A girl discovers spanking and corporal punishment

By Steven Wilson

It was all Henry’s fault, or perhaps Anne’s as it was her party, or perhaps mine, as it was I who bent over bottom thrust upwards so invitingly and provocatively. Whoever’s fault it was, it happened at Anne’s party. I was in the kitchen and noticed a bit of food that had dropped on the floor and bent down to pick it up. Perhaps I should have bent at the knees to do so, but I didn’t, I bent from the waist, and it is on such minor details that whole lives can change. As I bent over, it happened; a sharp smack to my upturned bottom. It was not a playful smack, but a firm forceful smack given with intent.

I shot upright in shock and surprise, and turned to face my tormentor, my hands clasping my stinging buttocks. I was met by Henry with a wide grin across his face.

“Sorry, I just couldn’t resist such a tempting target.”

I opened my mouth to protest but no words would come out, and that, combined with my obvious shock at what had happened, only added to Henry’s amusement. By the time that I had recovered my composure, Henry had left the kitchen and disappeared into the throng in the lounge. I considered going after him, to make him aware of my displeasure, but decided that doing so would only create an embarrassing scene where I would be the centre of attention, so I let it drop.

The next morning, I was sitting at the table in my kitchen nursing a hangover from the night before, the result of too many glasses of Chardonnay or whatever I’d been drinking. I had my laptop open and was reading emails, some from friends commenting on the party and who were also a little worse for wear. As I did so, my mind went back to the events of that evening and in particular that smack that Henry had given me. I was still a little annoyed about it and wished that I had gone after him and confronted him, whatever the consequences. A playful smack maybe, but it had been a hard one and had hurt, and it left a stinging in my bottom that I was aware of for at least a couple of minutes afterwards. The fact that I had been wearing thin cotton trousers with just a thong underneath had not helped either as that offered me little protection. However, regardless of my clothing, I felt he had overstepped the mark.

Without really thinking about it, I typed: ‘Spanking’ into Bing and in the moment that I pressed ‘return’ I opened Pandora’s Box.

My name is Debbie Baxter. I am twenty years old and work in the secretarial department of a large local legal firm. I find the job interesting with the range of cases we get involved in and get on well with my colleagues at work. I am single, having just come out of a two year relationship with a boy I had met at school, and have decided to forgo romantic liaisons for a while as I feel I need a little time before I am ready to embark on a new relationship with anyone else. I am told that I’m an attractive girl and have already had to turn down several offers from young gentlemen that would like to take me on a date. I am average height, slim, with long straight dark hair that extends well past my shoulders. My breasts are fairly modest but large enough. However, I am mainly complemented on my shapely legs and bottom, both of which I am quite proud of. My bottom is nicely rounded and, as the expression goes, pert and I have often caught males giving it an admiring glance when I am out wearing jeans or shorts in the summer. Perhaps I should not have been so surprised that Henry couldn’t resist giving it a smack when I thrust it out so provocatively at him.

I have never had any interest in spanking; it has never really entered my head. My parents didn’t spank me and corporal punishment was something from the distant past when I attended school. I was aware that it was a fetish for some people, that they could get sexually excited from it, but I thought such people must be in a small minority and somewhat perverted. It was not something that I had ever indulged in or felt the urge to try with my previous boyfriend, and he had shown no inclination either, despite the charms my bottom seemed to possess.

In the instant that I pressed the return button on my laptop, my preconceived thoughts on spanking were about to change for ever. I switched between the ‘all’, ‘images’ and ‘videos’ options and was astounded by how much content there appeared to be on the subject of spanking and corporal punishment. Far from the minority fetish I had considered it to be, it appeared that everyone must be at it, except me.

Over the next couple of months, I spent many an engrossed hour exploring my Pandora’s Box. I enjoyed looking at photos of girls being punished, their bottoms red or sporting stripes from a cane, although I drew the line at some of the more extreme images. I watched videos, and read stories, and more than anything I was attracted to those concerning ‘schoolgirls’, my thoughts wandering to what it would have been like to have attended school at a time when being slippered or caned was a distinct possibility. More pertinently, I began to wonder about what it would be like to receive the slipper or the cane. What did it feel like?

At first, I left it to my imagination to fulfil my fantasies, but increasingly I came to realise that the only way I would truly satisfy my curiosity was to experience it for real, to actually receive a slippering and a caning. During the course of my explorations, I had come across a couple of spanking contact web sites. The first was mainly women offering their services as a disciplinarian or spankee and expecting payment in return. The idea of my receiving payment from anyone for being spanked made me uncomfortable in its connotations, and besides, I had no idea whether I could even accept a light punishment, never mind anything more severe.

The second web site was mainly men looking for females that they could spank or be spanked by, and I decided that this was the more appropriate of the two. I set a criterion that the person must be within an hour’s travelling distance from where I lived and scanned the adverts for suitable candidates. I came up with three, and with equal trepidation and excitement sent off emails to them all, explaining that I was completely new to this and looking for a first spanking and an ‘authentic school slippering and caning’. This last expression was one that had become lodged in my mind, as it was what I was really after, to experience the slipper and cane as I would have done at school in the past.

The first reply consisted of nothing more than one line.

“Would love to spank your arse, when do you want it?”

I immediately deleted it.

The second reply was more intelligent and consisted of more than one line. However, its conclusion made it clear that the responder was expecting me to perform a sexual act on him and then have full sex once he had dealt with my wishes. I deleted that reply too.

The third was more promising. It came from a retired schoolmaster in his late sixties and was well written, friendly and informative, and not too anxious to arrange a meeting. Over the course of the next ten days, we exchanged several emails to the point where I decided that I would meet him and let him give me my first ever spanking and introduction to corporal punishment. When I told him of this, he was delighted, but then asked if I would be prepared to give him some sort of sexual relief when we were finished. I did not reply and deleted all our previous correspondence.

I felt annoyed and frustrated. It seemed that everyone advertising on the web site was looking for sexual gratification, and spanking was merely a means to an end. I was not interested in having sex of any description with anyone. All I wanted was spanking and corporal punishment. Was it too much to ask?
I was about to give up, but decided to have one last try. I scanned the adverts again and this time noticed one from a female, a Miss Hewitt, who described herself as a Headmistress. There was a photo of her; she looked to be in her late fifties or perhaps early sixties. Her hair was grey and neatly tied up on her head. She was dressed smartly in a white blouse buttoned to the neck, a dark narrow skirt extending below her knees and black stockings or tights, an outfit befitting of a genuine Headmistress. Her advert stated that she was looking for ‘naughty schoolboys or schoolgirls’ and was happy to deal with experienced or novice players alike. Just as importantly, she was located just a twenty minute train journey from where I lived. I had not thought of meeting a ‘Headmistress’ before, but the more I thought about it the more appropriate it became, as in reality I would have been much more likely to have been slippered or caned at school by a female teacher rather than a male. There was also the added bonus that she would surely not be looking to have sex with me afterwards. I sent off an email explaining my situation and what I was looking for.
Perhaps because of the previous failures and my hopes for Miss Hewitt, I was impatient for a reply, so checked my emails before going to bed and first thing in the morning but there was no response. At lunchtime in work that day my impatience again got the better of me, and with no one around to see, I opened my personal emails and saw one from a ‘Miss H’. A surge of excitement shot through me and I could not resist opening it to read its contents.

“Thank you for your email, Debbie. I am sure I can be of assistance to you. Please give me a call at your convenience on xxxxx.”

I noted the phone number down and closed the email, both pleased and disappointed at its content. Pleased because she had replied and was willing to see me, disappointed because she didn’t go into any detail about what that meeting might entail.

I waited until I arrived home before calling her, my hand trembling slightly as I entered her number into my phone. Was it nerves or excitement? I wasn’t sure. I heard it ring out and part of me wanted it to go to answer phone so I didn’t have to speak to her, but then there was a voice in my ear.

“Miss Hewitt here. How can I help you?”

The voice was cold, rather stern, and unwelcoming.

“Err, Hello, it’s Debbie here. I sent you an email and you replied asking me to call you.”
“Ah Debbie, thank you for calling me. I was hoping you would, as I like nothing more than guiding a novice through their first experience of being given a proper spanking.”

The voice had changed in an instant. No longer was it cold and unwelcoming, now it was warm, friendly and engaging, and I began to relax. Over the next five minutes I explained how my interest had come about and my desire to experience an authentic school slippering and caning. Miss Hewitt advised me against that and suggested that we should start with an over the knee spanking and see where we go from there. I decided to listen to her greater experience and accept her advice. She also suggested that I obtain some semblance of a school uniform, a suitable blouse, tie and skirt, some white socks and, most importantly of all, some proper school knickers, plain white cotton being ideal. I told her I’d feel ridiculous dressed like that, but said I’d think about it and see what I could do. Finally we made an appointment for me to visit her that Friday at 1.00 pm.

It was Monday when I spoke to Miss Hewitt and arranged to visit her and, although only four days away, Friday seemed like an eternity. As the time drew nearer, my thoughts flitted from excitement at the prospect of actually being spanked and caned to anxiousness about whether I was about to make a complete fool of myself. Would it hurt too much? Would I hate it? Would I just embarrass myself? On a couple of occasions, I was tempted to call Miss Hewitt and cancel the appointment, but then told myself that if I did so I would regret it, and that the only way to satisfy my urges was to go through with this, whatever the outcome.

On the Thursday, I visited Marks and Spencer on my way home. I made my way to the school wear department and looked at the items available. With my physique and measurements there would be no problem in finding clothes that would fit me. I selected a pack of three plain white school blouses, a pleated knee length skirt in grey, some white knee length socks and finally a pack of plain white cotton school knickers, the sort I hadn’t worn since primary school. I had plain white bras and a pair of formal black shoes at home which would do, so the only item still lacking was a tie. I went over to the Men’s department and soon found a suitable striped tie which would serve the purpose, and then made my way to the pay desk.

I placed the items on the counter and opened my bag to get my purse out. The assistant was a woman in her late forties and as she folded the clothes and placed them in a bag she spoke to me.

“Going to a fancy dress party are you?”

“Err, no, no I’m not. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that this uniform looks about your size, that’s all. If you are, watch out for any Headmasters with their canes.” She was smiling as she said it.

“As I said, I’m not going to a party. They’re for…” I tried to think of something sensible to say. ‘Daughter’ had come into my mind, but that would have been ridiculous, given my age. “They’re for my sister, yes, my sister, she asked me to pick them up for her.” I could feel myself beginning to blush in the face.

“Whatever you say, dear, it doesn’t matter who they’re for, I was just making conversation, that’s all.”
She was still smiling, but I could tell she didn’t believe my explanation. I quickly paid and hurried out the shop in total embarrassment, cursing myself for my stupidity. It must have been obvious that the clothes were my size and therefore most probably for me too. Why had I not said, yes, it was for a fancy dress party? There was nothing unusual in that, it was a reasonable explanation. My flustered denial and silly comment that they were for my sister had probably left her thinking that I was purchasing them for something I wished to keep secret, such as dressing as a schoolgirl to get my bottom spanked. Why was I such an idiot.

At home, I undressed down to my underwear and put on one of the blouses, the tie, skirt and socks and looked at myself in the mirror. I felt as ridiculous as I thought I would, but had to admit that I could still pass for a sixth form schoolgirl, albeit one of a time before my own schooldays.

I had taken Friday afternoon as a half-day flex holiday. The morning dragged and the clock seemed to take an age as it slowly edged nearer to twelve o’clock. Eventually it arrived there and I tidied my desk, put my coat on and picked up the sports bag that I’d brought with me containing my uniform.

“Doing anything nice this afternoon?”

It was Heather, one of the other secretaries, asking the question. I was tempted to say, “Yes, I’m going to get my bottom spanked,” but thought better of it. Would she have believed me or thought I was joking? It was a little too risky to find out.

“I’m meeting a friend and we’re going to play squash together.” I replied, indicating the sports bag I had just picked up.

“Enjoy yourself, then, and I hope you win.”

This time, I had managed to say my little white lie without spluttering and embarrassing myself, and I left the office and headed for the train station.

I had a short wait before the train arrived, and then it was a twenty minute journey to the station nearest to Miss Hewitt’s house, and from there it would be a ten minute walk. Getting off the train, I was a little too early to set off straight away so tried to busy myself looking at magazines in the station shop to pass a few minutes. This did nothing for my nerves and I could feel the butterfly’s starting to swirl around in my stomach, and once again I found myself asking the question about what on earth I was actually doing here.
At ten to one, I set off. I was familiar with the route, not because I had ever been here before, but because I had spent the previous evening on google maps tracing out the journey from the station to Miss Hewitt’s house. I arrived at the top of her road and stopped. It was a nice neighbourhood, a pleasant place to live. Her road was tree-lined and quiet, the houses all detached and obviously quite expensive. I took a deep breath, this was decision time. I could still turn around, go back to the station and get the train home, and forget all about Miss Hewitt if I wanted to.

I tried to clear my head, to not think about where I was going and for what purpose, and set off down her road, walking briskly and purposefully. I knew that her house was the fifth on the right and, as I arrived there, I didn’t break stride as I turned up her path and approached the front door. My hand reached out and pressed the doorbell.

The door opened almost immediately and there she was, dressed as she had been in the photo in her advert, in white blouse and dark skirt, her grey hair tied up on the top of her head. She gave me a warm welcoming smile.

“Debbie, isn’t it? Come in and take your coat off.”

I walked into the hallway as she closed the door behind me. I put my bag down, took my coat off, and gave it to Miss Hewitt’s outstretched hand.

“I take it you found me okay?”

“Yes, no problem, I looked it up on google last night so I knew where I was going.”

“Go through into the lounge and make yourself comfortable. We’ll have a little chat before we begin.”
She indicated towards a door on my right and I went in.

“Would you like a drink; tea, coffee, or something?”

“A coffee would be fine, thank you.”

Miss Hewitt left the room and I sat down on a large settee. The room was nicely furnished. Apart from the settee there were two easy chairs, a coffee table, wall unit and television, the items you would normally expect to see in any lounge. Was I expecting to see canes and slippers dotted about everywhere? As I waited for Miss Hewitt to return I realised my mood had changed. The nerves had gone completely and I felt calm and relaxed and eager for what was to come. Perhaps it was because the option to leave had gone. There was no turning back anymore. I was about to have my bottom spanked and caned and there was nothing I could do to prevent it.

Miss Hewitt returned with the coffees and we spent the next fifteen minutes or so mainly with me talking about myself, what I did for a living, my thoughts on spanking and some of the fantasies I had. It was strange talking so openly about such topics with another person, but also quite liberating too. Eventually she stood up.

“Well Debbie, are you ready for your first spanking?”

“I think so.” My voice revealed a little nervousness which seemed to have returned now that the time had actually arrived.

“Good. Did you manage to put together a school uniform?”

“Yes, it’s in my bag in the hall. I had to buy some items but I’ve got what you suggested.”

“Excellent, I hope you didn’t spend too much money but you’ll realise why I asked you to once we get started. I hope you’ve got school knickers too.”

“Yes, white cotton ones like I wore when I was a little girl.”

“Perfect, now follow me upstairs.”

I picked my bag up and followed Miss Hewitt up the stairs and arrived at a long landing.

“You can use this bedroom here to change. Once you are ready, come and knock on the door at the end of the landing and wait for me to ask you to enter.”

I looked along the landing and saw a closed door that had a plaque on it with the word ‘Headmistress’.

“Don’t leave me waiting too long.” She added with a smile as she walked away.

I went into the bedroom and put my bag down on the bed, it was obviously a guest bedroom, adequately furnished but little in the way of personal possessions. I took the uniform out of my bag, laid it out on the bed, and then started to undress. I was wearing my work clothes of blouse and skirt, but in no time at all they were off, along with my underwear, and I was standing naked in the bedroom. It felt unusual and strangely exciting being naked in what was a stranger’s bedroom. There was a full length mirror on one wall and I looked at myself in it, pleased at what I saw. I turned slightly so that I could see my bottom, which was its usual pert self. It was pale in colour, as was the rest of me, and I wondered how it would look in a little while from now. Would it be bright red? Would it have stripes from a cane adorning it?

I remembered Miss Hewitt’s request not to keep her waiting and began to put my uniform on. It was the first time I had put on the school knickers, but they fitted well and covered most of my bottom cheeks in the process. When I was finally dressed, I again looked in the mirror and thought that I made more than a passable schoolgirl. I then turned, left the bedroom, and made my way down the landing to the door marked ‘Headmistress’, knocked gently on it and waited.

There was no reply and so I knocked again, this time a little harder.


I opened the door and stepped inside. I’m not sure quite what I was expecting, but it was not what met my eyes. The room was quite large, and must have originally been a sizeable bedroom, but now it was for all intents and purposes a quite realistic study. Directly in front of me, there was a large wooden desk inlaid with red leather to much of the top surface, behind which, sat in a substantial chair, was Miss Hewitt. Behind her was a window which looked out over the rear garden and a small park beyond, and on one of the walls to the side of her stood a small bookcase containing an assortment of books and pamphlets.
To my left, there was a desk and chair, the sort used by school children in the past, and a larger upright chair stood against the wall. To my right was a gym horse pushed against the rear wall, and on the right hand wall an open wall unit, the shelves of which contained an array of plimsolls and slippers amongst what appeared to be paddles made of brown leather. On the wall itself there was a bracket from which hung five leather tawses and straps of varying thicknesses. The scene was completed by a tall vase stood on the floor to the side of Miss Hewitt’s desk containing an assortment of canes, some straight handled, some with crook handles and again in varying thicknesses.

It took me several seconds to take this all in, but I was brought to my senses by the sound of Miss Hewitt’s voice.

“I heard you the first time, there was no need to repeat yourself out of impatience.”

This was not the voice that had been conversing with me just a few minutes beforehand, but one that I recognised as being from my first phone call to Miss Hewitt, the stern and unwelcoming one.

“Stand up straight, girl, and put your arms by your side. Baxter, isn’t it?”

“Yes, what?”

I thought frantically for the reply she was expecting and eventually found it.

“Yes, Miss.”

“That’s better, girl. You will always address me as ‘Miss’ or ‘Miss Hewitt’ when spoken to.”

“Yes, Miss.”

It was at this point that I realised why Miss Hewitt had been so keen for me to obtain a school uniform. Had I been standing here in my work clothes of blouse and skirt, or in any form of casual attire, then this would not have worked, but standing here in my school uniform I felt very much the schoolgirl summoned to see the Headmistress, and with it the fear of what I had been summoned for.

Miss Hewitt looked down at some papers on her desk and then back up at me again.

“You are new here, Baxter, and I see that you previously attended one of those modern thinking schools that doesn’t believe in proper discipline. You will find that things are a little different here and you may be in for a rude awakening if you continue in your current fashion. I have received reports from a couple of your teachers about a perceived lack of effort and application on your behalf in relation to your studies, even at such an early stage in your time here. It is not something that pleases me or that I wish to hear.”
She paused for a moment, the silence creating an awkwardness.

“Well, what have you got to say for yourself then?”

Miss Hewitt’s tone and narrative took me so much by surprise that without really thinking about it, I suddenly felt like I really had been neglecting my studies at school and been summoned to see the Headmistress to explain myself.

“I, I’m not sure what you are referring to, Miss.”

“Let me enlighten you, then, Baxter. Miss Ford, your English teacher, tells me you are constantly staring out of the window with your mind in another place. Mrs Williams, your French teacher, tells me you have twice forgotten to do your homework. Need I go on?”

“No, Miss. I’m sorry, Miss.”

“I intend to ensure you are indeed sorry, my girl. Have you ever received corporal punishment before?”

“No, Miss.”

“That explains a great deal, and I fully intend to put that right and fill that gap in your education to date.”
Miss Hewitt then pushed her chair back, stood up and came around the side of the desk to stand behind me. I felt my skirt being lifted slightly and then two hard smacks landed, one to the back of each of my thighs.


“What was that, Baxter? Ow? If you think that hurt, I haven’t even started with you yet.”

“Sorry Miss, but it stung.”

“It was meant to sting, as will the spanking I am about to give you.”

It genuinely did sting and I could feel the tingling in each of my thighs. Miss Hewitt then pulled the high backed chair away from the wall and sat down on it.

“Stand here by my side.”

I moved around to her right hand side and waited for her command.

“Get yourself over my knee, now.”

This was it, the moment I had been anticipating for so long, the moment I had fantasised about on so many occasions. I was about to get my bottom spanked. I felt elated that it had finally arrived but anxious too after those smacks to my thighs which had stung so much. I bent forward and lowered myself over her knee. It is not an elegant manoeuvre, or one that can be achieved with any dignity.

“Right over. Hands on the floor and stretch your legs out.”

I shuffled myself forwards until my palms were on the floor, and then straightened my legs out until I was supporting myself on my toes, my bottom now raised over Miss Hewitt’s lap. It was an unusual position to be in, my head hanging down, hair cascading onto the floor. My immediate view was of the carpet of the study, but if I strained backwards I could see Miss Hewitt’s legs, the chair legs and, beyond them, my own.
I felt my skirt being lifted and placed over my back, aware that Miss Hewitt now had a clear view of my bottom covered only by my school knickers and my bare thighs. I felt her hand gently pat each bottom cheek several times and I tensed myself, unwittingly clenching my bottom cheeks in the process.

“Relax, Baxter, you will find it easier to absorb this if you do.”

And then it began. I had been expecting it to really hurt, for the spanks to be hard and painful, like the smacks to my thighs, but while not gentle they were more than bearable. Miss Hewitt spanked me slowly and methodically, one cheek then the other, occasionally stopping to stroke my backside while scolding me for my behaviour in class. After a short while, she stopped.

“Stand up.”

Inelegantly, I struggled to my feet and stood in front of her. My bottom was tingling a little, but if that was a proper spanking I was feeling somewhat underwhelmed by it.

“Lift your skirt up to your waist.”

I took hold of the hem of my skirt and lifted it up as instructed, and then I felt Miss Hewitt’s hands go to the waistband of my knickers, her fingers slip inside, and, with a sharp tug, lower them to my knees from where they dropped to my ankles. To my embarrassment, I realised that she now had a close up view of my most intimate area and my preference for removing my pubic hair.

“Step out of them and get back over my knee.”

I stepped out of the knickers and got back into position, and once again my skirt was lifted, only this time Miss Hewitt was faced with the sight of my bare bottom in all its glory. If I had been underwhelmed by the spanking so far, I was about to have that opinion changed. When Miss Hewitt commenced spanking me again the spanks this time were notably harder and faster, sometimes to alternate cheeks, at other times several to the same cheek. They were beginning to sting, but just when I thought it was getting a little too much for me Miss Hewitt would pause, her hand stroking my cheeks, soothing them, while she again admonished me.

The spanking had now lasted several minutes by my calculation and the spanks were now hard and rapid and I was beginning to find it difficult to take. What had been a somewhat pleasant, warm sensation in my bottom had now become a rather painful stinging and I was beginning to wriggle around on her lap, my legs and thighs scissoring apart as I tried to avoid the spanks. It had now become uncomfortable, but just as I could feel moisture starting to form in my eyes it stopped.

“Stand up, and put your hands on your head. Do not touch your bottom.”

I struggled to my feet. My bottom was stinging and I could feel the warmth emanating from it. I would have welcomed the opportunity to give it a quick rub to ease the discomfort, but fearing annoying Miss Hewitt, I managed to avoid the temptation and instead placed my hands on my head as instructed. This time Miss Hewitt’s hands went to the waistband of my skirt where she lowered the zip, unfastened the button, and then lowered the skirt to my ankles. I stepped out of it without being told to do so. I feared that she was about to take me over her knee for a further spanking and was relieved when she gave me a different instruction.

“Go and stand against the wall, facing it, and keep your hands on your head until I tell you otherwise.”
I walked over to the wall and did as I was told as Miss Hewitt went back and sat behind her desk, studying the papers on it. I must have stood for several minutes in that position as my arms were beginning to ache, although the stinging in my bottom had by now subsided somewhat and had once again become a rather more pleasurable warmth.

“You can put your hands down now, Baxter, and give your bottom a rub, but don’t for one moment think I’ve finished with you yet.”

Gratefully, I lowered my arms and clasped my buttocks and gently massaged them, the skin was noticeably warmer than the rest of my body.

“That’s enough, Baxter. Now turn around and come and stand here in front of my desk, hands by your side.”

I did as I was told, very aware of my lack of clothing and exposure below the waist. Miss Hewitt rose from her desk again and walked past me to the open wall unit, just behind me to my right. When she returned to stand beside me I saw that she was holding a large white plimsoll in her right hand.

“Put your knickers back on.”

I turned around to where they were lying on the carpet besides the chair, picked them up, slipped them over my shoes, and pulled them up into position, my bottom and modesty once again covered.

“Back here, and bend over and touch your toes.”

I returned to the space in front of the desk and bent forward, reaching down to my toes. A firm hand to the middle of my back pushed me further down.

“Right down, grasp your ankles and keep your legs straight.”

I did as instructed. I could feel my knickers tighten across my bottom and thought of the view I must be giving Miss Hewitt, my bottom provocatively thrust up, and I was briefly reminded of Henry in the kitchen at Anne’s party. That is how this had all started and now I was finally going to be slippered. I had adopted this position in my bedroom on many occasions, bent over touching toes, waiting for the impact on my bottom which had never arrived. But now it would, and I was about to find out what it felt like.

Miss Hewitt lifted the hem of my blouse, which in my position caused it to fall downwards exposing much of my bare back, leaving my bottom perfectly exposed, knickers stretched taught across it. I felt the plimsoll tap lightly against my bottom and I tried to resist the urge to clench my cheeks, but to relax and accept what was coming.

The impact still took me by surprise and caused me to rock forwards slightly as I remained grasping my ankles. The sting it produced was quite unlike that from the spanking, much more painful and seeming to spread across a far greater expanse of my bottom. That first stroke had landed in the centre of my bottom, another four followed, two to each of the cheeks, and then a sixth one, once again to the centre. Each stroke caused the stinging to intensify to the point where it was now becoming distinctly uncomfortable. The final one had caused me to let go of my ankles, but before I could straighten Miss Hewitt’s hand pushed me back down again.

“Keep your position and do not straighten up until I tell you to do so, or we shall start this all over again. Is that what you want?”

“No, Miss.”

I grasped my ankles again, and then felt Miss Hewitt’s fingers in the waistband of my knickers, pulling them down until they were stretched between my knees, my bottom now bared.

“Hold tight to your ankles and this will soon be over, and keep those legs straight too.”

I braced myself. The first thing I noticed was the difference in sound the plimsoll made landing on bare skin as opposed to soft cotton. The second was how much more it seemed to sting without the protection of knickers. I managed to stay in position for the first four strokes although the level of discomfort was increasing. The fifth caused me to bend my knees and let go of my ankles, rocking forwards as I did so, but I quickly regained my position and thrust my bottom up before Miss Hewitt could reprimand me.

The last stroke was the hardest of them all and caused me to cry out, and despite my best intentions, straighten up, my hands going to my bottom.

“Hands away this instant!”

Reluctantly, I did as I was told.

“I’m sorry Miss, I didn’t mean to stand. I couldn’t help it.”

“I shall overlook that on this occasion, but be assured that in the future, if you show such a lack of self-control again, you will be bending back over for more of the slipper. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss. I’m sorry, Miss.”

“Good. Now step out of those knickers and go and stand against the wall again with your hands on your head.”

The knickers by now were down around my ankles, so I stepped out of them and made my way to the wall, placing my hands on my head and adopting the position I had been in a short while earlier, while Miss Hewitt returned to sit at her desk studying the papers on it. This time the heat and discomfort coming from my bottom was far greater than it had been previously after the spanking, and I was willing Miss Hewitt to allow me to lower my hands and give it some relief. Eventually, after what seemed an eternity, she finally spoke.

“You can lower your hands, Baxter, and rub your bottom if you wish.”

I took up her offer eagerly.

“That’s enough. Now stand here in front of my desk.”

I moved in front of her desk, arms by my side, this time more aware of the stinging in my bottom than my lack of modesty.

“So, are you beginning to learn your lesson, that a lack of effort and application to your studies will result in a sore backside for you?”

“Yes, Miss. I’ll try harder in future, I promise.”

Without thinking about it, I was still playing the part of the naughty schoolgirl to Miss Hewitt’s Headmistress.

“Good, I’m glad to hear it. However, I think you need one final lesson, just to drive the message home.”
I glanced at the vase containing the canes to the side of Miss Hewitt’s desk. Was this it? Was I about to receive the caning I had thought about on so many occasions? I had wanted this to happen, indeed expected it to happen, but now I wasn’t so sure. I was not convinced that I could take a caning straight after the slippering.

Miss Hewitt got up and came around her desk, past the vase of canes, and over to the wall where she took down one of the leather straps hanging from the bracket, before returning to stand in front of me.
“I intend to give you six with this tawse across your bare backside. It will hurt, but I expect you to take it bravely and without any fuss. If you remain in position throughout, then it will soon be over and your punishment will be complete. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss.”

A moment ago, I had been relieved when I’d realised that I was not about to be caned, but now I wasn’t so sure. Miss Hewitt’s words made me think that this was going to be more painful than anything I’d experienced so far.

“Bend over the desk.”

I stepped forwards and leaned over the desk, taking hold of the far side with my hands.

“Get yourself right down flat on the desk, straighten your legs out, and push your bottom well out for me.”
I lowered myself down until my breasts were pressed against the hard desk top, then straightened my legs out, having to part them as I did so, until my bottom was thrust outwards to Miss Hewitt’s satisfaction. She then pulled my blouse up, leaving my bottom totally exposed.

If I had thought that this was going to be more painful than the slippering, then I was not about to be disappointed. The first stroke landed with a crack on my bottom and the intensity of the sting it produced was unlike anything I had felt before. I gasped out in shock and surprise.

The next two produced more audible cries from me and I gripped the desk hard, desperately trying to maintain my position. The fourth stroke was too much for me and I released my grip and started to straighten up, hands going towards my bottom and moisture now beginning to form in my eyes.

“Please, Miss Hewitt, I can’t take any more. That’s enough.”

“Back down, Baxter, and get your bottom out for me. I will decide when you have had enough, and at the moment I intend to give you two more, although I can increase that if you wish.”

Realising my pleas where not about to change anything, I got back into position. I could feel my legs quivering slightly as I pushed my bottom out once again. If anything, the fifth stroke was the lightest of those I’d received so far and, as I gripped the desk, I managed to remain in position. I tried to breathe deeply, knowing that I only had one more stroke to come. If the last stroke had been the lightest, then this final stroke was the hardest. There was a real crack as it landed and the intense sting caused me to shoot upright, my hands grasping my bottom, trying to ease the pain.

Miss Hewitt placed the tawse down on the desk and turned to me smiling.

“Well Debbie, did you enjoy that?”

Her tone of voice was friendly again, not the stern Headmistress of a moment ago, and I realised it was the first time she had called me Debbie since I’d entered the room. My hands were still frantically massaging my bottom and my words came out in short bursts as I struggled to regain my composure.

“Yes, Yes, I think so, but that tawse really hurt.”

“Yes, it does. It’s a good job I didn’t give you all six like that last stroke. Now, would you like me to cane you before we finish?”

I looked at her apprehensively and saw that she was laughing.

“No, not this time, I don’t think.”

“Get yourself changed and then come and join me downstairs when you’re ready.”

I picked up my skirt and knickers and made my way back to the bedroom I’d got changed in, each step seeming to cause more discomfort in my bottom. Once inside, I removed the rest of my clothing and stood once again naked in front of the mirror and turned slightly to view my bottom. It was deep red in colour, looking quite comical compared to the rest of me, and I could clearly make out one of the tawse strokes that had been applied to it. My right hand stroked the skin and it was noticeably warm. I had a sudden urge to touch another part of me but thought better of it. That would not be an appropriate thing to do with Miss Hewitt waiting for me downstairs.

I dressed, but decided to go without tights and knickers to allow the air to circulate around my bottom, my skirt being long enough not to put my modesty at risk. I then went downstairs and joined Miss Hewitt. As I sat down on the settee, I could feel the warmth in my bottom, which was rather pleasant, but also a discomfort from any movement I made.

“So, Debbie, was that everything you expected it to be?”

“Yes, and more, except that you didn’t cane me.”

“I don’t think you would have wanted a caning on a first visit. If you care to come and see me again, then we can explore the possibility of caning you.”

“The slippering you gave me, was that the sort of slippering I would have received at school?”

“Not really. For a start, you would not have had a spanking to warm you up for it, and I actually went quite easy on you to begin with as I don’t think you would have coped with anything more severe.”

“So a proper school slippering would have been different?”

“It would be a lot more painful. There’s a big difference between a punishment slippering, or even a punishment spanking, to the sort that I would normally give during a session with someone. A proper punishment would be over with quite quickly as there would be a limit as to how much you could take, and most people I see prefer to have a more extended session with a gradual build up in severity as we go along. It’s why I started you off with a warm up spanking, otherwise I doubt you would have taken the slippering and tawsing that I gave you in the manner that you did.”

Our conversation lasted a few more minutes before I decided that I didn’t want to overstay my welcome and departed to head for the train station. As I walked down the road, I was conscious of my lack of underwear and the cooling effect the air had on my bottom. It felt good and I wondered if I might try going without knickers at other times if my skirt was of a suitable design. I also wondered if Miss Hewitt’s neighbours knew what went on within her four walls, and if so, did they guess that the innocent looking, young dark haired girl walking past their house was sporting a bright red, recently punished bottom.
I stood for much of the train journey home, I found the movement of the train uncomfortable when sitting.

The carriage was sparsely occupied but there was a rather snooty looking middle aged woman facing me at the far end. I wondered what she would say if she knew I had recently received a good spanking and was standing there without any underwear on, and then another thought that made me smile. Perhaps she had a bottom as red as mine too, there was no knowing what people got up to in private.

The next morning, as I was sitting in the kitchen in my dressing gown having my breakfast coffee, my mind went back to the events of the previous afternoon. My bottom was still a little sore if I sat in a certain way, and when looking at it in the mirror after getting out of bed, there was evidence of a little bruising, most probably from the tawsing I’d received. I had mixed emotions.

I felt elated that I had finally done it, had a spanking, and more, and that I had been able to take it without embarrassing myself. I had enjoyed acting the schoolgirl, having my bottom bared, going over the knee, touching my toes, all the things I’d seen in my Pandora’s Box. Even better, I had enjoyed the pleasurable feelings that a spanking gave me, the stinging and warmth in my bottom. And although I had found the tawsing painful at the time, the even more intense feelings that produced once the initial stinging had subsided, made the initial pain seem worthwhile.

Yet, I had two regrets. The first was that I had not been caned, although the reasoning that Miss Hewitt gave for not caning me made sense. The second was that I had not experienced an ‘authentic’ school slippering, which I was still curious about to discover what it felt like. Miss Hewitt had said that a proper punishment slippering would be far more painful than the one that I’d received yesterday and I had little reason to doubt her, but perhaps that is what I wanted. Perhaps I did want to receive something more painful, something that would go beyond what I was comfortable with, even reduce me to tears. Maybe I wouldn’t be satisfied until I had received a proper punishment slippering and caning, however uncomfortable they might be.

I wondered whether I would return to see Miss Hewitt again, and as I asked myself the question I already knew the answer.

The End, or perhaps not.

© Steven Wilson 2020