February 3rd, 2015
A holiday in a far off clime turns sour, but…
By Old Tom and Susan Thomas
He whipped the cane through the air and the sound electrified me. The swish sent me into a strange place where I imagined bending over, my skirt pulled tightly against my bottom. The cane would swish venomously and now hit my bottom. I tried to imagine how it would feel.
I shook my head and found he was looking intently at my face, a sardonic smile on his.
“Would you like to try receiving a few? You could bend over that chair. A few strokes to find out what it feels like?”
December 20th, 2013
(A sequel to Incomplete)
Old Tom and Susan Thomas
Alice was in the Upper Sixth and also Senior Prefect at The Rectory School for Girls. She had been a prefect last year when Melissa was Head Girl and really worshipped her, hoped to copy her and be Head Girl. It was not to be; there were three outstanding candidates and Miss Anderton had difficulty in making a decision. In the end she went on their corporal punishment record. Miss Anderton decided the one with the fewest entries was to be Head Girl, the next was deputy Head Girl, and Alice ended third, Senior Prefect. The three musketeers, as they were often called. Not that she minded much for she was proud of her post and worked very hard at it.
November 12th, 2012
An interesting plot brings a whole new meaning to fund raising
By Old Tom
Mary was a woman to be envied; she was a slim attractive thirty two; she had two beautiful children, a boy of six and a girl of five; her handsome husband had an excellent job and she didn’t need to work and didn’t want to; she developed her hobbies of cooking, jam making and craft; she kept a close eye on his mother who was not in the best of health; was there to collect her children and help with the PTA; and not least enjoyed an extremely active and imaginative sex life with her husband.
October 31st, 2012
How to deal with a daughter who thinks she’s grown up. A short story.
By Old Tom
They stood, tense, glaring at each other. He, white faced with the effort of restraint. She, red faced with the righteous anger of youth.
“I was right!” She shouted.
“Of course you were.” He was cold and vehement. “That is not the point. They are my friends, my club; all good men who have served this community for decades with unselfish devotion. You are barely starting out in life. You had no business being so bloody rude to them. You embarrassed and shamed me. Now I am not discussing this anymore. You had your say and I don’t want to talk to you. I am picking your mum up so go do whatever you were going to do. I’ll say this; you’ve picked up some really bad habits while you were away.”
October 31st, 2012
A girl fantasises
by Old Tom
She’d always found spanking exciting; in the primary school playground, playing ‘schools’ or ‘mothers and fathers’ it was exciting. Later at secondary when an American girl introduced ‘birthday spankings’ she felt tingly at the thought; later still when a boyfriend gave her a few quick smacks to her bottom she felt tingly in all sorts of places.
Spanking was a real turn on for her, sadly, mainly fantasy. Fantasy in spades – barrows full, lorry loads – a menu of fantasies that she selected nightly for her entertainment. Nightly? No, sometimes in the day too – lost in her own world.
October 27th, 2012
A school caretaker has some strange duties. Inspired by a still and a synopsis from a spanking film.
By Old Tom
He had lost his job; a serious matter in 1930 with unemployment so very high. So he had fought in the Great War; so what, millions of others had too. He didn’t really have a trade although he’d worked for a small building company since the war ended. It was a little bit of this and a little bit of that, all of it good but no time served apprenticeship. His company had gone broke in the depression and now he had put his boots on and tramped uselessly from one job queue to another.
October 26th, 2012
A head girl questions her headmistress
By Old Tom (a new writer to us)
Right on time, a knock at the door; Miss Anderton, headmistress of The Rectory School for Girls, called for entry.
Melissa, Head Girl, neat as always in her attractive pinky red blazer, white blouse, pleated grey skirt, perfect black tights and plain black shoes. Other schools were allowing sixth formers to make their own choice of clothes and not wear uniform but not The Rectory; standards were to be maintained.
“Melissa, do come in. I just wanted to go over your speech for Prize Giving this week.”
It was of course perfection, as you would expect from a girl with an Oxford scholarship. Everything Melissa did was perfection, but she was no arrogant little madam, not so: Modest, kind and generous natured; a little serious maybe but an outstanding head girl.