A woman meets a new domme
“It looks like it’s all set,” I said. “But of course it’s out of my hands really, so if anything happens I’ll call straight away.”
There was a pause at the other end of the line. “Oh, it’s all right, dear. We live in the real world too, you know,” came the slow, steady, reassuring reply. “See you soon.”
Following the renewed contact with my previous domme and the newer and slightly freer state I found myself in, albeit temporarily, the need to go to London for a business and legal meeting could be arranged with an eye to getting to know one another again, in the sense of my rather ‘left field’ interest in being spanked. There was, of course, some slight complexity (isn’t there always) as originally the legal meeting had been called for the Thursday and the commitments of the ‘left field operators’ was, “We can’t do that Thursday or Friday at short notice. What about Saturday?”
After a little bit of heel digging-in later, the legal meeting was moved to Friday. Fridays are more inconvenient, the airlines charge more, but as it turned out it suited someone else as well. Once it was agreed, I bought the ticket and tucked it away.
When I had made contact with my old domme at the beginning of the year I found much had changed, but we had a lovely afternoon reminiscing over tea, with me listening to her stories. I was particularly taken when she started talking about her reluctance to charge other women, yet accepted because they were so insistent. I’d not really thought about that, but I suppose when you are leaving someone’s premises with a scorching backside and a promise to yourself that you are never, ever, repeat never, going to do this again, then your domme’s philanthropy was not going to be uppermost in your mind. But I did remember my own experience the first time, when she asked me if I was sure I could afford it. She never asked again and I felt quite warm inside when she referred to me as one of her trusted regulars as we chatted away.
I left in a nice frame of mind. The whole afternoon had sped by. It was only tea time, but already dark when my train had pulled out of Kings Cross that winter day but our last message gave me another warm glow.
‘We’re here if you want us,’ it read.
At that time, I thought another meeting was nearly impossible but I remember reading and re-reading it as we sped out through the North London suburbs.
‘Us’ referred to my old domme, who had retired, and her friend, Claudia. I had guessed they might want to work as a pair, or at least an actor and observer. That was OK by me, but I didn’t try to carry on the correspondence as I felt my chances of travelling to London again in the present year were remote. It stayed in the back of my mind though.
Matters for me did move on unexpectedly, in a way that allowed me more free time, at least temporarily. I still needed to remain close to my domestic area. Simultaneously, legal matters also moved on, although in a way that was less welcoming. It wasn’t that I stood to lose anything, it was more the worry of saying the wrong thing. There wasn’t a lot I could do about this.
“Grin and bear it,” I was told, but having been assured more than once by our lawyers that it was all sorted out, the opposition lawyers always seemed to come back with a different angle.
But that expression ‘grin and bear it’ struck a chord, and once the business meeting had been organised I contacted my old domme and we confirmed a get-together at her house again, along with Claudia, on the Saturday. For me, well, I knew what was in store, and having berated myself numerous times for returning to partake of this particular indulgence, I felt this time I would be able to use the occasion to blow away the negative thoughts from the Friday, get over it and ‘suffer and enjoy the agonies and consequences. However, as I didn’t want to travel such a long way straight after being spanked, I organised a second night at my hotel, which I got for a reasonable rate.
My old domme, while really pleased to hear from me, was quite insistent that I speak to Claudia myself, which I did one evening. She was quite nicely spoken, firm of tone, with a noticeable mid-European accent. She didn’t beat about the bush too much. She had an earlier client meeting, but I’d already said I wouldn’t expect to arrive until near noon or so.
Then she added, “I know you have been made aware that I have largely female clients, and one of the ladies is intending to meet your former mistress later, just so that you know. I got to know her through this route, just as I have been introduced to you.”
‘Why tell me then?’ was my immediate thought, but then we’d covered everything and I, in my own invariably odd way of looking at things, was satisfied with the arrangements. However, it nagged a little the next day so on the pretext of just checking up I called my old domme again that evening to confirm I’d spoken to Mistress Claudia, and of course to do a little fishing.
“Oh, I know. I meant to tell you. There’s someone coming later. It’s one of the girls I mentioned to you last time. I was thinking you’d be long gone She keeps in touch, you know. She is coming for tea. Lovely girl she is.”
No real need for any fishing; there was the information on a plate.
I had also needed to gather together some sort of uniform. It helped me get into role and I was keen to change into something similar to what I once had. My old skirt had gone; the zipper had broken and the white shirt I had worn had also come to the end of its life. A couple of charity shop visits came up blank, but I bought a pleated skirt from a sports shop then a white shirt from the high street. They both looked good on me, I thought. I already had knee socks in both white and navy blue, but they had a refreshing run through the washing machine on the Sunday. Navy, I thought, just to see if the colour coding was remembered. A bottle of wine for drinking at my hotel later completed the list.
That evening, I was making my list up for the working week ahead when I heard a text arrive. Thinking it was probably just another advert, I ignored it for a while but then saw who it was from. It was from my dome.
Our other guest at the weekend might like to meet you, we thought. Nothing said to anyone. Just an idea. Let us know?
I was quite tired. I had a busy week ahead of me, and meeting a new domme was quite exciting and scary at the same time, so my initial thought was to say no. This was not really a social occasion. In fact, it was quite private and I wanted to keep it so. However, I thought at least I should sleep on it and sent a text back to say I wasn’t sure but would think it over. I did like Mrs D and didn’t want to disappoint her unnecessarily, but all in all it was my appointment.
I had a lot to do on both Monday and Tuesday; partly my normal things, partly some preparation for the business people on Friday, although I had seen the material before. Not being in any way an expert in legal affairs, I did not really follow the lines of argument or precedent, but on the Tuesday evening after putting these papers aside I was idly crawling around on the internet, glass of wine to hand, when I came upon some commentary on adult schools and whether they were real or not. I spent an hour or so with a little smile on my face reading various remarks, then I remembered I had a text to reply to. Fortified by what I had just been reading, I made a snap decision that meeting someone else was maybe not such a bad thing.
I texted back, Yes, OK, wasn’t sure at first but if meeting can be arranged I would be happy to be involved.
I pressed ‘send’ before I could get cold feet.
I was of the opinion the meeting would probably just be over tea.
‘Tea, cakes and the cane,’ I thought to myself, causing my face to crease into a smile.
Well, tea and cakes to follow, and the cane beforehand.
Realising how tired I was, I went to bed.
I called back on Wednesday, by now wanting to clarify what was what. The other lady was indeed the regular client from some time back. She would be there on her own. While she was once one of a pair, apparently they were no longer together, and the description of her, more a eulogy, was intimidating. However, she was keen to meet me, but the day was mine so if I wasn’t happy having her there, she would just leave.
“It won’t come to that,” Mrs D said. “Henrietta really is the most delightful person, gorgeous figure, really well spoken, beautiful hair, quite mad. You’ll get on like a house on fire.”
Noting that Henrietta’s presence had fast-forwarded from joining us at tea time to being present when I arrived, rather than face another onslaught about miss goody-two-shoes’ looks, stature, achievements and goodness knows what else, I meekly agreed. I managed to mention I would have a uniform with me, and perhaps Henrietta could be advised accordingly.
Anyway, grumble over, I went about the day’s work, and pretty much the same on the Thursday. In the small hours of Friday morning, I was awoken by the alarm call, rolled out of bed, remembered everything, and made the 06.30 to London with a whole five minutes to spare.
The business meeting was almost a carbon copy of the one held in the same room, with exactly the same people, about six months earlier. Talking about the same things, the arguments were, to me, very weak and other than being photographed looking at some pages of legal script, there was nothing to detain me after lunch.
My agent had taken me out to dinner the last time, but after she and I chatted over a post-lunch cup of tea, she bade me farewell and I headed back to the hotel for a nap, later some room service and an early night. I thought my mind would be busy and I would have trouble getting off to sleep, but not a bit of it. I slept soundly and before I knew it, it was morning.
There was time for a bit of a lie-in, a coffee in my room, then down for a light continental breakfast. My sight was nice and clear and I actually felt really good, nice and positive. My pulse was a bit higher than usual, but steady, and I was not trembling or feeling breathless. In the past, I had sometimes been afflicted a bit by nerves. I’d given myself an hour to get out to my ex-domme’s house. After breakfast I went back to my room and got ready.
Bag first, my uniform clothes, spare bra, spare pants, my mini brolly in case of rain, and some repair items in a clutch bag, mainly cleanser, foundation, some moisturiser and some eye shadow. I added some paracetamol in case of need, along with my spare hairbrush, some cotton wool balls, a packet of paper hankies and a flannel wrapped in a zippy freezer bag. I was ready for anything!
In getting myself ready, I avoided too much makeup; enough to show I had made the effort, even if it was just some basics, and not so much that if I was reduced to tears it would make a mess. Chinos, white T-shirt and my fawn loafers completed the get-up along with a very light greeny brown jacket I’d discovered in a charity shop a year or so ago that had become a firm favourite. A last look around the room, some final thoughts, a deep breath, and out I marched into the warm summer sunshine.
It actually took over an hour to get there, after a long delay en route. I rang the doorbell and my favourite domme was there, all smiles.
“Come in, come in! It’s lovely to see you,” was the warm and heartfelt greeting.
Once inside, we shared a hug.
“Is everything all right?” I was asked.
I quickly explained that one of the tube trains had just stopped between stations for what seemed ages.
“Never mind that dear, you’re here now. Come into the dining room and meet Claudia and Henrietta.”
Two ladies were standing, smiling away, waiting to meet me. One, I judged before she spoke, was Claudia. About my age, perhaps a little younger. She had a slightly beaky, angular face, was quite tall, taller than me, and had dark blonde hair pulled back in a bun, the same sort of colour as her dark eyes. She had rings on each of her fingers, a considerable collection, and was wearing a blue shirtwaister dress with a noticeable wide brown belt. Her smile was warm as we shook hands
Then I turned to Henrietta, who also smiled broadly, a smile that was bright and genuine. Slightly shorter than me, her own hair was a light blonde, off-the-shoulder and it set off her bright blue eyes. She looked well manicured. Not a lot of make-up, but a well-designed appearance. I was guessing she was mid-30s or so, she had a short-sleeved white blouse on with some dark blue trousers and black bootees; a ‘girl about town’ sort of look. We hugged and pecked cheeks.
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, very much,” she said in a well polished, smiley voice.
I could understand why both dommes would consider her attractive; she really was.
I was offered a chair and Mrs D departed to put the kettle on.
Everyone wanted to talk at once. Henrietta won.
“I understand that you and I started meeting Mrs D at about the same time, a few years ago. By the way, thank you for letting me come here today. I do appreciate it.” She stopped for a second, cast her eyes down and shrugged her shoulders slightly. “A lot,” she added quietly.
After another second or two, she went on. “If you feel uncomfortable at any time, please just say so. I can leave and no hard feelings.”
The tea appeared and I told Henrietta that I had to think it over, but I was OK with the arrangements, thanking her for what she had just said.
“Henrietta loves watching,” added Mistress Claudia, making the poor girl blush furiously.
“Oh!” was all she was able to say by way of a rejoinder, but then she said, “And a bit of a tanning too.”
Henrietta then addressed me again as I took a sip of the still hot tea.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I was told you like to get changed beforehand, to help you get into role. Do you really find that helps?”
‘Bit forward,’ I thought, but I spoke to confirm that it was so.
Henrietta murmured a sort of acknowledgment, then I went on to explain the first time I had thought wearing school clothes was actually quite silly, but afterwards I realised it had really helped with the role play, and from then on I had enjoyed getting changed as part of the ritual.
“Oh God, yes. I can see that,” was all I received back before Mistress Claudia spoke.
“We can vouch for Henrietta,” she said. “And also, well, without saying too much, Phillippa here is not the only lady we know who relives a situation.”
Without missing a beat, Henrietta said straightaway, “Who?” before realising such matters are private between dommes and their clientele.
A raised eyebrow from Mistress Claudia ensured the issue went no further. I wasn’t sure what the ‘vouching for’ meant.
Mrs D, teacup in hand and a wistful expression on her face, spoke up for the first time.
“Strangely enough, I found it helped me a little bit too,” she said. “I had a set of ladies who were coming here for help with some of their own problems and then a small few who came to try it out and, for whatever reason, kept returning. But all of you who came more than once were in some sort of role.”
“Except me,” said Henrietta.
“True, but you often came after your working day,” replied Mrs D.
“I could still have brought some other clothes to change into, but then maybe Sue wouldn’t have liked it,” Henrietta replied.
I took it Sue had been Henrietta’s partner, but then it turned out that although they had shared a flat, they were just friends and had other partners.
Mrs D spoke again. “When I saw some ladies wanting to get changed as a part of their preparation, then I knew what they had told me was real and they really wanted the spanking. And that they would return. It was a sort of code, a bit like Phillippa’s choice of socks.”
It was my turn to be embarrassed.
“I had a couple of pairs to choose from. A pair of particular socks meant I was up for more of a thrashing,” I explained to Claudia and Henrietta.
“Oh, I know,” said Claudia. “I’ve been told.”
Henrietta’s eyes were very wide indeed at this revelation.
Nearly half an hour had slipped by. I was amazed at how calm I felt. I was very much the centre of attention, but we were all quietly chatting away and, although spanking and discipline, were mentioned quite a lot, we talked about the way others approached the subject, the numbers of women who were trying it out now, the various ‘offences’ involved. All in all, it was quite a serious but also factual discussion. I noticed as we were talking that Claudia had strong arms.
The tea was finished, though. My old domme suggested she’d clear the table, then we should move it away from the wall and put it in the space next to the window. There had been a sideboard in the room, now no longer, just a tall cupboard, the table and four chairs. And a pillow on the window sill.
I said I could move the table. Henrietta volunteered to help. Mistress Claudia said she would need ten minutes to get ready. The tea things moved, the table was set in the window. My own mistress excused herself and left Henrietta and myself to it, although by now it was down to placing the chairs, positioning them to give my former domme, and Henrietta the best view of proceedings. For the first time, my heart skipped a beat. I also realised that with upstairs temporarily out of bounds and both the front room and kitchen overlooked, I was going to have to get changed where I stood. I asked Henrietta if she was OK with this.
She replied she was, but then she asked if I’d like her to leave the room and give me a little bit of privacy?
My senses had finally come to life and I had a proper heartbeat pounding away in my chest, so I said no, she was welcome to stay as I changed into uniform. All girls together. My bag was quickly collected from the hall and placed on the little table, while I loosened my pants and took off my T-shirt.
Henrietta gave me a quick hug by way of saying thanks, whispering quietly in my ear, “I really did love that chat,” before gallantly disappearing into the kitchen on the pretext of needing a glass of water.
I had my new shirt on, then my trousers were off and folded up, knickers off, and a fresh navy-blue pair on. As Henrietta reappeared, I picked up my short but nice quality navy skirt and wrapped it around my waist, fastening the button and zipping it up. I was disappointed there was no mirror. Previously, I had got changed upstairs, but Henrietta told me I looked wonderful and it made me smile. I felt proud of myself, and any doubts I had about being spanked in front of others had been totally dispelled by the warmth and friendship I was shown. I knew I was soon going to be caned, almost in public, and while this was a new experience it was also thrilling to think of and I realised I was quite looking forward to it; of course, with the usual mixture of fear, trepidation and nerves, but it was nice and enjoyable being the of centre of attention for the first time in years, and I wanted to show the others how much I appreciated it.
It was more too. While we waited, a nervously grinning Henrietta complimented me on having a lovely bottom. My hips had never really filled out and I was often told at school and later I had a boyish figure, which of course I hated, but I knew I had a shapely behind. However, it’s always nice to hear someone say it.
Henrietta’s backside, I had noticed, was quite shapely too.
My new friend also complimented me on my wonderful school uniform and said she wished she had thought about it, but would definitely buy the clothes and give it a try. It seemed poor Henrietta was more nervous than me and was jabbering slightly. She also told me she would love to switch and try being a dome, but hadn’t had the opportunity. She pressed one of her business cards into my hand, from where it transferred to my bag. I noticed her private email address was added on the back, along with her mobile number. I gave her my own number which she made a note of.
There were vague voices upstairs, but nothing much happening, so Henrietta next asked if she could try on my skirt. I agreed. We were quite similar in size. I still had to put my socks on, not that it was a major job, but I took my skirt off and handed it to Henrietta. As I sat on a chair to pull my socks on, she slipped off her trousers and eagerly tried the skirt on herself.
“No mirror,” she remarked, but I assured her it looked good. It did.
The voices upstairs still seemed distant. Henrietta did a few twirls in the skirt, then noticed my socks.
“What was all that about socks?” she asked.
I explained briefly that sometimes, when I had visited before, we had a secret signal. The times when I came feeling in a bit of an obstinate mood and in need of a good hard spanking, I would wear navy blue or black socks. If it was maybe only a ‘six-of-the-best’ I wanted, then I would wear white socks.
This time I really did think Henrietta was going to choke.
“What a good idea,” she said. “I remember the first time I was caned on my bottom, it was only six strokes and it hurt like the dickens. The next time, I had twelve and, although my bum was sore for a week, I knew then it was my thing. If I can come at the weekend, I also get caned on my hands.”
I could only nod at first, but then replied, “I have had more than twelve strokes a few times, but never on the hands. But I have asked for it today.”
Henrietta gulped. “I didn’t know how today would go. I don’t know what you were told about me. I’m a glutton for this, I really am, but I have to leave at about three o’clock as I am going out with my parents tonight. It’s their fortieth wedding anniversary. After meeting you here, I would love a good caning right now!”
As we chatted on, it turned out that Henrietta had a robust and very thorough appointment last Sunday afternoon, which explained the text I had received later that evening.
The stairs finally began to creak and Henrietta quickly removed my skirt and handed it to me. While I hastily put it on, she replaced her dark blue trousers after slipping her knickers down and giving me a flash of her bottom with some tell tale marks, faded but still visible.
I couldn’t help but notice again that Henrietta had a lovely figure herself, slightly shorter than me, slightly fuller, but nicely proportioned with those blue eyes having a sort of devil-may-care glint to them. I smiled as I looked down at myself; navy socks, over the knee, and a pair of flat back shoes. My eyes were clear and, although my pulse was now very high, I still felt quite steady. As the voices drew nearer, I could hear Henrietta breathing. Then, just before the door opened, she took my hand and gave it a squeeze.
My own former domme entered first, looking quite severe in a dark navy top and flowing black or dark navy skirt, hair drawn back now, her spectacles reflecting some of the light from the window. Behind her, stood the taller Mistress Claudia, clad all in black, the royal blue shirtwaister dress was gone, some additional, quite heavy, very dark eye shadow set off by strong red lipstick gave her a serious, menacing look. Her top, a blouse, had short sleeves and on display were arms that looked quite muscular. The butterflies in my tummy fluttered of their own accord as I saw what she was carrying.
In her right hand, and hanging by her side, was the cane that was about to be used to give me a good thrashing. Somehow my eyes were drawn towards it. My own domme spoke first.
“Henrietta, if you would like to take a seat. I will join you. Mistress Claudia, I believe you wish to speak to Phillippa?”
At this short introduction, I was left facing the black, threatening figure, while the others sat down. There was a short silence. In looking away, I caught Henrietta’s eye momentarily before focussing on Mistress Claudia, who lifted the cane and flexed it before my eyes. It looked quite stiff and obviously very solid; it was not one belonging to my previous dome, and I was told so.
“This is a new cane, a nice, heavy dragon, used only once, and I have it on good authority that it is extremely effective,” Claudia said.
I felt my breath catch in my throat and had to force myself to swallow hard.
“I will give you one stroke on each hand, and after one minute will then ask you to bend right over the table, and I mean right over, with your tummy resting on the surface. I want to see your bottom stretched tightly so the cane strokes will have the absolute maximum effect. Now, also, I cane hard and I cane slowly. If you get up or move or scream or do anything I consider disruptive, not only will you receive the stroke again but at the end I may add extra to be administered wherever I see fit. These will be punishment strokes and they will be hard.”
She stared at me. Again, I had to force myself to swallow as my pulse began to climb even higher and my chest was tightening by the second.
“Now, move over to this side of the table with your back to that wall.”
This meant I was facing my old domme and Henrietta.
“Hold out your left hand.”
I did so. I saw she was holding the cane about three quarters of the way along its length. She tapped the back of my hand.
“Higher!” she commanded.
I lifted it a little higher.
“After the stroke lands, you will restore your hand to upright and outstretched, where it is now, until told to take it down and exchange with your right hand.”
After several taps, she lashed the cane down onto the palm of my hand. I instinctively withdrew it after the blow landed. The pain was so intense and shocking, and I pressed it under my right armpit for a few seconds. It had really hurt, a lot more than I expected. The pain shot though me like a knife.
“What did I just tell you about keeping your hand in position?” Claudia asked.
“Sorry Mistress,” was all I could say. I didn’t need to be asked to raise my left hand again and position it for the punishment stroke.
A few seconds later, it was delivered. The massive sting still made me wring my hand several times but I was, mercifully, not spoken to about it. After just a few seconds, I was able to raise the same hand back up again in readiness, in case I had indeed transgressed, but I was ordered now to switch hands. Mistress shuffled her position a little better to land the blow across the middle of my right hand.
Again, we had some tapping to get my hand into the right position. This time, I couldn’t watch and gave way to closing my eyes. The cut of the cane was just as painful and I heard myself cry out, not loudly, but loud enough as the fiery impact burned into me. Again, I was unable to stop myself putting my hand under my armpit in an attempt to soften the immediate and harsh smarting.
Mistress said nothing. After a few seconds, I obediently held out my hand for further punishment, which was delivered with venom, but in the after effects she showed mercy on me as again I needed to wave my hand about in the air to try to take away some of the fiendish sting of the blow. I got away with this, although I did return my hand to the position she had ordered, but I was told to put it down and stand still with both hands by my sides. The urge to knead them together, rub them or compress them under my armpits again was almost overwhelming, but I managed to stand still as instructed. I had never been caned on the hands before; it was quite an experience, very painful, and not something I was going to risk experiencing again, not for now at least.
Mistress fussed at the table for a short while. I could not bear to look at either my former domme or Henrietta, even though they were only a few feet away. My hands hurt a lot and I knew my bottom was very soon to be on the receiving end of some intense strokes from that long and heavy cane.
“Right, Phillippa, you have had your minute to recover. I am going to cane you on your bottom now. I would like you to approach this table, raise your skirt and lower your panties to your knees.”
I did as I was asked. Henrietta and my old domme were going to get a perfect view of a girl having her bare bottom caned with a very high grade instrument of correction.
Yet, somehow, strangely, I was aware of the eyes on me. I was the centre of attention and, despite my throbbing hands, I was quite happy to conform to the orders Mistress Claudia was giving me, aware that soon my bottom, in full view of my audience, was going to be marked and stung by the application of her new cane. I also realised I was much enjoying being under the strict discipline of my new mistress and following her instructions, instructions that came with the threat, and not an empty threat, that misbehaviour would result in additional and unspecified further punishment.
There was another short period of silence, a few seconds really, before fresh words of command were issued. Mistress Claudia picked up the pillow and laid it on the edge of the table.
“Right. In a moment, I will ask you to bend right over, using this pillow as support on the table’s edge, then put your legs out straight behind you, tummy on the pillow and gripping the far end of the table with your hands. If you break position, you will receive the stroke again and I will add a punishment stroke afterwards. Also, if you move about too much and your knickers move away from your knees or your skirt falls back, I will ask you to stand, adjust your dress again as I want to see you, and there will be more strokes added.”
There was another silence as I stood there before she continued.
“When we have finished, I will tell you to rise. Then you face me with your hands by your sides. You will be asked to remove your skirt and panties and then to turn and face the wall for five minutes. Your hands will remain by sides. If you touch your bottom during this time, I will cane you again. Now, take up the position.”
With her words ringing in my ears, I did as I was told; legs outstretched, skirt hitched up and panties down around my knees, pillow tucked under my tummy, all ready to be caned.
“Do you understand?” I was asked.
“Yes, Mistress,” was all I could say.
I heard Henrietta cough and gasp behind me.
“I will deliver ten strokes. I was aware of your secret colour scheme, but I think ten is enough. Of course, there will be more if necessary.”
I waited. The cane landed gently as Mistress measured the distance, tapping it a couple of times before I heard the swish and felt the impact of the first stroke. I flinched and heard myself grunt involuntarily as the hard, smarting impact swept through me. I had been caned before but Mistress Claudia was obviously strong and I hadn’t been on the receiving end for a long time. I involuntarily tensed up, tying to absorb the hurt that had just been inflicted, but as I wriggled I received an order to be still.
The second stroke was just as intense, it seemed to slice right into me and my whole mind went blank. The third stroke of my thrashing also burned deeply, each cut was more painful than what I remembered and I was really struggling to stay in position, gasping after each blow from her cane sent a powerful new wave of pain searing its way into the very depths of my being.
We stopped after six strokes. My bottom was pretty sore. My knickers had to be repositioned after all my gyrations had made them slip right down. I was told there would be an additional punishment at the end, but for now I was glad of the respite, no matter how short. Once I had done as I was told, I had to resume the position, tummy on the pillow, legs stretched right out, and to stay in position while her cane was about to resume its onslaught on my hot and stinging bottom.
Yet, despite the pain I was still aware of the others. Other than some gurgling noises from Henrietta, they had been silent observers of the discipline being meted out before them. Despite everything and precisely that infernal cane that had already left my hands throbbing and my bottom tender and hot I felt alive and somehow that I should have done better. I also consoled myself that I only had four strokes to go as I felt the cane tap me again before the seventh stroke was administered and the intensity seemed to take my breath away. I heard a gasp and groan and couldn’t even tell if it was me, then I felt the cane just slide over me ahead of the next stroke. I tried to brace myself but it was impossible; all I could think of now was the session ending. The next whack landed hard, right where my thigh met my bottom, then another in the same place and now I really did want it all to end. Only one to go and somehow even as the rod was applied I felt both pain, of course, it still hurt, but also a wave of relief it was over and, despite everything, I was pleased with myself for taking it all in front of my old domme and our new friend.
I was told to stand up. My hands went straight to my bottom to try to knead away some of the deep and intense burning. I could feel small ridges where Mistress Claudia had slowly and methodically delivered a proper caning, my first for years. I knew it was wrong to make instant judgements but being punished in front of my old Mistress had moved the focus a little and I hoped my performance under someone else’s discipline had provided her with a good spectacle. I realised then how much I had wanted to please her, but the feeling was to be quickly cut short.
As I stood there kneading and massaging my hot bottom, I became aware that Henrietta was snuffling. She stood up and hugged me, telling me I was very brave.
Mistress Claudia intervened with a snappy, “Hands by your sides. What did I tell you?”
There was a silence. I had forgotten the original instruction.
“We will see how brave she really is now Henrietta,” said Mistress Claudia, who told Henrietta to sit back down.
I felt Henrietta’s grip on me tighten slightly and she whispered again, “Oh, you have more. I know you will take it well, you are so brave. It will soon be over.”
At that, she sat down and dabbed her eyes with a hanky while my old Mistress took her hand and patted it reassuringly.
I still had my panties around my knees. Mistress Claudia now spoke.
“Phillippa, you were given precise instructions by me as to your positioning and explicitly how I expected you to hold position. We ended up having to stop and I had told you earlier this would lead to an additional punishment. I also told you that after the discipline was over I wanted you to stand and face me with your hands by your sides. For now, take off your skirt and panties and face the wall. Do not touch your bottom.”
I did as I was asked despite having the overwhelming desire to massage my smarting rear; skirt unzipped, my hands working better than they might have ten minutes ago, folded, placed on the nearby chair, then my navy panties on top. I stood next to the wall, hands by my sides.
Behind me, I heard my old domme suggest some tea, and noises indicated the idea was accepted. Claudia spoke.
“Phillippa, while we take tea you are to remain against the wall, please.”
Henrietta was summoned to the kitchen to help. They had positioned an old card table there they wanted to use as a tea tray. I didn’t know who was behind me and I didn’t want to turn around. Somehow, I felt quite calm again despite my burning bottom, and didn’t mind at all following the instructions of Mistress Claudia. I could feel my hands too and knew I would be punished again. I hoped there would be enough time for Henrietta to stay and witness it.
‘What am I thinking?’ went through my mind and I realised I was a bit scrambled up with how my brain was working.
After just a couple of minutes, I heard the card table being unfolded and there was a tinkling of cups. Mistress Claudia offered to pour. I heard the sploshing, then Henrietta was asked where she was going for dinner later. She replied that her father wouldn’t tell any of them until they were ready to go as it was a surprise.
“Who else will be there?” she was asked.
“Oh, just my brother and his wife. We’re all meeting at our house and going on. I think it will be somewhere nice,” she volunteered.
It was funny; despite their conversation pointedly ignoring me I knew I was the centre of attention. And it was nice, and made me feel good despite everything else, although I would have given anything to rub my bottom hard and as they nattered on. The desire to rub was really difficult to resist.
My old domme asked Claudia what else she was doing that day.
“Well, I have nothing much else planned, unlike Henrietta. After I have finished dealing with Phillippa, I was just going to go home. As the weather is nice, I might do a bit in the garden.”
At this, Henrietta asked if anyone would like some more tea, but Mistress Claudia intervened.
“Oh yes, I would love some. But I think we should deal with Phillippa’s transgressions next. Perhaps we can prepare some, deal with matters in hand, then have another cup?”
Somehow, it was a relief to hear this.
“I am sure Phillippa can wait another couple of minutes. She was, after all, given clear instruction.”
There was a pause.
“I agree,” said Henrietta.
I thought she was my friend! My old domme asked her if she would like to be in my shoes right then. Shyly, after a delay of a few seconds, Henrietta admitted she might well like it.
At this, however, Mistress Claudia proposed we get on with things, which I presumed meant I was going to be caned again in front of everyone, well, Henrietta and Mrs D, but Claudia excused herself to go upstairs while my old domme said she would get things ready in the kitchen and could Henrietta please fold up the card table.
A few seconds later, I felt an arm come around me and Henrietta whispered in my ear, “They’ve gone, if you need to rub your bottom.”
Instead of that, though, I hugged her and she hugged me back.
“You are so brave going through this,” she said. “You know they are going to cane you again?”
By now, my hands had gone to where they were needed. I was surprised that the ridges on my bottom were quite slight and while I was sore there it was no more than I expected. Still, it was nice to finally try to massage away some of the burning.
“I hope I am not disappointing you,” I said, in a whisper, receiving a smile back.
“Gosh, if only I could tell you what was going through my mind earlier,” she said, very quietly, but with a wicked smile.
I was still massaging away and we were talking in hushed whispers.
“What do you think they’ll do to me?” were my next words to Henrietta.
“Well, Mistress Claudia is very strict, as I know to my cost,” she said, glancing at her watch.
“Oh, how are we for time?” I asked.
“It’s only quarter to two,” she said. “Loads of time.”
“Loads of time for what?” I asked, this time smiling. Well, sort of.
There was some shuffling and clinking in the kitchen. Henrietta scooted back to the chairs while I turned to the wall again. Mrs D came in from the kitchen and announced that she would need to go upstairs herself, but the tea was prepared and just needed the kettle to boil. As soon as she left the room and closed the door, Henrietta returned to my side while I got on with trying to rub away the effects of the cane.
“Please can I ask you a question? Or really, can I ask you about something?” Henrietta said, still quietly.
“Mmm, go on,” I replied.
“You might hate me for asking,” she said.
I looked at her. I told her I wouldn’t. She leaned forwards and whispered in my ear.
“Look, I know it’s a bit cheeky and a bit out of order, and I know you’ll say no, but I would love to give you two or three strokes of the cane myself. Oh please don’t be offended by me asking.”
“I’m not offended,” I said. “But if we get caught I’ll get thrashed again, and so will you.”
There was a break for a few seconds. Henrietta pursed her lips and seemed to spend a few moments in thought before going on.
“Look, I’ll take the chance if you will, and I’ll owe you one as well,” she said.
I could see she was quite worked up.
“OK,” I agreed, and the look of sheer pleasure that came over her face was amazing. “But please could you use one of Mistress D’s canes. They are in the sideboard, wherever it is now.”
She quickly moved away to the front room before returning with the dark cane I had got used to.
“Never done this before,” she said, swishing it through the air.
I tucked the pillow under my tummy and pulled my shirt back, although it wasn’t really long enough to even reach the target area.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
I told her that I was, but asked if she was proposing two or three, and said that she had better get on with it. Three strokes was the reply.
I said, “OK,” again, but I wasn’t very pleased with myself now for agreeing.
Her strokes were certainly hard enough, stinging wickedly, as they were meant to, of course, despite me having been well warmed-up. After I had received them, I gave my compliments to Henrietta and, holding my bottom, told her she had administered them very effectively.
I continued trying to knead away the sting and received a hug and a whispered, “Oh, thank you, thank you,” from my gracious friend, who quickly took the cane back to the front room.
At hearing voices from upstairs, Henrietta went off into the kitchen. I returned to face the wall, feeling the fresh cane strokes burning really strongly as everyone reassembled. Mistress D’s canes were more effective I decided.
“Right, Phillippa, turn and face me please,” was the abrupt instruction while my old domme and a very flushed-looking Henrietta were taking their seats.
“Firstly, for taking an unauthorised time-out during the punishment, one more stroke on each hand and two more on your bottom. For failing to carry out my instructions that at the end of your punishment you were to rise up, stand still and leave your hands by your sides until I instructed otherwise, a further two strokes on your bottom.”
She picked up her cane and indicated I was to raise my left hand. I had never been caned on my hands until maybe half an hour ago, and somehow having to watch the proceedings, to see the cane coming and be able to do nothing about it, was a difficult new experience. I did as I was bidden and, after the stroke, I was able to quickly put it back in place despite the smarting. I heard quite a loud gurgle from in front of me but was focussed only on the middle distance; the wall. I raised my right hand when ordered. Another severe stroke. I saw the cane coming, heard it hiss through the air, felt the impact as it lashed down, and felt the searing surge of pain, but was able to put my hand back into position as requested, before being told to put it down.
“Now, I want you to bend back over the table, please. I will give you the four extra strokes of the cane. When I have finished, I will ask you to rise. You are to follow the previous instructions and stand with your hands by your sides. Once I have dismissed you, you will stand against the wall with your hands still by your sides. We will have tea at that point. In view of your behaviour, while we are taking our tea, I will ask my friends here if they wish to add to your punishment.”
My heart sank, but I did as I was told. I bent over the table, still naked from the waist down, bottom certainly sore, but hands sort of OK. The same pillow supported my tummy against the edge. Not only four strokes to come, but my old domme and Henrietta had just been invited to add to them. I knew they would. While I wasn’t looking forward to what was about to happen, bizarrely I accepted it as part of my punishment, and I knew I had sometimes taken at least as much from my old domme. Also, although it was of little consolation, it was my own fault.
These four strokes were administered as well as the earlier ones, my bottom suffering more and the intensity of these increased the smarting, or at least restored it to the previous level. Yet still the devil in me made me feel pleased that my old domme was getting what I felt she wanted. I could tell by her tone of voice she was enjoying herself and it went without saying Henrietta was.
While the circumstances were unusual, to say the least, I was also the centre of attention and, somehow in my mind, the trade-off between being punished like this while at the same time being the star of the show was a lovely sort of compensation. I stood against the wall as ordered, bottom burning away, my hands sore as well, resting against my thighs. The others were soon talking about other things, but I was the central attraction and it was, in my mind, an absolutely fair trade off.
Someone moved, and I heard the kettle switched on. I really did want to give my bottom a good hard rub, but standing against the wall like this was quite a new experience for me and not unpleasant. There must have been a full minute of silence until whoever had gone to the kitchen had returned. Mistress Claudia now spoke.
“I think that matters went quite well, but Phillippa did commit some indiscretions. I am not sure we have fully compensated for these. Ladies, I would like to hear your views and perhaps proposals for further discipline before we ask Phillippa for her own thoughts.”
I was unaware that I was also to be allowed a view on my own punishment. I thought I was just the star of the show. Someone moved and I heard the splashing of water, then footsteps, then the tinkling of cups.
“Phillippa, could you please dress and come and join us for tea?”
I did manage a good hard kneading of my bottom as I pulled on my knickers, and my skirt at least sort of disguised where my hands were for a few seconds. I did ask for a glass of water as I approached the table and, to my surprise, Mistress Claudia, who was actually nearest the kitchen, got up to get me one. I waited until she returned before I sat down and, in an exhibition of pure bravado, not one muscle in my face twitched, not one. No wincing at all.
Henrietta poured the tea. My old domme was absolutely beaming at me. Somehow, when someone you really like smiles at you, it is completely impossible not to smile back. Despite my hot bottom, I was easily able to give her the same in exchange. It was in fact Mrs D who spoke first.
“Well, Phillippa, you have had a discipline session with someone else. I have to say, I was impressed, but I do think Mistress Claudia has let you off quite lightly. I will be interested to hear the other views.”
I was slightly taken aback, but from her point of view, if she was enjoying herself, why not try to prolong the event a little. Henrietta spoke next.
“I agree. I would like to see Phillippa take six further strokes of the cane. After all, I took a good swishing on Sunday; eighteen strokes on my bottom alone, and some penalties afterwards.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” said Mistress Claudia.
I drank half the glass of water and decided not to speak immediately, but let them wait. After I put the glass down, I raised my teacup and carefully took several sips. It was hot, but welcoming. So was the silence! It was Mistress Claudia who spoke.
“Well, Phillippa, what is your view?” she asked in a level tone of voice. “Do you think you deserve more?”
In some ways I wanted to say ‘no’, but I was, for the moment, in the after–punishment phase and, while sore, I didn’t feel too bad.
“I will accept the majority verdict,” I said, looking at everyone.
The faces showed smiley pleasure at my answer. Not broad smiles, but enough.
“However, I have a request, if I may. I would like to have applied to me one of my old Mistress’s canes, the longer dark one, and for Henrietta here to cane me. I hope this is reasonable?” I had thought at first about expressing admiration for Miss Goody Gumdrops for taking what sounded like a severe spanking the Sunday before, but in the end ignored it.
The sharp intake of breath to my right indicated that the request had found favour with Henrietta, and my old domme piped up with, “Oh, what a clever suggestion.”
I looked to Mistress Claudia, who just nodded.
“Yes, but Henrietta is very inexperienced so I will add two further strokes. We will start once we have finished our tea. English tradition.”
I did get the impression she was none too pleased, but didn’t say anything else. It was my old domme who gave the idea her blessing, although it made the already flush-faced Henrietta go ever redder, but she still managed to smile.
“Happy and honoured to be asked,” Henrietta said. “And willing to carry out the task as well as I can.”
We had just about finished our tea by now, so my old domme took the cups away then returned to ask Henrietta to come with her to the front room. Henrietta innocently playing along by pretending to have no knowledge of where the old sideboard was. A few seconds later, they re-emerged, my new friend triumphantly brandishing the cane she had very effectively used on me about twenty minutes earlier. Clearly, she was very eagerly relishing this invitation to apply the cane to my bottom, this time officially.
Mistress Claudia did manage a smile while they were gone. The chairs were slightly moved and we were all set.
The mistresses sat together and Claudia spoke up. “I have decided that the additional two strokes I have spoken of will not be administered as long as Henrietta’s six strokes are given properly. So it is up to you to cane firmly, and Phillippa to maintain position and decorum. Phillippa, please raise your skirt and take your panties down to your knees, that state we started in, and bend back over the table. You must hold this position, otherwise there will be additional strokes.”
I was about to do as I was told when Henrietta asked if she could take some of her clothes off to give her a freer swing. I already had my knickers at half-mast. However, before I bent over, I watched Henrietta remove her blouse and then took off her trousers and bootees. Well, it was a really warm day. Hugging the pillow to my tummy, I bent over, then pushed a hand back to make sure my skirt was out of the way.
I knew that my former mistress’s slim and dark cane was surprisingly heavy and very springy and did pack a really major sting, no two ways about it, and Henrietta wasn’t holding back. My bottom felt it was being attacked by hornets, and although I was able to stay in position, I actually glanced back a couple of times and watched my assailant in action. It required some effort! However, after I had felt all six hot, very sharply stinging and very swishy strokes, I was told to rise up by Mistress Claudia. As I did so, Henrietta gave me a nice hug and thanked me for being a good sport.
The nicest comment was from my old dome, though. Simply, “Thank you, girls. Thank you. That was lovely.” She gave a chuckle as well, before adding, “She did move around a bit too much, I think. So, could you give her another stroke, please Henrietta?”
I lifted my skirt up and settled back into position while Henrietta did the deed with another absolute scorcher.
Claudia clucked a bit, but we were done. I pulled my pants up over my new cane stripes, while indulging in a bit of a rub. Henrietta was actually a picture stood there in her undies, cane in one hand, huge smile on her face. My old domme was smiling too, then we seemed to go into a group hug which Claudia joined in. I had to divert my hands from my bottom, but it was worth it.
There was talk of tea, but I needed the bathroom and had fifteen minutes to myself before Henrietta asked for a turn. The flannel was doused in cold water and pressed liberally onto my rear to cool it down, followed by some moisturiser. I’d had a few tears but nothing like a full flow. It had clouded over outside, but I thought I could get away with just a few dabs of make-up to get me back to the hotel. Another compress of my bottom with cold water, and a final rub with moisturiser, and I was fit for travel. I handed over the bathroom to my partner in crime.
I changed downstairs, carefully folding up my school clothes. I had enjoyed wearing them, I really had. I took my tea standing up. By now it was gone 3.00 and I knew Henrietta was due to leave then, but we stood around chatting and sipping.
The goodbyes were respectful, genuine and quite emotional. We all had tears in our eyes; it had been a tremendous afternoon. I had enjoyed myself a great deal, despite the painful discipline, which was, after all, what I had really come for. My old domme became insistent we meet again soon.
“Just for tea. We won’t invite Claudia,” she said, and we all laughed.
We had to part company. Henrietta needed to take a cab to Islington and very generously offered to take me back to my hotel en route, then absolutely insisted she paid.
“That was one of the best afternoons of my life,” she said as the cab door closed and we set off. “I cannot believe what we have just been doing. Thank you. It was just fabulous. Unforgettable.”
I said I felt the same. It was easy to agree to stay in touch. We shared a hug as we reached my hotel. I got out and felt like I was floating on air. It must have been raining, but I didn’t notice it.
What a fabulous day. Yes, this time my hands were sore as well as my bottom, but it was all at my request and I knew everyone else had enjoyed themselves greatly. What was it Henrietta had said? Fabulous and unforgettable. Sessions were always unforgettable, but this one had been the best.
© PW 2022