A New Year’s party leads to much more
By Kane Strokes
She finished her shower and walked naked into her bedroom. Before her, on the bed, was her fancy dress outfit for the evening’s party. From her ‘smalls’ drawer she found the briefest, thinnest pair of knickers she possessed. She pulled them on and looked at herself in her full length mirror. She did a twirl and looked over her shoulder. She felt as naughty as her knickers looked.
Her bra was just as bold, plunging and uplifting. Another mirror check; this time she leant forward. Despite her age, her cleavage would be a male attention grabber. She put on her suspender belt, then slowly and carefully pulled her sheer black stockings over her legs. Once more, she looked at herself in the mirror. Underneath her outfit she would be all woman.
The first part of her outfit was the dark blue pleated skirt. The hemline was way above her knee, only just covering her stocking tops, then the white blouse with the top buttons conveniently missing, and the home made badge, the crossed canes, and the infamous capital ‘T’ of St Trinians. The school tie hung loosely around her neck. Her outfit was completed with the straw-boater bearing another home made badge.
She gathered her bag and a coat, then made her way to the pub and the party. She stopped en route at the home of an elderly lady, a retired headmistress who had become very much a friend. She ran the doorbell. Mrs Fraser answered her door.
“Well Margaret, what do you think?” She said moving from one provocative pose to another.
“Very authentic, Mary. I’ll reiterate my warning; if you come first footing dressed like that, it’s six of the best no matter how many guests I have!”
“Yes, Margaret, I remember.” Mary smiled.
Margaret smiled to acknowledge a tacit agreement between them.
At the pub, Mary partied; she ate, drank and danced. Married men stole glances of her cleavage, some nervously told her they’d like to put her across her knee ‘if that was all right’.
No one had the authority and dominance she craved to order her outside for a sound spanking. Flash guns fired throughout the evening. Mary wondered if someone had taken a voyeuristic picture as she kicked her legs high during the can-can. She knew there would be many cameras poised ready for the final step when the dancers bent over. Mary left the dance floor, smiling at all the disappointed male faces.
Midnight approached; the party gathered for Auld Lang Syne. Everyone cheered and raised their glasses to the New Year. The DJ put on the soft slow music and couples smooched. Mary had no one. She saw an elderly man leaving the dance floor and took him by the hand; she had someone to smooch with.
“Why me?” He asked.
“Because you’ve been a gentleman all night.”
“If we dance this close I might forget I’m a gentleman.”
“I hope you do,” replied Mary with a sparkle in her eye.
As they danced, he told her that, in his day, schoolgirls dressed as Mary was would feel the cane across their bottoms.
“You are bad!” She told him. “I bet you got girls in trouble so you could see them get the cane.”
He agreed he might have done.
“I must be careful, I think you might make me get the cane,” she giggled.
As they continued dancing, Mary helped him achieve what the lads had failed at; she placed his hands on her bottom.
The slow dance ended and the DJ span the latest dance music. Mary and the elderly man left the dance floor.
“My name is David, by the way, thank you for the dance.”
“I’m going to a friend’s, first footing. It’s not far; would you like to come with me?”
David declined, saying he hated to gatecrash a party. Mary was persuasive, asking him to escort her there.
“It might not be safe for a woman walking alone, dressed as I am.”
Mary knew David couldn’t refuse a woman such a request.
David stopped at the front gate to Margaret Fraser’s house. Mary urged him to come to the front door.
“You never know, she might be out.” Mary told him, knowing full well Margaret was in. Mary rang the doorbell. A few seconds later, Margaret opened the door.
“Happy New Year, Margaret, this is David. He’s by himself, would you mind if he joins the party?”
Margaret smiled. “Not at all, please do come in.”
David accepted the offer. Margaret showed them through to her living room where she made the introductions. David soon felt at ease as all the other guests were of his age. Some were past colleagues of Margaret’s, from her teaching days. In fact, Mary was the youngest guest.
The guests were sat in easy chairs at one end of the room, the table with the buffet at the other end. Margaret came to the centre of the room.
“Come here please, Mary.”
Mary joined Margaret in the middle of the room. Margaret addressed her guests.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, this young lady was warned about bringing her school into disrepute by going first footing dressed like this; any suggestions what we should do with her?”
A unanimous chorus of: “Cane her,” echoed around the room. Even David joined in, thinking it all a jolly jape. Some of the ladies were more vociferous than the men in their calls of: “Cane her!”
Margaret collected her cane from where she’d placed it in readiness for tonight’s entertainment. She smiled when she saw the look of surprise and astonishment on David’s face as she flexed and swished her cane. David felt as if his jaw had hit the floor.
“Right, girl, turn around and then touch your toes.”
Mary turned around. With her back now towards the guests, she slowly reached down to her toes. As she did, she felt her skirt ride higher and her brief knickers pull tighter to reveal even more of her bottom. Margaret finally lifted Mary’s skirt clear of the target area. There were gasps of shock that a schoolgirl should be wearing such scandalous knickers.
With Mary in position, Margaret looked around the room at her guests. She smiled inwardly at the men who were sitting cross-legged to hide the reaction the sight in front of them was having. One of them was her husband.
‘Life in the old dog yet.’ She thought to herself.
A call went up from the guests. “Where’re her regulation knickers? Give her extra!”
One lady called out: “She should get an extra six for knickers like that!”
Margaret held up her hand; the room hushed.
“Mary is to get six for bringing the school into disrepute!” Then she added an aside. “Not a real six, as Mary is entertaining us.” Margaret changed her tone: “But I guarantee her bottom will sting!”
David sat and watched, amazed at the scene that was playing out in front of him.
Margaret turned to see Mary’s bending bottom, now only partially covered by her knickers as they rode up. The room hushed as Margaret raised the cane. Mary gritted her teeth, waiting. The cane swished, the sound of the whack as it landed was muffled by the soft furnishings in the room.
Mary gasped as the cane struck, then took a deep breath as the pain rose across her bottom.
Margaret watched the stripe turn red, then a deeper red, waiting until the sting was at its peak. Again, Margaret raised the cane to give Mary’s bottom a skimming swish. A second stripe now decorated Mary’s exposed cheeks. She gasped again surprised at the sting, taking deep breaths. From memory, she knew Margaret was being kind. The pain was reaching it’s peak. Mary braced herself for the third stroke.
The room was quiet, the guests submerged in Mary’s caning, the quiet broken by the swish of the cane, the whack as a third stripe rose across Mary’s bottom, and Mary’s reaction.
Mary yelled in surprise as Margaret had purposely aimed and caned the lower cheeks of Mary’s bottom, just above the crease. Her knees buckled in a vain attempt to reduce the pain. She wobbled her legs, to no avail. As the stinging pain rose, tears formed behind her eyes. Margaret was waiting, the pain was rising, Mary was willing Margaret to finish it, but she knew she wouldn’t. Mary had agreed to be the errant schoolgirl, now she waited for her friend, Margaret, to deal with her. Margaret observed the three stripes that crossed Mary’s bottom, just stripes, not welts as a real naughty girl would suffer.
The time was right, Margaret raised the cane. A fourth stripe crossed Mary’s bottom, slightly higher than the third, but it still produced a vocal indication of how much it stung. Mary bent her knees, then straightened them and, again, nothing would reduce the sting and the pain.
Her eyes now watering, tears were ready to fall. The pain in Mary’s bottom was rising again. The wait for each stroke seemed to get longer.
The cane swished across Mary’s bottom, higher now. Once more, she gasped and called out as the cane struck. Margaret smiled; she had a little surprise for Mary.
Almost instantly the cane crossed Mary’s bottom again, a little harder, but lower. The suddenness and the sting took Mary by surprise. She jumped up clutching and vigorously rubbing her bottom, much to the delight of her audience.
Mary kept her back to the audience as she wiped away the tears that gently rolled down her face. Margaret put her arm around Mary’s shoulder and asked if she was alright. Mary nodded, wiped away a final tear, turned and smiled at her audience, as they applauded her and Margaret.
“It’s customary for a naughty girl to show off her stripes. Can we see yours?” Called a guest.
Mary smiled, a look of devilment in her eyes. “But of course!”
Mary turned, and once more reached for her toes. Margaret raised her skirt as her guests gathered around observing, sometimes touching.
“That one must have stung,” said one and congratulated Margaret on a job well done.
“You’ve not lost your touch,” someone told her.
Mary was found a comfortable chair, the conversations continued, food and drink flowed freely. Mary was seen to be in a private discussion with Margaret. Later, when the party was coming to an end, people were about to leave when Margaret and Mary stood in the centre of the room once more.
“Mary and I have been discussing the matter of her scandalously brief knickers. After much debate and bargaining, Mary has consented to take two real strokes.”
The room fell quiet, the guests almost stunned by what Margaret had said. Their concentration was intense as Mary turned her back and once again touched her toes. Margaret crossed the room to collect her cane, returned to Mary, lifted her skirt, positioned herself and mentally stepped back many years to the time when real errant schoolgirls touched their toes to be disciplined.
Each guest concentrated fully on Margaret and her cane, daring not to blink for fear of missing something, aware of a change in her manner compared to earlier. They saw Margaret whip the cane up, then a blur as it sped towards its target. The cane arced, the tip trailing the handle, a flick of her wrist, the silence of the room shattered by the sound of a real stroke landing across much of Mary’s uncovered sit spots.
Mary gasped, she rocked forward with the force of the stroke. Margaret watched a real welt rising on Mary’s bottom, observing the colour changes she knew so well, waiting until the welt had reached it’s deepest red.
The cane raised again, once more speeding towards its voluntarily offered target. A second stroke traversed Mary’s sit spots. She gasped and called out, her knees buckled, she stamped her feet and wobbled her legs, but the pain continued to rise.
Mary stayed in position as she had agreed with Margaret. Margaret turned to her guests and invited them once more to inspect her handiwork, then Mary was allowed to stand to the applause of the guests.
“Well done,” they told her.
As the party broke up, and guests started to leave, David hung back to talk to Mary.
“You said I should be caned,” Mary said. “Are you glad you came?”
“Very glad,” replied David. “It was far more entertaining than that awful disco music and, when you’re ready, I’ll continue what I set out to do earlier and escort you home.”
Mary said there was no need; she only lived a few streets away, but David was insistent, remarking she could argue the point with Margaret’s cane if she so wished.
At that point, Mary relented, said her goodbyes to Margaret and Margaret’s husband and allowed David to escort her home.
Mary had been truthful; it was only a short walk to her house. David enquired after the feelings in her bottom.
“Sore and throbbing,” she replied.
Mary invited David in for coffee. He declined.
“Another time maybe,” he said.
As he was about to leave, from his pocket he produced a piece of paper and pushed it into Mary’s cleavage.
“My phone number, if you ever want your bottom smacked.”
* * *
Mary laid face down, naked, on her bed. Her fingers traced the welts left by the real whacks Margaret had given her a few hours before. She tried to analyse what was the pleasure she felt. sexy? Erotic? It went deeper than that. She didn’t like the pain and sting of the real whacks at the time, but now she continued to enjoy letting her fingers follow them.
‘What would it be like to have six like that?’ She mused. Could she take six real ones from Margaret? Not today, that was for certain.
She looked at her discarded clothes, scattered across the bedroom floor. She saw the piece of paper David had pushed into her cleavage. She remembered his words: “If you ever want your bottom smacked.”
Mary wondered if that covered rubbing cold cream into her bottom. She got up to retrieve the piece of paper, then collected her phone, returned to bed, and dialled the number. The phone rang four times before David answered. Mary asked if he remembered her from last night.
“Not something I’ll quickly forget” He replied.
Mary went on to explain she didn’t want her bottom smacked today, but needed someone to rub in the cold cream.
“Can you oblige me?”
David agreed and said he’d be there in about 30 minutes. Mary reminded him of her address and then went for a shower. She allowed the hot water to massage her breasts. Not thinking, she turned and then screamed as the hot jets stung the welts on her bottom. Showered, powdered and feeling refreshed, dressed only in her shortie dressing gown, she waited for David.
The door bell rang; Mary opened the door, still wearing her shortie dressing gown. She saw David stood there.
“My knight in shining armour,” she said, smiling at David as she invited him in.
“This way,” Mary said, climbing the stairs.
David followed. Looking up, he saw that Mary’s dressing gown couldn’t hide her bottom cheeks from his view. Some red lines were still visible across her bottom. Mary entered her bedroom, picked up the cream from her dresser and handed it to David. She placed her pillows in the middle of the bed and laid across them, lifting her bottom. With her hands behind her, she flipped up her shortie gown, exposing her bare bottom to David. David stood admiring Mary’s bottom.
“Mrs Fraser certainly knows how to cane a bottom properly. Those welts bring back memories of my school days.”
He spread the cream on his fingers, then applied it to Mary’s bottom to the accompaniment of suppressed squeals and giggles at the coldness of the cream. Mary closed her eyes and allowed David’s hands and the healing cream to do their job. Her mind concentrated on David’s hand, his fingers, where they were, and where they could go. She slightly parted her legs, inviting David’s fingers to probe.
She was startled back to reality by the sound of two loud pistol shots echoing around the bedroom. Then the pain hit her. Both of her bottom cheeks were stinging from the hard smacks David had given her.
“I came here to soothe your bottom, nothing more. No self discipline, that’s your problem. We’d have drilled that into you in the services. Look at this room, it’s a disgrace. A sound slippering is what you need.”
Still startled, Mary was unsure if David was joking. She thought she heard humour. Then again, she also heard a stern man. Mary decided to play it safe.
Mary sat up, and covered herself.
“Have you a slipper?”
Mary rose from her bed and went to her wardrobe. She found a small size flimsy bedroom slipper.
“No good at all, have you got a wooden spoon?”
“Go and get it then.”
Mary went downstairs to the kitchen and took the spoon from the drawer. She held her left palm out whilst she whacked it with the spoon. That stung! She hoped David was only fooling around. She returned to her bedroom and handed the spoon to David.
“Pick up that stocking.”
Mary bent over to pick up the stocking. As she did so, her shortie gown rode up high, then tumbled over her head. Mary reached down for the stocking. As David was watching her bottom, he cracked the spoon down on the lower part of Mary’s left cheek.
Mary had barely got her fingers to her stocking when the spoon struck. She jumped and clutched her bottom.
“Pick up the stocking, Mary.”
Once more Mary bent over, this time ready for the spoon to deliver a sting to her right cheek. She kept hold of the stocking. David told her to put it on her bed.
“The other stocking.”
Mary bent, David whacked the spoon against her left cheek again. Mary placed the stocking on her bed. By now she had realised David was playing. Her mother had whacked her bottom far harder with a wooden spoon.
Each garment in turn, suspender belt, panties, skirt, blouse, tie and straw boater, Mary bent over, only for the spoon to leave an oval imprint on her bottom.
The final piece of clothing placed on her bed, Mary rubbed her bottom.
“Breakfast?” Enquired David.
“I’d love a bacon sandwich and coffee, what about you?”
“I had breakfast before I left home, but I’ll have a coffee. Get yourself dressed, I’ll go and make your breakfast.”
In the kitchen, David’s eyes were drawn to the small pile of unwashed dishes.”
That girl does need a slippering,” he thought.
When Mary came down, dressed and made up, the bacon was sizzling and the aroma of fresh coffee filled the room. Mary tucked into her sandwich, stopped eating, nervously chewed at her bottom lip, her heart beat increasing, with a slight quaver in her voice, she asked: “Would you really give me a sound slippering?”
“I fully intend to, my dear. The clothes spread over your bedroom floor, the unwashed dishes and a bottom like yours, it would be bad manners not to slipper you.”
Mary relaxed. She saw David’s smile and the sparkle in his eye. In her mind, she replayed the phrase ‘slipper you’ over and over. She felt the adrenalin pulsing through her body and a spine tingling shiver of pleasure.
“But I haven’t got a slipper that you say is good enough.”
“It may be New Year’s Day, but some shops are open. We’ll walk into town and look for something suitable.”
It was a pleasant walk into the town. Mary asked David about his time in the military, and where his passion for spanking ladies came from. The conversation ebbed and flowed. It became more restrained as they reached the town centre, bustling with New Year’s Day sale bargain hunters.
The shoe shop was open. It was quieter now after an initial rush of customers. David and Mary browsed the gents’ slippers, David examining each pair before he decided on the right pair. He felt the size on display was too small. Mary shuddered at the thickness of the sole.
David called an assistant, a woman he estimated to be in her fifties, her name Sue, printed on her name badge. He asked her if they had a larger size in stock.
“What size would you like?”
“Eleven or twelve,” then he quickly added they weren’t for him.
The assistant left for the stock room and came back with a size eleven. “The largest we have,” said Sue as she handed the pair to David.
He passed one slipper to Mary, held the other firmly by the heel, then brought it down hard on his left palm.
“They’re fit for purpose, we’ll have these.”
He looked around to see both women blushing furiously. He looked at Sue and smiled.
“You’re obliviously acquainted with the alternative use of this footwear.”
Sue said nothing but blushed deeper.
“Home, school, or both?” Asked David.
“Both,” whispered Sue.
David and Mary went to the cash desk. He gave Mary the money to pay for the slippers, then found a pen and a piece of paper. He returned to Sue, and gave her the slip of paper.
“My phone number, if you ever want to go back to school or relive those times at home.”
Sue took the slip of paper, speechless. She watched David walk away and then leave the shop with Mary. Sue’s eyes were drawn to Mary’s bottom, certain it would be stinging and throbbing later, her memory reliving the pain of her girlhood slipperings.
Back at Mary’s house, David suggested they get down to business.
“As I am, or do you want be to change into my schoolgirl uniform?”
“Have you something like a French maid’s outfit? That would be most fitting, considering how untidy you’ve been.”
Mary said she could find something, and left David whilst she went and changed. When she returned, she was wearing a white blouse, a short black skirt, stockings and black opaque knickers.
“I want to see how well you dust. Get a duster, and dust off the hearth.”
Mary got the duster and then bent over to dust. Her skirt rode high, treating David to a grandstand view.
“Enough,” he said, then examined Mary’s efforts.
“Not good enough. Six of the best. Knickers down and touch your toes.”
“Does it have to be six?” Asked Mary. “My bottom still hurts like hell. Can I have three and then you can give me a real six when my bottom has recovered?”
David thought about this, and remembered the two painful looking welts he had seen earlier. He agreed; only three, but in a weeks time it would be a proper schoolgirl six. Mary put her thumbs in the waistband, then lowered her knickers.
“Right down to your ankles.”
Mary pushed her knickers down to her knees, then let them fall to her ankles. She looked at David.
“Please avoid the welts, they still hurt like crazy.”
The welts were across the crown of Mary’s bottom, which allowed David to concentrate on her lower cheeks. Mary touched her toes, David rolled back her skirt, her knickers still round her ankles, her black stocking clad legs straight, the stocking tops and her suspender belt providing a window frame around her bottom.
A pistol shot echoed around the room as the slipper connected fast and hard with Mary’s lower left cheek. She gasped at the sting. She waited. The sting increased, then suddenly another pistol shot and Mary’s right cheek was burning. She held her position, waiting for the third, knowing it would arrive without warning. There’s no warning swish, as you get with the cane.
David joined the dots. He aimed to connect the first two strokes across her bottom with an upward swing. The slipper struck the underside of Mary’s bottom, across the cleft, the force of the stroke forcing her up on to tiptoes.
Mary yelled, the floodgates of tears opened. She jumped up, clutching her bottom, trying to march around the room, but hampered by her knickers. She kicked them off to continue marching, bending her knees, anything that would help relieve the pain in her bottom.
David watched and admired Mary’s spanky dance. It was a testament to his skill with the slipper. Mary wasn’t the first woman to spanky dance for him; he hoped there were still more to come.
Mary recovered. She walked towards David, hugging him with a kiss on his cheek.
“Thank you. That was lovely. I’m now both fearful and excited about the real six I have to come.”
© Kane Strokes 2016