Some fetish shows can be a little disappointing – but not this one!

By Joanna Jones

It took me a while to persuade my boyfriend, Dave, that it would be a good laugh to go to London for some Fetish Exhibition there, one that I had seen advertised on the Internet. He was perhaps more ‘vanilla’ in his sexual preferences than me, though he was very happy to cater to my whims with the occasional rope session and indeed putting me over his knee for a mild spanking, and more rarely not so mild a spanking. On one occasion when he really upset me he agreed I could give his arse a bashing with my hairbrush. But while fun for me, it clearly did less for him, unfortunately.

Now it should be said that spankings, both giving or receiving, really turn me on, and there was a bit of me which wanted to really ‘get it’ so to speak. There was a natural reluctance for Dave to go that far, though on two occasions I had been more or less deliberately (well actually, to be honest, very deliberately, though admitting that even to myself is quite difficult) sufficiently ‘bratty’ that he’d put me over his knee, taken my favourite hairbrush and not stopped when I really started to squeal but carried on till I was sobbing apologies in his lap.

While I’d hated it at the time, I certainly remembered both afterwards very fondly, and Dave had been quite careful to build the spanking up on both occasions, despite his irritation. However, the memory was not quite fond enough for me to explicitly ask for it. In general the fairly mild spankings were enough!

Anyway, returning to the exhibition, I eventually persuaded him by saving up for a couple of months, buying the tickets and hotel myself, getting him to stump up for dinner, and a promise I would go to whatever play he wanted to see on the first evening in exchange. I had other plans for the second evening. Those definitely involved staying in the hotel room, and no stupid West End Show was going to get in the way!

We both took the Friday off and spent the afternoon looking at some sights and shops after the train down. The show we went to was a lot more fun than I expected and the weekend was off to a great start.

The fair opened at 11 am, but there was no hurry, so after an enjoyable lie in and a leisurely late breakfast we set off on the Underground. Dave was dressed in his usual casual top and jeans, as was I. However, I had a small rucksack with me, which I said held some water bottles and our raincoats, just in case.

Dave was surprised, given the forecast, but he was not the one carrying it and so shrugged as we set off.

What I did not say was that the photos on the Internet showed many of the attendees in various costumes of various levels of provocation. I also had mine in the rucksack!

Thus when we arrived, I made my excuses to use the ladies and drop off the sack at the cloakroom, telling Dave I’d meet him at the entrance.

I was quite excited as I changed into a short black gym slip style dress with a flared skirt. My black and white (thick horizontal stripes) over the knee socks came to mid thigh. I had also found some matching knickers, which the dress skirt only just covered if I was standing straight! Under the dress I had a short length plain blouse (and plain white bra) and an old school tie which I very loosely knotted. Arranging my hair into bunches I hoped (and think) I looked like something like a girl from St Trinians.

When Dave saw me, well actually when he recognised me might be more appropriate, his jaw dropped. “Not think you went a bit far? I hope you’re wearing some school knickers too!” He asked as he noted some male heads rather leering in my direction.

I put my arm in his and gave him a kiss, as I said that I wanted to get into the swing of the event. Cheekily I gave him a quick flash of my pants too, getting a funny resigned smile and a gentle slap on my rear as he said: “They’ll do, I suppose!”

Once inside I was hardly out of place; there were quite a lot of people who had dressed up, and some of the other girls and even a few guys made my outfit seem positively tame! As for some of the exhibitors, well less said the better!

As well as a large number of exhibitors there was a stage with a number of shows, some rather erotic demonstrations, practical bondage advice et cetera. We (well as it was my day, mainly I) decided which shows we wanted to see and therefore what time for the stalls and for grabbing some food.

I have to say it was quite fun looking around at various things, and then we came across a stall called literally “Six of the Best”. There were some baskets of canes of all sorts of length and thickness and a couple of people sitting around.

It was as we were browsing I heard a girl talk to the guy manning the stall.

“My boy here needs a good whacking.” She said. “Do you have a slot?”

My head snapped round briefly. The “boy” looked about the same age as her, maybe thirty odd, and neither were dressed unusually. However, there seemed to be a nervous excitement in him as his, presumably, girlfriend or partner, discussed his whacking. Trying not to look I confess to eavesdropping as the stall holder and girl discussed the severity of the caning her ‘boy’ was going to get.

Puzzlingly I found myself getting a little flushed as they did so. I suspect the female stall holder guessed what I was doing and asked if she could help. I asked what they were actually selling.

“Canings, though we do strappings, paddlings and slipperings too. The sort of thing a naughty schoolgirl might get!” She replied with a bit of a mischievous smile.

“So you’d better behave today then!” David had come across to see what I was doing, and gave my bottom a playful spank as he said it.

The lady turned to him and handed him a sheet, a kind of application form, and said: “Well, if you need to bring her back this is what you should look to complete!”

I rather shuddered at the thought; while a spanking was fun, I was pretty sure a full-blooded caning would be well beyond my ability to cope with. Meanwhile she politely extricated herself with a final comment of: “Don’t leave it too late though as we can book out fairly early,” to deal with another pair, where it looked as if the ‘boy’ was already psyching himself up for a whacking of some sort.

I noted Dave stuffed the sheet in his pocket. “Some of the milder stuff might be fun for you.” He remarked.

There was lots to see, what with the stalls and the stage where some demos and things were given, and by lunch I was quite intoxicated with the atmosphere despite being of course sober alcohol-wise.

It was just before we went to one of the food stalls that we were passed by a pleading girl and guy who at least appeared irate. As soon as they got to some chairs in front us he sat down still holding the girl, then dragged her jeans down to reveal a very skimpy thong before pulling the squealing young lady over his lap. He then started spanking away. While the girl made a bit of a complaint she did not struggle too much and the security guys seemed not to object.

I was shocked and could barely take my eyes off the sight. David was the one who told me not to be rude and behave myself. However, even then I glanced back as we walked off.

That resulted in Dave briskly lifting my short “gym slip” and applying a couple of short, very sharp slaps to my rear as he reminded me not to pry.

As the mild sting subsided it had perhaps the opposite effect to calming me down. Perhaps I confess I had begun subconsciously to wonder what it would be like if David spanked me before we left. There was something rather exciting about the prospect of being upended in public.

Whatever the case, I was a bit pouty over lunch as I complained about the slaps. Initially he tried to calm me down, but when that did not work he took a firmer line and told me to stop spoiling the day, or I would get something far worse than a couple of slaps.

As I said, there was no conscious decision on my part so I did calm enough to dutifully apologise and we completed our lunch in better terms.

After lunch we looked around some of the exhibition. There were lots of items for sale that excited me and would, I felt, spice up our sex life. However, we had agreed before on a small budget, having already rather splurged for the weekend as a whole, and therefore not to make any rash decisions on that. We were saving up for a deposit for a house among other things. However, such agreements made in the abstract in the cold pragmatic light of day did not appeal when faced with so many desirable things. Dave, unfortunately for me, was quite firm; so after a while I started to wheedle at him to get this or that.

When that didn’t work, well I just started to beg and wheedle more. I could see Dave getting more and more irritated, and on more than one occasion he had to take me aside to tell me to stop behaving like the spoilt schoolgirl I was dressed as, and give me a firm hand slap to my rear end as I stood, as a kind of warning. This usually worked for a short time, but my frustration at not being able to get any of the items that were on display soon came through again.

In particular, I saw a leather bikini leotard based thing with various loops and chains for being tied up with. It looked very exciting, though way beyond our agreed budget. Nothing I did would persuade Dave to agree. Eventually I, rather sulkily, acquiesced to his view.

As we went around I should say the first girl I saw getting a spanking was not the only one. There were a few other girls (and some boys) on the receiving end and of course not all were heterosexual couples. It seemed the security staff turned a blind eye to it, as long as something covered the “private area” so to speak. Dave on a couple of occasions looked pointedly at me during the afternoon, as if to say I might be joining them soon.

Mid-afternoon Dave decided to go to the facilities and get some water (which meant getting the rucksack from the cloakroom for a short time). I decided to wander around. Seemingly randomly I found myself gravitating towards the “leotard” with its links. David was still not back (or had not found me since I wandered off) and I went into their changing room. There was one my size and it fitted perfectly. Looking in the mirror I knew I had to have it, and to hell with the consequences!

Ten minutes later my credit card bill was significantly increased and I had a bag with my leather. My begging and wheedling worked better on the stall holder. Eventually I negotiated a fifteen per cent discount (still way over our agreed budget of course, but which I thought would placate my boyfriend).

When Dave found me he immediately went for the bag, and when he saw the item he blew up. The fact that I had ‘saved fifteen per cent’ cut absolutely no ice at all as he furiously asked how this squared with our agreed budget.

I soon realised I had really done it. No amount of apologies calmed him, and eventually he said he was going, not back to the hotel, but to the train station to go home. I had never seen him so angry.

By now, quite upset and with tears, I begged him not to, holding on to his arm to try to stop him.

“Don’t go. I’ll do anything! Please!” I pleaded repeatedly.

After about ten minutes not getting very far, and clearly more embarrassed than I was at the looks we were getting, he stopped and faced me.

“So, anything?” He asked ominously.

“Anything, I promise, I really am sorry.” I begged.

“Okay, you still make all the payments for the next two months to the savings account, and keep your credit card fully paid off.” He demanded.

I gulped. The cost of the leather outfit effectively meant, after paying my part of the savings for the deposit we were trying to build, I would have no money for two months to go out with the girls, or buy any other clothes. I would probably need to take a packed lunch to work too, rather than join my female colleagues in the cafe round the corner from the office. In effect I was being grounded and he knew it. The trouble was I couldn’t argue with it, as usual he was being far too bloody reasonable.

“Okay.” I agreed reluctantly and finally stopped gripping his arm.

“And you’re going to be punished!” Dave declared.

Suddenly I felt very nervous. Suddenly the prospect of being put over Dave’s knees and squawking away as he gave me a no-doubt very thorough spanking seemed a little less like a good idea. “Please Dave, don’t spank me here!” I whispered urgently as I grabbed his arm again.

He just looked at me and said: “I said ‘punished’, not ‘rewarded’. No, I am not going to get you nicely excited by putting you over my knee. No, we are going back to that caning stall and since you like spending money so much, you are going to buy yourself a real punishment!”

I am sure my jaw hit the floor and I remember standing there, just shocked for what seemed ages, but I suppose was only a few seconds.

“Please, No! Dave, not that!” I begged quietly.

He was implacable. “You’ve said before that you’ve wondered what it is like to be really punished. Well now you really deserve it, so now you can really find out.” He took a breath and then said: “If you don’t want to accept it then I really will go back home.”

Finally I capitulated. “Okay, but, but how many? Please not too much,” I begged rather desperately.

He ignored my comment. “Right, this is what is going to happen. We are going to go back to the ‘Six of the Best’ stall and YOU are going to ask if they have a slot to punish you in. If they do, then you will book it and explain to them exactly how naughty you’ve been, and especially about that purchase.” He nudged my bag at that point before continuing. “YOU will then ask the assistant and me to decide your punishment and that you know it needs to be severe, but take into account you’ve not been caned before. YOU will emphasise that you want to be thrashed as the very naughty schoolgirl that you have been! YOU will then stand in a corner with your hands on your head and I will then discuss with him or her what you are going to get. Okay.”

I shuddered every time he emphasised YOU. However, with no real choice in my mind I very reluctantly accepted.

My bottom was already tingling in anticipation as we walked to the far side of the hall to the stand.

The female stall holder I talked to was free and very nervously I asked if there was a free slot for a caning.

“I am sorry, but they’ve all gone, right up till closing. It is surprisingly popular, you know, and quite a few want late slots so they can leave directly afterwards.” She replied.

I felt a wave of relief flood over me, tinged with a slight worry as to Dave’s reaction. I knew I was not going to be let off the hook after all.

It was the guy in the stand who called over. “We got a free slot with Harry open in half an hour’s time. The girl decided to bottle out. I said we would refund them if we could fill it.”

My stomach lurched as I glanced at Dave, and then the woman in front of me as she cocked her head questioningly. Before I lost my nerve I replied: “Can I take it, please.”

She called over to the guy and said: “She’s taking it,” before returning to me and asking: “So what do you want?”

I glanced at Dave who was standing with his arms folded behind me. Clearly he was not going to make this any easier for me to explain.

“Errr… W,well I have been acting like a bit of a spoiled brat, despite my boyfriend trying to calm me down and being patient with me.” Gosh I could feel my face blushing very bright red as I said this. “And then there was this really nice leather gear I wanted, but it was too expensive. I agreed with him that it was, but later snuck back and bought it anyway.” I was staring at the floor now; this was excruciatingly embarrassing! “So, after he found out and was very angry we agreed I should be given a thorough caning like a real naughty schoolgirl. He has spanked me before, including with a hairbrush, but I have not had the cane. We… we agreed maybe you and him should decide what I deserve.”

Finished! I felt so humiliated to have had to say all that! I think if I’d had to say much more then tears might have been pricking my eyes.

She looked at me and Dave briefly, then nodded. “So you’ve been a very naughty girl then?” She confirmed.

She then turned to Dave as I sort of nodded an acknowledgement. “So what were you thinking of, Mr…?”

“Please, call me Dave,” he replied, before pointing to a corner of the stand and saying harshly. “Over there young lady, and get your hands on your head.”

Now I really was thoroughly embarrassed as I did as I was told. I was pretty sure the effect of having my hands up was that the base of my back and white knickers was visible to all and sundry.

Dave and the woman had a fairly long (at least it seemed long to me!) muted talk, with one of their forms in front of them. At one point I heard an exclamation of “wow!” from the woman and glanced around. Dave was showing her my misjudged purchase, and in particular the credit card receipt inside.

It was her who saw me and, before Dave could react, gave me a funny look as she twirled her finger to indicate I should return to face the other way.

How humiliating. Even the stall assistant could order me around!

A few minutes later I was called across and, as this was not a totally involuntary punishment, the two of them explained that it was proposed as I had not had the cane before, but was a ‘mature’ twenty-two year old, I was going to get a good traditional six-of-the-best on my knickers.

Gulp!

Well that was my reaction as Dave went on to explain he had signed me up for a repeated stroke if I did not stay bent over. Further, if I was ‘difficult’ he would pull my knickers to my ankles (‘Yes! In front of another man!’, in reply to my exclamation) and if necessary hold me down while Mr Smith (my ‘Headmaster’, apparently) would finish my punishment with two extra to boot, if that was needed.

I am sure I was shaking as I signed my life away (or at least my bottom.) I admit that I had dreamed of this from time to time, wondered what it would be like. However, now that it came to the bit I was really not sure at all. However, I was even more sure I did not want Dave to stomp off back to Derby in a huff!

Unlike a ‘real’ schoolgirl I did have a get out if it became too much. There was a stop word. Any begging and pleading would be ignored, but if I said: ‘Apricot Jam’ then ‘Mr Smith’ would stop. But again Dave would carry out his threat to go home, and whatever I had taken would have been a waste of time.

All this had taken the best part of quarter of an hour. I then had to add to my credit card bill (definitely now on packed lunches for a couple of months). When I commented on the price, Dave, in a clearly sarcastic reference to my ‘fifteen per cent discount’, said: “Look here, they’re going to give you a free cane!” Apparently in the case of a caning you got to take the implement home as a ‘souvenir’. I wondered dully if it would be wrapped up somehow, or whether I would be carrying it back with it obvious to all what it was.

Having typed my pin in to pay, the stall assistant took Dave across to some baskets and they looked at the various options for my cane. I watched nervously as eventually three rods were placed on a table for Dave to examine more carefully. All were apparently senior canes, and all were about three foot in length. A couple had crooks and one was straight with a blue sort of grip.

Dave took a minute or two enjoying my reactions as he picked them up and flexed them. Finally he decided on one of the crook handled ones and gave it to me to carry.

He, meanwhile, had instructions to go to a waiting room that was off the main hall. As my ‘doom’ was already close we set off immediately.

Inside there were four others waiting to see one of the two ‘spankers’ (one female, one male). One was a couple sitting together. I judged the girl was the one who was in for some form of painful experience, though it was the guy who had a leather tawse lying on his lap. A guy was sitting on his own; his pose looked relaxed, but his hand movements betrayed his nerves as he was fidgeting with the cane he was holding.

There were a guy and girl with their noses to the wall, and their partners were sitting next to each other on the other side of the room. In both cases the partners were the ones looking after the respective canes.

The guy was wearing a schoolboy outfit, and his shorts were already around his ankles. The girl was wearing some black PVC contraption which was thong-like at the back. Assuming it was her bottom that was in trouble then she would certainly be getting no protection from it.

Dave took in the situation quickly and ordered me to join the two standing facing the wall.

He was not amused as I started to object. Angrily he pushed me into position, took my cane off me and lifted my arms and placed them on my head. I suddenly felt cold as he in a quick movement (with a ‘Don’t move!’ order) pulled my knickers to mid thigh.

As I blushed into the wall he told me if there was any more ‘nonsense’ they would stay down for my punishment.

The prospect of that cane shortly beating my bottom meant that I felt rather attached to my last item of protection, flimsy though it was, and I did as I was told.

Dave must have sat with the other two, as soon the three were discussing the three of us facing the wall. I learned the girl was quite used to a “good beating” and was getting something worse than me. Her nominal crime was persistent misbehaviour. The boyfriend had brought her ‘nice and early’ to let her anticipate her forthcoming appointment, which was later than mine.

The ‘boy’ was different. He was sort of into spanking but his partner was not really. The trip was his birthday present. Apparently they’d passed the stall early and his partner had said, like mine, that he’d better behave or else she could bring him back. He’d rather foolishly responded that he doubted she would have the guts. Ten minutes later he knew that she did and, she said, as a result he had been very well behaved in the last few hours as they went round the show, though his pleas for her to cancel it as he was being ‘good’ fell on deaf ears. Dave started explaining my misdemeanours (more embarrassment), but part way though a man (I later found to be ‘Mr Smith’) came in and called the “schoolboy”.

He was ordered by his partner to pull up his trousers and he was muttering to himself as he left the room.

My tummy lurched as I realised I was to be after him.

However, the boy by himself was called next to see “Miss Coates” and seemed to leave quietly, passing the cane to his soon to be chastiser as he reached the door of the room.

During this, Dave had carried on talking to the other guy. He of course finished the story, and then the other guy gave Dave some advice on how to deal with recalcitrant female partners.

I cringed, and hoped he would not be taking up too much of the advice!

Another couple arrived but neither half was ordered to stand next to the wall so I did not get to see them well, just briefly out of the corner of my eye as they came in.

Finally ‘Mr Smith’ came in again and called my name. For the first time I could turn and look at my chastiser properly. He was about five feet ten inches tall and looked to be around forty years old, with dark brown hair that as yet had no grey in it (or if it did he was doing something about it.) He looked the part of the sixties headmaster, with a suit covered with a black gown.

Meanwhile Dave had excused himself, then immediately ordered me to pull up my knickers and get a move on.

As decorously as I could I pulled my stripy pants back over my bottom and followed the two men out. Both were pacing briskly down a corridor, Dave now holding my cane, and I had to scurry to keep up. Perhaps it kept the worst of the panic from me as I was now rather fearful about a prospect that was only a few minutes ahead.

The “headmaster’s” room was far enough away that I could see why we had heard nothing in the waiting room.

As we went in I heard a crack and a muffled grunt from the next room. Clearly the boy on his own was being whacked in there. He hadn’t screamed though, which was promising.

The room was set as one might expect. There was a fairly clear desk and some chairs to one side. There was a more comfortable one for ‘Mr Smith.’

He took his seat and Dave, leaving the cane on the table, sat on the chair at the side. As I stood uncertainly in the middle of the room he spoke: “Stand up straight in front of my desk girl!” He demanded.

Suddenly, almost involuntarily, I was in character. “Yes, sir.” I replied.

The lecture was brief but to the point. He had clearly read his notes, and I felt myself getting very nervous indeed as he emphasised how poor my behaviour had been. It was hard to pay much attention with the rod waiting for me in front of my nose.

Then suddenly the lecture was over as he stood, picked up the cane and said “Right, you need a sharp lesson! Six of the best. Bend over the desk and take a very firm grip.”

I had to breathe deeply to manage to do as I was told. The wood felt cool to my hands and hard on my chest as I got into position.

It was Dave who came across and reminded me to stay put as he rather roughly exposed the upper portions of my stripy pants, the lower part having already been displayed, I was sure, as I bent over.

Seconds later I felt a few taps along with a further warning to stay still.

“Thwack!”

The first cut swished down.

I heard the blow, then after the briefest of moments the consequences impaled my senses.

“Aaaaaah!!” I screamed. That was nothing like the spankings Dave had given me. It was like the worst spanking all wrapped up into one instant! It took all my reserves not to stand up. How could I survive another five, I wondered.

Whack!

“Aaaaaaiiiieeee!” I screeched as the second blow landed after a brief pause.

‘Mr Smith’ paused and told me to stop wriggling. Desperately I locked my legs together as Dave kindly backed him up by suggesting that if I could not keep still then perhaps he would remove those stripy knickers.

Whack!

Another scream, I wondered how that boy next door had not screamed at the blow I’d heard. It did not seem possible to take such pain in near silence!

Another pause and then the fourth Whack impacted. After the requisite screech of agony I started to plead: “Please, it is so sore, please not so hard.” I gasped and at the same time felt my eyes becoming wet.

However, I was to be ignored of course. Instead I wailed: “No-o-o!” As Dave said: “You were told to KEEP STILL GIRL!” while simultaneously peeling my knickers off and down to my knees from where they made a natural progression down to pool around the ankles.

The humiliation finally made the ducts open fully and I started to sob.

The last two were both very hard and very low, and led to screeches and pleas interrupting my sobs. I did, however, manage to hold on and keep acceptably still. At least I did not get extras.

Dave refused to let me stand immediately but first rather roughly replaced my pants over my bruised bottom.

As I stood my hands made an immediate beeline for my bottom, only to be slapped away by Dave, who told me there was to be no rubbing till he said so.

The “Head” did nothing to stop him, so my hands were cusped in front of me as I desperately tried to ignore the overwhelming urge to cradle my abused bottom. Tears were still clouding my vision as I stood in front of the desk again.

After a final admonishment from my “Head” I was free to go.

As soon as we were outside the door I fell sobbing into Dave’s arms, desperate for his forgiveness. In retrospect I think he was shocked at the intensity of my need, and it took some time before I could let him go and ruefully probe the raised marks that my knickers only partly covered.

We spent another hour at the show during which the edge of the pain dulled and I found myself becoming rather warm and excited. Eventually we gave up smooching and I went and changed while Dave found a package from the stall for my ‘souvenir’.

Soon we were back in our bedroom in the hotel.

Late that night, well sated, I lay in Dave’s arms. While the cane was painful there was something in it; an intense release that was something I never had imagined possible. I knew then that my first caning was not going to be my last.

The End