After the events in ‘Visiting my Domme for the Cane’, our heroine takes the next step.
I have written before about visiting a domme, and after a couple of times with her I began to feel more relaxed in her presence. I was aware she had a considerable clientele but she always had time for me; everything together was relaxed and unhurried and when I was with her she made me feel quite special, the centre of attention, despite the actual situation being something that was perhaps not quite run of the mill!
But at the end of my third visit the smoothness was interrupted. It was a Friday, chosen so that I could use the weekend as recovery time, but heavy traffic had meant I was late and although I called ahead to let Mistress know I was in a tailback from some roadworks, I was still late. It wasn’t really my fault, I had allowed an extra thirty minutes but the delay was over an hour. Mistress was still polite, of course, but once changed I had to listen to an icy lecture about being better prepared, at the end of which I was invited to bend over the desk and take my panties down so that I could be reminded to be more punctual in future. Three sizzling strokes of the cane left me in no doubt I was in the doghouse and as we went on to the uniform inspection, and later on the tests, I was repeatedly caned for other failings and ended up with a hot and sore bottom by the time my session came to an end.
Mistress did tell me quite early during the lecture she had another client due later but didn’t mention it again and I had actually forgotten as I retired to the bathroom for my usual round of cold flannel, cold cream, moisturiser and some cleanser and a few bits of make-up repairs. Thence I went to the office and said goodbye and I was accompanied to the door where we pecked cheeks and I said, “Thank you,” again before setting off down the drive. It was cold out and my breath hung in the air. The days were shortening quickly now; next week it would be October, with autumn properly set in.
As the heavy oak door closed gently behind me, I was aware that I should perhaps have made another trip to the loo. I ignored it for a few seconds but as I unlocked my car I remembered the journey up and the delay. I wasn’t confident that my bladder could cope with an extra hour in a tailback on the return leg so headed back to the house and rang the bell.
Mistress answered it. I quickly explained the situation and she asked me in, saying as she was about to go to the upstairs bathroom herself she would leave the front door unlocked for now but she asked me to unlatch the Yale again on the way out and make sure the door was actually closed properly before I left. It was easy to agree and I said I would only be a couple of minutes anyway.
I had just come out of the bathroom when the doorbell rang loudly. It made me freeze to the spot. I could hardly shout upstairs, but following moments of indecision there was then a firm tap on the door, quite loud. Why was this person tapping instead of using the bell again, and where was Mistress? Was it just a neighbour? Hardly had these thoughts formed in my mind than the handle turned and the door opened.
“Hello Miss,” said the bright female voice, apparently mistaking me for the house’s owner in the partly lit hallway.
My body and mind now went from frozen to solid ice. I instantly recognised a woman of about my own age I had been in a business meeting with just a couple of days earlier. It was clear she recognised me too. I had to swallow really hard before saying, “I was just going,” and we both tried, and failed, to smile, but the signal of mutual recognition was clear.
‘What are you doing here?’ we were mentally saying to each other.
I noticed she too was carrying a sports bag. Just then I heard the upstairs bathroom door open and Mistress shouted down, “Hello, is that you Sarah?” and I heard her footfall at the top of the stairs. I just put my hands up and slipped quietly out of the door, remembering at least to latch it.
With my face flushing madly and probably as red as my bottom I drove home. Once there, I took a bottle of white wine from the fridge, opened it and poured a large glass before taking it into the bathroom with me, for cold cream and reflection. Once I had done some more basic treatment and made my bottom a bit cooler I went into the kitchen and retrieved her business card from my handbag. Sarah Palmer M.A. She was a purchasing manager, I had remembered that anyway. I expected by now she might be returning to wherever she lived and would shortly be looking at my business card while I was looking at hers. What on earth could I do about it? At least I could rest easy that my terrible secret would not be exposed; she had as much to lose as I did. The problem was we were likely to cross our working paths again in the future, and that could be as soon as the end of the month. By the third glass of wine I sensed I had alcohol replacing endorphins and went to bed. I needed to do something tomorrow. But I needed to sleep first.
The day after visiting my Mistress, my domme, I always blanked out and spent on my own. In the week, I would have arranged to work from home; at the weekend it didn’t matter. I did sleep quite well considering, but next morning after showering and applying more cold cream and moisturiser to my well caned bottom I knew I needed to make plans for speaking or otherwise getting in touch with Sarah. This wasn’t something we could pretend never happened, nor could we laugh it off.
I was beaten to it when Headmistress phoned unexpectedly, just after I emerged from the bathroom.
“I understand that your path crossed that of another client last night,” she began, in a fairly strict voice. “While she was early and perhaps should not have walked into the house as she did, it came out straight away that she recognised you, and perhaps if you had been on time this would not have happened.” She paused for a few seconds, tutted slightly, then continued after taking in a slow breath. “What is done is done though. As I understand it, you have a regular business relationship through work, so I suggest you call her and have a few words if she has not called you already. She seemed amenable to this course of action last night and she did say I could give you her number if you don’t already have it. But one of you has to act, otherwise you will have this hanging over you for a long time.”
They had clearly talked last night, but she was right. I decided straight away to text Sarah. I didn’t remember seeing any rings on her fingers but she still might have a partner, or even be living at home with her parents, so I didn’t want to call blind. I was still a bit nervous but composed the following: “Hi. Yes it was me last night! Same reason I think. Would like to talk to you when you are free? I am OK to talk all day. Pippy xx,” and decided a strong cup of coffee was called for.
My bottom was still quite tender, so I first went to put on another dab of cold cream, thinking that I’d not get an immediate reply. Wrong. I heard the bip-bip-bip-bip while I was in mid-smear, so I hurriedly cleaned my hands, pulled on my baggy T shirt and picked up my phone and scanned the incoming text. “Yes, I think so! Free all day like you. Feel embarrassed also!!! Let’s discuss. Sarah xx.”
It was time to talk.
First things first, so I made the coffee then dialled the number. I had the same breathless, fluttery feeling that I always got on ‘domme-day’ but it just had to be done. A few seconds later Sarah answered, “hello?” and I think for the next ten minutes or so I actually have little recollection of what was said but it amounted to a pair of very nervous women trying to explain and justify why they were at that particular house, nervously interspersed with a lot more forced, nervous giggling and nervous laughter. At times, I was shaking and I could hear Sarah’s voice breaking slightly too. I managed a couple of sips of coffee but gave up as it was more likely I would spill it.
We were both there for the same kind of reason and had a similar background, although she had started visiting a full year before me. She, too, was single and said that her going there was an attempt to energise her life and give herself what she called ‘a motivational shock’ from time to time. I told her my story, which was similar. She worked about twenty miles away, the same distance as Mistress was from me, but in another direction. However, while I tended to have to travel a lot with my work, Sarah worked only in one place. Needless to say, we both had our men-and-dating-site disaster stories and actual quite a lot in common. We agreed to meet mid way for Sunday lunch and, as the call ended, I felt myself saying to myself, ‘Thank God for that, she’s actually as sane as I am,’ which made me smile. Me? Sane? Really? After what I sometimes got up to? Never!
Sarah was petite, slightly shorter than me, with dark hair and blue eyes. She was also nicely spoken and actually very easy company although we were both terribly nervous with each other, for obvious reasons. The ice was broken, however, and we did have quite a nice lunch, all things considered! We agreed to meet again the following weekend, which happened, and we were able to laugh a bit about our eccentricity and talk more openly and deeply about ourselves. She had a flat but sub-let the spare bedroom to a University PhD student who spent a lot of her time away on fieldwork, so we both virtually lived alone. I liked her stability, she said she envied me travelling about but when I described some of the late trains, the unwanted approaches from men on said trains, especially the boozed up ones who had ‘had a couple’ at the station beforehand or indeed on the train itself, the traffic tailbacks and so on. We had a laugh about my last visit when a traffic tailback had caused additional warming of my tail. Anyway, we concluded that the ‘grass was always greener’ and conversation returned to the prime topic, our Mistress and all that was to do with her, and of course spanking and how we had both really stumbled into it.
She told me that her session had been slightly disrupted because Mistress was annoyed that client confidentiality had been compromised. I told her that her ire was quite clear in her tone of voice when she called me the next day! I was able to say that my own session hadn’t gone according to plan either as, because of my turning up late, I received an extra impromptu spanking. Sarah was quite amused by this but when I mentioned in my little story about getting changed Sarah’s eyes widened and she gave me a puzzled look but went on to describe her own visit timetable, which was basically a short discussion with Headmistress, undress and present herself for twelve strokes of the cane, which she described as stinging like fire, a sensation I knew myself all too well!
She asked again about what I did on my own visits and was especially taken with me getting changed into school type clothes saying, “How wonderful, what a great idea! I’d just never ever thought of that,” and later, quizzically, “You must be there for quite a while then?” As I told her about uniform inspection and tests, I could almost see her mind working. She herself carried change clothes in her bag but explained she went there straight from work and changed from work clothes to casuals after her spanking was over.
We talked about our spanking adventures for at least an hour. I began to get a sixth sense as to where all this was going; there was some tension in the conversation and one of us had to ask the question that was clearly brewing in both of our minds, so with a deep breath I said: “Would you like to come with me the next time I go?”
My voice slightly croaked as I spoke, giving away my nerves, but I was delighted to see the answer in Sarah’s eyes before she was even able to speak.
“Oh yes!! Yes, gosh, I’d love to!!” she almost purred, and then burbled delightedly, wearing a huge grin, for several more seconds. “Are you sure?” she asked again.
My own blood pressure surged as she spoke and my smile must have been at least as broad. I couldn’t contain it! I just nodded, then we toasted one another and, after a few more seconds, and another sip of wine, Sarah conspiratorially leaned slowly forward and whispered, “Where do you get your school clothes from then?”
She offered to call Mistress and make a booking for us both to undergo the sort of session that I normally had. We preferred a Friday, of course, but then as we chatted on she laughed and said it might not be possible for her to keep up with me, but we decided just to play it by ear. We parted in great spirits and I knew she would be on the phone at the first opportunity she got.
A correct guess! She called in her lunch hour on the Monday, just the tenth day after we had met, and made a booking for Friday week, telling me immediately. However, we couldn’t linger on the phone with this sort of subject as my desk was in an open plan area. We agreed to speak again in the evening and talked then for over an hour, babbling like two overexcited children, and from then on, for both of us, it was counting the days down to what we light heartedly called ‘judgement day’. We both normally visited Mistress at about three monthly intervals; this time it would only be three weeks since we last had sessions but the idea of receiving discipline together was an incredibly powerful and exciting prospect for both of us and we openly admitted to one another how much we were looking forward to it.
For various reasons, we were not able to meet on the intervening weekend but time ticked away regardless and we spoke regularly right up until the evening before, where I was quietly informed that a sort of school uniform had been obtained and Sarah was really looking forward to putting it on in earnest. She added that she thought it would help build the tension for the occasion and then said she loved dressing up anyway and that she was still surprised at herself for missing something so obvious. Her starting point in the world of formal discipline had been the same as mine; adult school, where she had to dress the part, but just hadn’t continued, and in fact admitted she had given some of the items to a charity shop just in case her lodger had noticed them. We decided to meet outside beforehand and I promised, several times, to give myself extra time for the journey. I was really looking forward to this day and was determined not to mess it up.
I packed the night before and on the Friday morning was up and showered early. I had no idea what to expect, but then that just added to the most delightful nervous tension. The butterflies in my tummy were fluttering so much they were threatening to escape; the effect was so strong I was trembling and had trouble applying my eye shadow. I nearly deposited it in both eyes and as for eye liner, I just thought it safer not to at the risk of poking my eyes out, but after a deep breath I managed a little mascara in the right places, not much, but in the end and with the clock ticking on, I decided it was time to go and, anyway, I could always add to it at work, the ladies loos were nicely lit and bright.
I had already booked leave for the afternoon. Although I had my salad lunch with me and was thinking I could discretely nibble at it during the morning, there wasn’t really time and anyway my stomach was regularly churning by now. Quite quickly, however, the morning ended, I said my goodbyes and headed out of the building, got straight into my car and quickly sped away up to the main road. I had an hour to spare today, and as I drove along unhindered I realised I would probably be early.
Still, I thought, I could park outside, or maybe just up the road, and spy on anyone else who might be coming out as well as putting Sarah’s mind at rest about my ability to be on time! I did indeed have a trouble free journey, although the last few miles were slow and the spare hour had been reduced to about forty minutes as I pulled up a discrete fifty metres or so from the house. No sign of Sarah yet so I called her just to announce I was parked up. She was on hands free and said she was about fifteen minutes away. I considered trying to eat but just couldn’t, the tension and a lot of other emotions were running strong, especially the apprehension and fear, of course!
I glanced about from time to time, but other than a few dog walkers, assorted pedestrians and light traffic the area was quiet. I could see Mistress’s house just ahead but no one came or went. Then a car looking like Sarah’s went past me and parked much nearer to Mistress’s house. I saw her get out and look around so, thinking it might be best if our cars remained apart, I got out, picked up my bag and went over. We shared a passionate hug and confirmed our nervousness to each other before she casually said, “Well, shall we?” and turned towards the short drive up to the house. My heart rate was already high and climbing even more and my mouth was as dry as the Sahara desert.
The knock on the door was answered quickly by Mistress’s housekeeper, a pleasant woman of about fifty. She showed us into the office and said she would get us some tea. Mistress was still upstairs but would be with us shortly. We both got on with laying out our clothes, Sarah being keen to show off her newly acquired kit and having similar to me except she had decided on hold ups instead of socks; ‘the cool sixth former look,’ as she put it. The house was warm and there was nice smell of freshly baked bread. Sarah, quite excited, giggled a repeat of what she had said last night, that, “bringing special clothes to get changed into is great, I wish I had thought of it!” Then the cups of tea appeared and once the door was closed we busied ourselves undressing, slightly shyly.
We were both in trousers from work that came off first, while I was soon sweaterless too. Sarah had a shirt on. I had white knicks which I always changed to dark blue so this was a manoeuvre carried out after I had zipped up my short skirt.
“Oh, you look lovely like that!” exclaimed Sarah, who was still engaged with buttoning up her white shirt.
I sat in my bra and sipped the tea. I was shaking slightly but otherwise fairly calm. I couldn’t vouch for Sarah who spilled some of hers, so I tried to give her an encouraging smile. Then, as I was putting on my socks, Mistress appeared, knocking first, and said her hellos in a polite way. With a firm voice, she complimented us on arriving early. She said she would knock on the door in another five minutes, “please be ready,” and commended the tea to us.
We continued to get changed, I had my socks up to just over my knees and then slipped on some simple flat black shoes, Sarah had more or less the same, apart from the hold up stockings which looked really pretty. She had some black loafers with tassels on which I thought might get her into trouble, but hey-ho, I thought, I knew my socks would! Once dressed I had another sip of tea then Sarah did a little twirl for me, quite energetic, her skirt lifting up to reveal a pair of navy bikini knickers, the same as I had. No, hers were slightly skimpier.
Of course, I had to reciprocate, earning a little clap and “you look gorgeous” after I completed my own double spin! Then, as we were tidying away our ‘day’ clothes, there was a knock on the door and Mistress entered. She was stern faced, not unduly so, but announced it was time to start on the purpose of our visit; to face, accept and receive corporal punishment. As I returned Mistress’s look, I felt my knees go weak and my breath caught in my throat the way it always did. After her initial announcement, she looked slowly from one of us to the other and the silence deepened and went on deepening while we both waited for her to speak again. The tension built very quickly as we waited for her pronouncement.
“Philippa, Sarah, you met here accidentally a few weeks back. As a result you are here today, together, and wish to undergo discipline together. Sarah, when you called you said you would like to have the kind of session that Philippa has when she is here. I agreed we could do this, so what we will happen today is a uniform inspection in this office, followed by two tests in the schoolroom next door. These will be marked and discipline carried out accordingly. Is this all clear?”
We mumbled our agreement.
“Very well. Firstly, however, I wish to deal with the breach of confidence that occurred last time. While it has clearly had a fair ending I nevertheless hold you, Philippa, principally responsible for what could have been a difficult situation for all of us. I am therefore going to give you four strokes of the senior schoolgirl cane. Sarah, you should not have come into the house as you did. You should have waited for me to answer the door. For this I will give you two strokes of the same cane. It is lying on the horse next door. Philippa, you will recognise it as it is one you are well acquainted with. Go through and bring it here to me.”
My pulse shot up as I nodded, looked quickly at Sarah who was in the midst of taking a deep breath, and took the few steps to the room next door. There it was on the horse, the deeply stinging senior schoolgirl cane, a friend I recognised from previous encounters. I wondered if it felt the same about me as I retraced my steps.
I handed it over. Mistress looked at me for a few seconds. She had an absolutely tremendous talent for building terrifying levels of fear and apprehension by using silence. Finally she spoke.
“Bend right over the desk. Raise your skirt and lower your panties to your knees. Sarah, go and stand by the door with your hands by your sides.”
I eased my knickers down. The instruction to lower them to my knees was new, but I hardly took it in. Sarah was going to be treated to watching me be caned. What was she thinking? Somehow all these thoughts were a long way in the background. I was about to be punished and I was shaking slightly as I lowered myself onto the desk, tummy against the top, bare bottom waiting for the cane to start its work.
Mistress tapped her rod against my inner thighs and told me to move my legs slightly apart. Then she pushed my back down slightly. I felt the cane press against my bottom. I knew by now the first stroke was always the worst. I waited, my eyes closed tightly. Then, without any further warning, the first stinging cut was delivered. The immediate pain shot though me like a bolt of lightning and I heard Sarah behind me cry out loud. The pain was still surging through me as a press of the cane against my bottom warned me of the imminence of the second stroke. I was tensing up my bottom to try to absorb the ferocious sting from the first, but Mistress told me to be still, then delivered the second.
There is nothing you can do to prepare for a stroke of the cane, delivered with power and skill from an accomplished domme using a rod designed purely for meting out serious punishment. I had felt Mistress’s canes as they had disciplined me many times before, devilish instruments perfectly designed to deliver a fiery sting to a girl’s bottom. This second cut was just as painful, just as breathtaking. I heard Sarah’s gurgled cry again and I felt my whole body tense up as the pain flooded though me, yet even as I was desperately trying to absorb what was happening I felt the intimidating press against my bottom as Mistress lined up the third stroke, delivering it a few seconds later with her usual force which she knew would unleash a fresh torrent of blazing hurt for me to try to absorb, but also to show us that this was why we came here; to enjoy the quite incredible emotional experience that went with the pain and discomfort of corporal punishment, something that while it was being inflicted was beastly and incredibly painful, shocking even, but as an experience gave me fantastic raging emotions beforehand yet made me feel empowered, strong and brave once it was over.
I received the last stroke and as I moved from foot to foot and sucked in air, trying to take this next burst of pain, I heard Mistress tell me to stand up and rearrange my clothes. I quickly put my hands to my bottom for a few seconds, feeling the heat and ridges before being reprimanded and told again to dress, under threat of further strokes. This time I did so and I heard Sarah being told to stand next to me.
“Well done you,” she said, kindly supporting me after what had just happened, but she was stilled by a piercing glare from Mistress, sensed by me rather than seen, but the desk was tapped and Sarah stepped silently forward, slipping her own panties down as she bravely positioned herself for her own caning.
Two hot strokes later, two loud gasps from the recipient and two rapidly darkening red welts visible on her bottom, Sarah was told to stand and, once she had rearrange her clothes, I was ordered to come forward and stand next to her.
There was to be no respite and no chance to rub our hot bottoms. “Now ladies, I wish to inspect your uniforms. As I told you, Sarah, this is what I expect on schooldays here. Stand straight, hands by your sides.”
This required a lot of effort from me. I managed to do as I was told, despite the almost overwhelming desire to try to rub away some of the great smart I was feeling on my bottom. The inspection started with Sarah, who seemed to be Miss Goody-Two-Shoes so far. No! Her skirt was condemned as being too short. And her shoes had not been freshly polished! Then Mistress commented on the tassels. She was let off with these offences, though. Next she was asked to show her knickers, despite Mistress having seen them about a minute earlier! They passed muster but her hold ups were said to be too light in colour. Well, maybe allowable this time. Then she held her hands out and Miss said the backs had not been washed, but let her off again. So just two strokes for uniform faults.
I had removed my ear studs and hadn’t put on any nail varnish that morning. Some make up was allowed, Mistress knew I had to come straight from work so that was OK. She looked at my skirt several times but it was within limits. Just. However my favourite socks had satin bows at the knee and this always earned me two strokes, a penalty that beforehand I always thought worth accepting but when coming face to face with two more stinging, fiery strokes of the cane was a misdemeanour I kept promising myself I would avoid in future!
Mistress looked at Sarah and said, “Two strokes of the cane each for uniform faults. You will be first this time. Phillippa, go and stand by the door where Sarah was. Hands by your sides. Sarah, panties down to your knees and lift your skirt right up. Over the desk please, tummy on the top.”
I withdrew the two paces to the door and turned to watch as Sarah fumbled a bit, her panties falling to the floor which made Mistress cluck and hiss, “To your knees, I said!”
I put my hands on my bottom for a discrete rub to try to reduce the smarting while Sarah bent forward to present herself for this second administration of the cane. This was an incredibly captivating scene before me. I had never seen anyone caned before today, and this was my friend Sarah. She had a lovely bottom, pale, and she looked so innocent and sweet yet had two bright red lines showing very clearly where the cane had already made its mark.
Just then Mistress looked up unexpectedly. Oh no!
“Hands!” she snapped. “I told you to put your hands by your sides. What do you think you are doing?”
I instantly put my hands where they were supposed to be, but it was too late.
“Sarah, stand and pull your panties up, then change places with Phillippa.”
She looked hard at me. My heart sank and my stomach churned as I brushed past my friend. I knew what was coming. “Two strokes for disobedience. Take your panties down and lift your skirt up. You should know better.”
My silliness had given Sarah a temporary reprieve. I arranged my clothes as ordered and quickly lowered myself onto the top of the desk. Miss wasted little time and landed the first hard, painfully stinging stroke almost as soon as I had settled. Quite apart from the flash of fiery hurt, the impact nearly knocked the breath out of me and I cried out, not a scream but a sharp gasp; I had to breathe hard to try to accommodate the wave of hurt. Then I felt the tap as Mistress lined up my second. I waited, unable to breathe, for the cane to complete this extra sanction. Whack! It came down hard and the impact was quite electrifying, making me exhale through gritted teeth again and tense up against the awful, penetrating surge of heat the cane’s impact had caused. I had tears in my eyes.
“Stand up, adjust your clothes. Change places with Sarah. This time put your hands by your sides as I told you. Any more infractions and it will be 6 strokes. Is that clear?”
I mumbled my agreement and an apology as I pulled my panties up over the new smarting stripes that had just been applied to my bottom, adding to the previous four. I went and stood in the corner by the door and tried to blink away my tears as I watched Sarah prepare herself again for her own second caning. Despite my acute discomfort, the scene in front of me was simply gripping. Mistress measured the cane and then swished it down against Sarah’s bottom. I heard it slice through the air, heard the ‘thwick’ as it landed and saw my friend jerk and gasp hard as the wicked rod inflicted its very unique and sensational fireburst on another perfectly presented bottom. I was mesmerised as I saw another clear red line develop where the punishment rod had landed, then as it was tapped again I could not help myself shiver. So this was what being caned looked like! I was surprised at how little effort Mistress seemed to be making, the cane didn’t seem to come down with as much force as I thought.
Then the second stroke was delivered, causing Sarah to tense up again; she almost put her hand back on her bottom. There was a cry, a sharp gasp; not much, but I sympathised, knowing what it was like. After all, it could only have been a minute ago that I was in that position, skirt up, bent over, with that very same cane applying red lines to my own bottom. I knew how my friend felt all right!
Mistress told her to rise and adjust her clothes. I saw Sarah had tears in her eyes like I had. It was hardly surprising. The senior schoolgirl cane had exceptional bite and each stroke carried a harsh sting. As I knew I was about to endure, again, as we changed places so I could be reminded that appearing incorrectly dressed would lead to a short but very sharp lesson. I took down my panties and the two strokes were duly applied to increase the throbbing I could feel back there.
We were told to go through to the schoolroom next door, us in the lead, Mistress following us.
“Sit at the front desks, please,” was the command.
We exchanged glances but did as we were told, I was careful to lower myself down gently. Sitting on hot, newly acquired stripes was always a testing experience.
“Right, we will have two tests this afternoon. The senior general knowledge test will come first. We will mark it here. There are twenty questions to be completed in ten minutes. Each wrong answer will mean two strokes of the cane to a maximum of 10 strokes. Then there will be a passage to memorise, with the same penalties for mistakes. This will last twenty minutes. You will receive different papers and passages, obviously. I will leave the room for a few minutes once you start. Do not talk, do not confer.”
She opened a drawer in her desk and lifted out two typewritten sheets, each named, then placed a timer clock on the desk and set it to ten minutes before passing us the papers and saying, “Start now,” before walking out, leaving the door open.
I heard her shoes on the tiles when she reached the kitchen but thought I had better get on, exchanging glances and grimaces with Sarah as I set to work.
I guessed Mistress would be away for at least a few minutes. Probably having a cup of tea! After answering a couple of questions I gave Sarah a sidelong look then quietly stood up to give my bottom a good rub! Gosh I needed it, I was so sore there and looking at the test in front of me there would be more to come! The relief was lovely, though, and I could read and work out answers while standing up so I ploughed on, question after question. Most of them were easy; I exchanged glances with Sarah who pulled a face! I saw the time was ticking away and, with a final squeeze, I sat back down on my burning bottom.
Stoical, Sarah had remained seated. I was lucky, for no more than thirty seconds later Mistress was heard moving and quickly arrived back in the schoolroom. I had completed the paper but had to guess at some of the answers. My friend gave me a look but, as the alarm rang, mistress quickly turned it off and we both almost jumped to attention.
“Stop!” was the call, then we were told to exchange papers. “Sarah you have Philippa’s paper, we will mark it first.”
My heart sank as three wrong answers came up quickly but there was only one incorrect one later. Four wrong was still a stiff order. I was expecting we would mark Sarah’s paper next, but not so. I was ordered to the front as Mistress picked up the senior schoolgirl cane again and tapped the top of the horse.
“Eight strokes. I want to see you pushing your bare bottom right out. Any attempt to stop or move out of the way will mean extra strokes. You know the procedure.”
The next three minutes consisted of bursts of sharp stinging pain and a powerful smarting feeling building up still further as the cane was relentlessly applied to my hindquarters. The strokes caused me to cry out several times and tense up my bottom, my whole lower body, as I attempted to deal with the blistering heat, making my bottom feel like I was sitting on an electric fire. Despite every effort to be brave in front of Sarah, I had tears coming down my cheeks by the time this spanking was over and was literally gasping for air.
I stood up. I so desperately needed to rub my bottom. I looked at Sarah; she had tears in her eyes from watching me get caned. I managed a quick squeeze of my burning rear as I stood next to my desk but Mistress ordered me to sit down. I did so very carefully, with caution.
Mistress stepped towards me and said, “Now we will mark Sarah’s paper. Are you ready?”
I had to blink away more tears as we went through the answers. My bottom was hurting like mad but as we proceeded I realised Sarah’s was shortly going to be as distressed as mine. She had five incorrect answers and I saw her take a deep breath and swallow hard as our eyes met.
In matter of fact tone, she was ordered out to the horse as I had been. She slipped her panties down, lifted her skirt up and bent forward across the leather top. I saw the four clear red lines left from the earlier applications of the cane to her bottom and remembered her telling me she normally took twelve strokes here. Less than I usually did, and my bottom was already very sore.
Just then the first stroke cut perfectly against Sarah’s bottom, causing her to gasp loudly and stiffen up. Mistress lined up the second stroke and calmly delivered it, the venomous sting causing another gasp and sharp intake of breath as my friend struggled with the great onrush of fiery pain as I had done. The scene in front of me was chokingly intense, just like before in the office; I felt as though I was a helpless observer as the third stroke was given, then the fourth, bright red lines coming to life on Sarah’s bottom after each, marking the scorching spot where the cane had just landed. Yet all done with apparently minimal effort from Mistress, who brought the cane down in an arc that made little sound, just a light hiss, followed a sort of thwick as it hit home. The next sounds were made by us as we had to acknowledge the power of the cane as it struck.
My own breathing was tight as I saw Sarah screw up her bottom muscles after each stroke, as I had, and by the fifth she was wriggling intensely. Mistress called her to order by pressing the cane hard against her and firmly holding it there, saying, “Still!”
The next two strokes also brought cries and jerks, and intense muscle contractions and sounds of forced breathing and snuffly tears, but Sarah gamely stayed in position as the eighth and ninth cuts were dispassionately administered, then finally the tenth was whacked home. Sarah cried out again and a little sob followed. Her bottom must have been completely ablaze but she did as she was told and blinked away some tears as she pulled her pants carefully up over her well caned bottom and returned to her seat. That was some swishing.
There was no break. Mistress gave us two scripts to memorise and set the clock to twenty minutes this time. As soon as she disappeared we both stood up and began massaging away the worst of the discomfort while scrambling to remember the passages before us. Mine was about 250 words long and some of the sentences were well written and easy to remember. It was a nice script about a couple walking through a farmyard, through an orchard and into a cornfield. I didn’t ask Sarah about hers. The house was as quiet as a morgue and the kitchen was too close to risk speaking, which we knew would incur the inevitable penalty of extra strokes if Mistress heard.
All too quickly she returned, not quite quickly enough to forestall the alarm clock which went off with a piercing ring.
“Stop now, put the paper down,” she cried. Then quickly, “Turn the papers over ladies, blank side uppermost,” and then I was asked to stand up as Mistress retrieved her duplicate copy from the desk. “Right,” she said, putting her copy onto a book and menacingly holding a pen over her script before looking directly at me again. “Start,” she said.
I saw the pen move at least twice and although I kept going the combination of my uncomfortable bottom, the butterflies in my tummy, nerves, breathlessness and having to swallow really hard meant my delivery was disjointed, but I still only had two mistakes. I was told to sit again and Sarah was told to stand up now and recite her script. She did well; I think it was only a nervous stammer towards the end that caused her be awarded four strokes of the cane, like me; she too only made a couple of mistakes.
“Phillippa, come forward and present yourself over the horse,” was the command. It was a relief to stand, but in the certain knowledge that my bottom was about to be treated to four further strokes from that devilishly stinging cane. I positioned myself as ordered, panties to my knees and my sore rear end presented to receive this next course of punishment. In a new twist though, Sarah was asked to the front to hold my hands.
I was in position and felt her take them. It was lovely and reassuring, and suddenly deeply personal. We squeezed each other’s hands slightly. Then the caning began. Each of the four strokes, delivered more slowly than usual, came with intent and they hurt. Sarah squeezed my hands and whispered, “Well done,” and, “You are so brave,” each time but I couldn’t help crying out after I received each one and had to work hard not to move. I nearly jumped up at the third, the pain was bitingly intense but I managed not to, but only just. It was feeling Sarah’s lovely restraining pull on my wrists that restrained me.
When finally I was given the last cut she pushed her chest against my head in a sort of hug and squeezed my hands tightly in hers, before saying, “Well done,” again. Although the cane blazed like the Dickens, Sarah went on hugging me before I was told to dismount, adjust my clothes and change places while Mistress dealt with Sarah. First though, I was ordered to collect the used scripts and, as I turned back, I noticed my friend’s bottom was crossed with vivid, welted red lines as she took her panties down. It must be really hurting as by now the burning in my own bottom was quite sensational.
I held Sarah’s hands as the cane was applied to her own bare bottom. I whispered as much encouragement as I could and several times she squeezed my own hands and wrists tightly as the cane strokes bit her. She gasped and cried, twisted and turned but managed to deal with the searing agony of her last punishment as the cane was methodically applied to her already well marked and clearly very sore bottom. Then she was told to dismount, pull up her knickers and return to her seat. First, though, we hugged tightly, both of us with tears in our eyes. It had been painful but with a beautifully intimate finale.
“This completes your day, ladies. There will be some tea soon. You both know where the bathroom is, and your clothes are still in the office. Please retrieve them shortly as I will need to use it.”
With that, she called for her maid to make tea for the visitors, while Sarah and I uncoupled and our hands shot onto our bottoms to massage away some of the sting. We both had tears falling. I had taken twenty strokes of the cane, Sarah eighteen, far more than what she said was her normal session. I was hoping she was all right as I tried to soothe my bottom, then after a few moments intense massaging we fell into each other’s arms again in a close and tight hug, a huge outpouring of emotion. For both of us in the next minutes the need to massage away the deep, intense smarting that our canings had left us with was matched by a human need to be consoled and fussed over and we alternated between hugs and massages and clenches. We rubbed away tears and finally went to retrieve our clothes, the tea left for us having cooled down a little.
Sarah went to the bathroom first while I sat back in the schoolroom and reflected. I cried a little, my bottom was really sore but then it always was after a session and I knew it would be two or three days later when I was mostly recovered that the positive emotions began to flow. Already, though, I was feeling pleased with myself. The ordeal was over and I had survived; we had survived, I corrected myself, and I knew the whole experience had been so deeply emotional, almost spiritual, the scenes mesmerising, almost unreal, vividly intense beyond the ability of words to describe. I knew that I would remember every second of what happened today until the day I died. The last part, holding each others’ hands as we were caned, was quite incredible.
My dreaming was interrupted by Sarah emerging from the bathroom, smelling of something nice. I needed the loo, so after another lovely tight clench I took my turn and spent fifteen minutes rubbing and soothing and making myself look as normal as I could. My mascara had run and looked awful. I berated myself for putting it on in the first place. I just hadn’t thought about it, a sign I suppose that I had been quite worked up and not thinking clearly that morning.
“At least it will be dark outside,” I mused, as finally I decided I had taken repairs and cold creams as far as I could.
Sarah was dressed in a sweater, a nice pair of jeans and some brown boots, and stood waiting for me in the schoolroom as Mistress had taken over the office. She looked like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth yet I had watched as she had bared her bottom to the cane over and over again in the previous couple of hours. We hugged again, tightly.
“Are you OK?” she said to me. “Your bottom. Your bottom was terribly red, and marked.” Her voice tailed away and we just hugged tightly for another minute. I could tell she was fighting back tears and this brought me nearly to the same point.
“I’m OK,” I managed to say. “I was worried about you!”
She smiled. “Oh, it hurt. It really hurts. I am very familiar with that cane!” And she paused. “Being caned is what I come here for though!!” she said, suddenly making me feel very warm inside. Then, quietly: “You took it so well, Philippa. I am really proud of you. Just so brave of you, and it really spurred me on. And when you were holding my hands,” her voice tailed off here. “Well, thank you,” she finally said, tears now choking her voice. She pressed my hand in hers. I felt myself blushing but whispered that I had felt the same, as I too felt tears welling up.
We untangled as we heard Mistress cough loudly and I needed to get dressed. I had largely stripped off in the bathroom and was only wearing the minimum needed for decorum; it was a bit chilly standing there bare legged in just a bra and mini skirt and no knickers. The ‘no knickers’ bit I didn’t mind at all, my bottom was still smarting intensely, but my legs were cold and I didn’t have any tights with me. Soon I was dressed, however, and after another intense hug we decided to go and thank Mistress for caning us so well, “Delivering a good swishing to both of us,” as Sarah put it.
Gracious and polite, Mistress said she was glad to have, “Nourished our need,” a nice way of putting it and a hint that she would be glad to be of service again in the future if we ever felt like making another visit. We said our farewells and she came to the door to show us out.
Once outside, Sarah turned to me with a serious expression. “Look,” she said. “I know we both wanted to go off separately tonight, and I know we agreed to, but, well, um,” and she shrugged a little before going on: “Would you like to come back to mine? I’d, well I would like some company.” Her voice was slightly halting. “The spare room’s free and I have plenty of wine in. I could lend you a nightie and things.”
It took only a millisecond for me to answer. I just said, “Yes. Yes, I’d like that. I’d like that very much. I’ll follow you?”
Before we got into the cars we had one more hug. “It hurts so much, but I love it,” she whispered. A few seconds later she added: “I will remember this day forever.”
© PW 2018