sally Henderson in the year below me but I don’t remember her ever getting into trouble. But CH could be her Mother.”

At that, there was a parting as Mrs Brown went upstairs to the bathroom to start repairs, Helen following her but diverting to her bedroom. As soon as the door closed, Helen was naked and admiring the cane stripes Mr Simmons had freshly painted.

“He certainly knows how to handle a cane,” she said to herself, as she swivelled back and forth and then got to work with her own cold cream and moisturiser. Helen’s bottom was well marked and, although she was in some pain from the punishment, she was already feeling proud.

‘Certainly makes the sting a lot worse,’ she mused, looking at her now discarded trousers. ‘Whoever wrote that article knew what they were on about,’ was another thought. Then a sort of rush ran right though her. She had just taken fourteen strokes of the dragon cane and there was no doubt at all that wearing tight trousers had made the cane strokes feel sharper. Although her bottom hurt a great deal, she was suddenly breathless at picturing herself bent right over, the flexible dragon cane being applied to her, the trousers holding her bottom tightly so the full energy of the cane was concentrated on the spot where it hit.

Despite some naughty feelings, Helen then thought she should really be with her Mother so, after some more cold cream, she pulled on a pair of lacy, silky, cool French knickers and a satin lined skirt, a warm pullover and her house shoes and went downstairs to wait for Mum.

It took a while for Penny Brown to come down to the kitchen, by which time Helen had the wine open and the sympathy ready. Her Mother had obviously been crying and there was a lot of stilted chatting. The tawse had proved really challenging and, as Mrs Brown observed, there was no break, unlike the first time she had joined Helen when they had taken turns and there had been a short period for recovery. Helen also thought, but didn’t say, that the tawse had to be applied with some force as it was so flexible, while she suspected Mr Simmons had perhaps gone easy with the cane the first time. The cane was flexible, she thought as she shuffled on her thick cushion, but not anything like as flexible as the tawse. The tawse was all-or-nothing. Also, Helen was used to the feeling of having ‘just been spanked’ while she knew her mother wasn’t and she also knew it took a couple of days to get over a spanking. She hoped her Mother would be OK by Monday or Tuesday, but she had herself to return to University tomorrow.  After the initial chatter they tried to eat, went on talking sporadically in front of the television and all in all had a fairly quiet evening before both decided on an early night. Helen was worried about her Mother being so subdued but after another generous round of wine on top of the emotional turmoil and pain of discipline day she herself suddenly felt like a tap had been opened somewhere in her body and all her energy had drained out. She could at least tell that her Mother felt the same, and they wearily headed off to their bedrooms.

Next day, Mrs Brown was a bit brighter and Helen joined her in the kitchen after showering and clearing her room. She hadn’t slept very well but that was normal after being caned. However, the atmosphere between them was slightly strained and Helen wished she didn’t have to go back to University that day, but there was a test tomorrow carrying quite a lot of marks and she couldn’t miss it.

Eventually, after toast and fruit had been eaten, Penny Brown asked Helen to sit down and quietly explained that, while she had been very curious about the motivational aspects of spanking, and believed after trying it for herself there was indeed such a connection, she was not prepared to go through with it again. Yesterday was the last time, and Mr Simmons would not be invited back to the house. She made it clear, though, that if Helen wanted to continue her arrangement she could do so, and Mrs Brown gave her word that her Father would not find out. Not at their house again though. Helen would have to find another arrangement.

Helen had sensed this was coming and hugged her Mother. “I’m sorry for all this, Mum. And look, well, thank you. You’ve been so good about it all. I know it must have seemed terribly odd, bizarre even, but Mr Simmons is a genuine man and well, um. Well, it is something. Er.”

Her voice just tailed off. It was impossible to find words at that moment. She wanted to say it worked for her but it was hard to say so right then. For Helen, it was more than motivational, it did have a sexual element although not in the way her Mother had imagined. In fact, it had a strong sexual element but as a fuel for Helen’s imagination, the appearance of such a dominant man from time to time was energising and, well, so many other things too.

After more chat and cuddles, Penny Brown said she would call Mr Simmons and let him know, then mentioned time was getting on and had Helen packed up yet? The train was in the early afternoon and it was pressing 12 o’clock already. Helen was surprised at how the time had sped by but her Mother made some sandwiches for the journey before they set out for the station.

Helen was in time for the train. There was a lot left unsaid between Mother and Daughter on the platform that day. For Helen, she knew she was coming around from what had been a beautifully intense, painful, but highly satisfying application of her favourite cane, made more memorable by the wearing of a pair of tight but well tailored trousers. She knew her Mother would recover too and understood her conclusion. She would call later and again tomorrow and had made it clear that she accepted her decision and had thanked her for her support in what she knew was an eccentric and rather deviant streak of behaviour.

She was replaying the day in her mind as the train picked up speed, and one short but significant matter bubbled to the surface. The initials ‘Ms SF’ in Mr Simmons’ punishment book must surely belong to Stephanie French. They were exchanging Christmas cards and occasional snippets of information about the school and various friends on their social media.

It was December next week and term would end soon. It was maybe time to meet up again and have a drink, just to keep in touch, something she would say she should have done earlier but the holidays would be a good excuse to catch up, and make a little admission. Yes, that would work. After all, they had both been involved in the handover of head girl duties and Helen remembered that Stephanie had actually caned her as well. Quite competently! And that memory made another rather naughty thought form in her mind. And suddenly that surge of exhilaration swept through her as it always did afterwards, at another caning completed, and a flood of glad and positive feelings that she knew well. Her bottom still hurt but the glow was becoming different now. And she knew that during last week the thought of the caning had loomed over her and motivated her into working in overdrive for the test tomorrow. It all made her smile to herself. It was all seamless.

Christmas might get very exciting. It was standing room only on the train that day. Helen didn’t mind a bit.

Helen’s later thoughts: There was a tiny awkwardness with Mum. I just knew when I saw her coming out of the room straight after getting a hiding from the strap that she had had enough and we wouldn’t be doing anything like this again. She was just so upset. I know that everything with her got better during the week after, so that was OK, I suppose, but we all have limits and it all just went too far. For me the caning was both painful and exhilarating. I know that sounds strange but being caned in tight trousers made the whole feeling more intense and somehow a lot sharper, far sharper in fact. I’ve messaged Stephanie and we will meet at Christmas. She said she was enjoying her first term at University and had a lot of tales to tell! I’m not at all sure how we can arrange things, but I am certain that if we have the will we’ll find a way! 

Penny Brown: I was looking forward to feeling the strap again, but apprehensive of course. I knew it would hurt. The kilt was a nice brainwave and I’m smiling about it now, but I wonder to what extent I was using it as a diversion. Truth be told, I wish I had cancelled the appointment with Mr Simmons, but it is so easy to be wise after the event. I think, though, if it hadn’t been for Helen deciding to come back for the weekend I might well have done so, but it’s just water under the bridge really. The strap hurt far more than I expected. It made me nearly jump out of my skin when I was struck. I should have just asked Mr Simmons to stop but I was just lost in some sort of mindset that was blank. My bottom was quite swollen for a few days and it took a week for most of the pain to die away. I know I won’t have any regrets about ending my relationship with Mr Simmons. Equally, I will not try to stop Helen seeing him. I think I understand why, now, and it did work for me, but it’s just too painful. 

James Simmons:  I had thought, as Mrs Brown had taken a strong caning, and especially with it being her first one, then the strapping she requested would push her limits but not go beyond them. I did replay it all in my mind. I wondered if she had whispered “stop” or anything similar, but I just couldn’t remember hearing anything, and she kept taking up the position again. I am upset that I didn’t spot that we were going too far and I can only blame myself. For Helen, however, every time we meet she does something to surprise me and the trousers did so, as well as her taking another caning with hardly a murmur. I am not sure how things can move forward now. The school, as her Mother said, is far too dangerous to use. I think the ball is really in her court. I will miss her if this is the end, though, there is something quite deep about fulfilling a girl’s need to feel the cane burning her bottom, and Helen has always been a star ‘pupil’ in this regard. I have the Christmas holidays ahead of me and a lot of school administration to attend to, and, as usual, there is a girl being sent to me in the morning for a second caning, Sally Henderson. It seems there is one or two every year. And it very obviously is in the genes. 

The End

© PW 2018