Sally learns previous events had indeed not reached a conclusion
By Steven Wilson
My name is Sally Nugent and for those of you who may not already have done so, might I suggest that you read my previous account entitled ‘The Lodger’ if you are to fully understand the further events I am about to relate.
I am now twenty-three years old, some five years older than when Mr Robinson came to stay at my parent’s bed and breakfast establishment in Eastbourne. I have now completed my business studies course and am training to be an accountant. It is not a career that in my younger days I could have seen myself following, and at times I still have doubts about my suitability for it, but I am progressing well and if nothing else it pleases my parents that I have embarked on a sensible career path.
When I wrote my original account of events five years ago, when I was eighteen years of age, I said that I didn’t think matters had reached a conclusion and I was indeed correct in my assumption. Mr Robinson had left our bed and breakfast in mid-October, two days after he had strapped me in my bedroom, but with the indication that he would be returning for a week sometime the following month. He had also left me an envelope containing a page taken from one of the magazines that had set all of these events in motion; it showed a young girl dressed in school uniform about to be caned. I needed no further explanation; he was intending to cane me when he returned.
During the week after he had left, my thoughts would turn frequently to that photograph and what it implied. My common sense told me that I should absent myself from the house that Wednesday afternoon and return later that evening once my parents were home, but I think I knew from the first moment I saw the photograph and its cryptic message that I would not do that; I would be there, and I would be caned. As before, it was down to that difficult to describe effect that Mr Robinson had on me. He expected me to be there and so I had to be, I could not disobey or disappoint him.
My thoughts also turned to the spanking and strapping I had already received from him, my standing naked before him, and why I had allowed such things to happen. I was confused and so decided to write down what had occurred in the hope that it might give me some clarity. This became my earlier account that I previously referred to, but sadly it made nothing clearer and I was still at a loss to come up with a rational explanation.
It was now some three weeks later and mid-November when I came home from college on Friday evening to be met by my mother who seemed both anxious and pleased to give me some news.
“Guess what, Sally, I had a phone call from Mr Robinson this afternoon. He is coming down to Eastbourne next week and was wondering if it was still alright for him to come and stay with us again. Of course I said yes, and that he could have his old room too. It will be so nice to see him again don’t you think?”
I could feel my heart rate increase as I replied: “Yes, it will.”
I went up to my room and sat on my bed and gathered my thoughts. In three days’ time Mr Robinson would be here again and in less than five days’ time he would be expecting to cane me. It was no longer a vague possibility but a soon-to-be reality. I opened my bedside drawer, took out the envelope he had left, extracted the photograph again and looked at it. How would it feel to be caned? Could it possibly be worse than the strapping I had received? I found it difficult to believe so. I felt both apprehensive yet, in that strange indescribable way that I was now becoming familiar with, excited too.
Another thought then struck me. When I had been strapped, Mr Robinson had wanted me exactly like the girl in the photograph, naked, and had been annoyed when I had not undressed fully for him, an action that had earned me additional punishment. Surely then, he would again want me dressed like the girl in the photograph, this time in school uniform. The girl was wearing a white blouse and school tie, a pleated navy blue skirt which had been pulled up over her back to display white cotton school knickers, and white knee length socks. I hadn’t worn school uniform since the fifth form; we were allowed casual dress in the sixth form, but I was positive that I hadn’t thrown mine away and that I still had it somewhere. I searched through some drawers to no avail but then at the bottom of the wardrobe there were two large bags which on opening contained my old school clothing.
There was a white school blouse, a school tie, my old pleated skirt which, although grey rather than navy blue, would serve the purpose, and even to my surprise some white knee length socks. The only item missing was the knickers. I had not worn white cotton knickers of that style since my junior school days and had nothing even remotely resembling them. Pleased with the rest of my findings, I replaced the items and went downstairs for tea.
Mr Robinson returned on the Monday but, apart from passing him in the hall when we exchanged a brief hello to each other, I had little contact with him that first two days as I was mostly out at college or with friends. His arrival on Monday however had made me accept in my own mind that I would be in attendance on Wednesday afternoon and that I needed to be correctly dressed this time as I did not wish to provoke additional punishment again. I therefore decided to purchase some knickers that would be suitable for the occasion.
There was a school outfitters in town and on Tuesday, during my lunch break from college, I decided to pay a visit. I was nervous, although quite why I am not sure. On entering the shop it was like stepping back in time. Calling it traditional would be somewhat of an understatement, and it bore no resemblance to the sort of clothing shop I usually ventured into. An assistant of my mother’s age stood behind a counter and I made my way to her.
“Excuse me, do you have a pair of white cotton knickers, traditional school style?” I could feel myself starting to blush as I asked the question.
“Certainly dear, what size are you, I assume they are for you aren’t they?”
“Yes they are, I’m a size ten.” I could feel my cheeks blushing deeper.
“Just the one pair, or would you like a three pack? They work out cheaper if you do?”
“One pair will do; I just need them for a fancy dress party I’m going to.” I gave a rather forced smile back to her.
She went off to, I presume, the store cupboard and I felt sure she must know that I was not telling the truth, that she somehow knew what I really wanted them for, to be caned in, which of course was nonsense but all too real to me at the time. She soon returned with the knickers.
“Would you like to try them on dear, make sure they fit okay?”
“No, I’m sure they’ll be fine, I’ll just take them please.”
A few minutes later I had finally managed to pay for them, put them in my bag, and, much to my relief, leave the shop feeling totally embarrassed at my actions.
It was Wednesday the following day. I had left for college as usual but returned home soon after twelve, much to my mother’s surprise. I had a tutorial that afternoon but decided there would be no harm in skipping it for once, and I could copy any notes from one of my friends tomorrow. I told mother that it had been cancelled because the tutor was away, which had her tut-tutting but not enough thankfully to call the college to give them her views.
There then followed a panic as my parents were about to leave for their afternoon of shopping and a visit to my aunt as mother couldn’t find her purse. She had mislaid it somewhere, but eventually it was found and, ten minutes later than usual, they finally departed. At least it had helped distract me from what was about to occur but finally I flopped into an armchair in the lounge and closed my eyes, once again having the house to myself.
My rest break was brief as I soon opened my eyes and anxiously watched the time on the clock. The hands seemed to move more slowly than ever but eventually, just before two o’clock, I heard a car outside. I got up, went into the hallway and opened the front door just as Mr Robinson was about to ring the bell. Mother hadn’t given him a key this time, given his short stay.
“Ah Sally, you got here before I had a chance to ring the bell.”
I stood back and allowed him through, closing the door behind him. He then turned to me.
“Go to your room and prepare yourself. When you are ready come down to my room and knock, I will be expecting you.”
With that, he turned and made his way upstairs. Once again, there was no explanation of what ‘preparing myself’ meant. It was as if I was expected to know, which I suppose I did, and neither was there any question that I might not wish to do as he asked, it was just expected that I would obey.
I remained in the hall for several seconds after he’d left, then made my way upstairs to my room, noting that his door was closed as I passed. Once in my room I undressed completely then put my uniform on, complete with my newly purchased knickers. I wondered how long they would remain in place. I glanced in the mirror and the reflection I saw was very much that of the schoolgirl in the photograph. I left my room and went downstairs to Mr Robinson’s room. The strange excitement I had felt earlier that day had now evaporated, replaced by a nervous apprehension. I steadied myself and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” came the reply.
I opened the door and entered. Mr Robinson was standing on the far side of the room still dressed in his suit, not having removed his jacket this time. Immediately I was reminded of the man in the photograph about to lower the girl’s knickers. I looked over to the far corner of the room where the desk was. The chair had been moved away and the top of the desk cleared, cleared that is apart from a crook handled cane that lay to one side of it. I wondered where he had obtained it from but my thoughts were soon rudely interrupted.
“Stand up straight, Sally, arms by your side.”
I did as I was told and could see him assessing me. I was hoping that my attire would meet with his approval.
“You have prepared yourself well this time, Sally. I am pleased with you. We both know why you are here, I am going to cane you, something you should have experienced a while ago but was sadly omitted from your education. That is something that we shall now put right. Go over to the desk and bend over it.”
By now my heart was beating fast and I knew the meaning of having butterflies in one’s stomach. I went over to the desk and leaned forward over it gripping the far side with my hands. Mr Robinson then approached me.
“Chest right down on the desk, Sally, spread your legs wider and keep them straight.”
I pressed my breasts down onto the hard surface of the desk, parted my legs and stretched them out so that I was practically on tip toe. Turning my head to the left, I could see the cane lying on the desk just inches from my face. I then felt Mr Robinson take hold of the hem of my skirt and raise it up, inverting it before placing it down on my back. Then his fingers were in the waistband of my knickers, slowly easing them down over my bottom until they lay stretched between my thighs, leaving my bottom bare. He then picked up the cane.
“The caning I am about to give you, Sally, will hurt but will be most beneficial to you in your future years. I expect you to take it bravely. Grip the desk tightly and do not raise yourself until I tell you to do so, and under no circumstances make any attempt to touch or shield your bottom. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I managed to reply.
“Good girl. Now push your bottom right out for me and we shall begin. You will receive six strokes of the cane.”
I pushed my bottom out, not thinking about the view I must be presenting to him, and waited. I heard the cane being swished through the air. Was that really necessary? Or was it just to add to the tension? Then I felt it being tapped gently against my bottom, once, twice, three times. I tried to relax and let my mind go blank, not to clench my buttocks, and then there was a loud swishing sound and this time the connection of the cane with my bottom was not gentle but hard and meaningful.
The spanking I had first received had not in any way prepared me for the strap, and in similar fashion the strap had not prepared me for the cane. The stinging that came from that first stroke seemed to grow for several seconds and, whereas the sting from the strap had felt like it covered my entire bottom, the sting from the cane felt much more localised and consequently much more intense. It took my breath away.
A second stroke followed, which intensified the stinging and caused me to cry out, and I gripped the far side of the desk as hard as I could. The third and fourth strokes intensified the pain still further and, despite my best intentions at trying to be brave, my yelps grew louder with each stroke and I felt tears start to roll down my cheeks.
The fifth stroke was too much for me and I let go of my grip on the desk and stood bolt upright, only at the last second managing to restrain myself from clasping my buttocks. I was breathing deeply between my tears.
“Back down, Sally, and grip the desk tightly. Keep yourself in position and we will soon have this over with. You don’t want to start again, do you?”
“No,” I whispered.
My knickers had slipped down to my ankles so I stepped out of them and then positioned myself over the desk again. I could feel my legs quivering as I straightened them and spread them wide and then gripped the edge of the desk as hard as I possibly could. The sixth stroke followed, landing low on the crease between my bottom and thighs. It was excruciating but I managed to remain in position. I felt Mr Robinson’s hand gently rubbing my bottom cheeks, massaging them, which gave me some relief from the dreadful stinging.
“Two more strokes, I think Sally, and that should be it. Bottom out for me please, let’s make these good ones.”
I wanted to object that I had had enough, that I couldn’t take any more, but I knew it would be pointless. I was going to receive these last two strokes whatever I wished. Arching my back, I pushed my bottom out inviting the cane to do its worst. As in my previous strapping, the last two strokes were delivered in quick succession with little gap between them, causing a crescendo of pain, but somehow I managed to stay in position. My bottom was throbbing, stinging in a way I could never have imagined possible, and then I heard the cane being put down on the desk, where it had laid before, alongside my body.
“Your caning is over, Sally. You may leave when you are ready to do so.”
I remained in position for several seconds before slowly straightening up, picking up my knickers, and, with tears still flowing, leaving the room to head for my bedroom. Once inside, I closed the door and removed my skirt and blouse. Turning my back to the mirror, I looked over my shoulder and gasped as I saw my bottom. There were angry red stripes across it, fairly evenly spaced from the top down to the crease with my thighs. I gently ran my fingers over them and could feel the skin raised in small ridges. My bottom was tender, sore and still throbbed. I lay face down on my bed and let my tears and the throbbing subside.
I remained in my room until my parents returned and then slipped on a blouse and skirt before going down to tell mother that I didn’t feel like anything to eat that evening as I had a bit of a stomach bug. The truth, however, was that I couldn’t see myself sitting down for a meal without making it obvious how sitting was so uncomfortable for me and it was a risk I couldn’t take. Mother wanted to fuss but I convinced her my bug was nothing to worry about and I would be fine in the morning.
I went to bed early that evening and, unusually for me, slept naked. I cannot explain why I did so, other than it just felt comfortable to do so with my well caned bottom. I awoke early, got out of bed and studied my bottom again in the mirror. The redness had gone, as had the raised skin, but the cane marks were still quite visible along with some bruising. It was still sore to sit down. The soreness would take a couple of days to disappear and the marks several more days before they had faded away. I decided to wear a skirt that day to college as it was more comfortable than my usual tight jeans.
I didn’t see Mr Robinson again before he departed on the Friday morning. I left early each day for college and our paths didn’t cross on the Thursday evening. I was grateful for that. When I arrived home on Friday afternoon and went up to my room I was surprised to find another envelope addressed to me on my bed. I picked it up with a nervous excitement and opened it, expecting perhaps to find another page taken from one of the magazines with a message on it. Was he returning again, I wondered.
This time the contents were different. There were two train tickets and a short note which read:
My Dear Sally,
It was unfortunate that I was not able to wish you goodbye this morning but I would like you to visit me on the weekend of 8th and 9th December. I have enclosed train tickets for your outward and return journeys and will meet you at the station when you arrive. You will have your own room for your stay, which I am sure you will find more than comfortable. I intend to take you out for dinner on the Saturday evening, so would you bring with you a suitable dress to wear for the occasion and a skirt to wear for your journey home.
I sat down and read the note again. There was no question of whether I would like to go and visit him, whether I might have already made other arrangements for that weekend, but an assumption that I would do as requested. Neither was there any mention of the purpose of my visit, although I could safely guess that it would involve some sort of punishment for me, but without a photograph I had no idea what that might be. The weekend he wanted me to visit him was in two weeks’ time.
I spent much of the next two weeks wondering if I should visit or not, although if I am honest I had probably decided from my first reading of the note that I would do so. I had nothing arranged for that weekend so that was not an obstacle and I couldn’t think of any other valid reason for not visiting, except that is, that I had no idea what I was letting myself in for. How well did I know Mr Robinson? Not very, was the answer. Could I trust him? I was still a virgin and would he try and take some sexual advantage of me while I was there? I reasoned that he had already seen me naked and in rather revealing positions and had done nothing improper, so there was every indication that he would behave likewise while I was his guest.
On the Saturday morning, I left for the train station. I had with me a bag packed with my overnight necessities, being some toiletries, a change of underwear, pyjamas and the skirt and dress that Mr Robinson had requested I bring. I am not someone who possesses many skirts or dresses as I prefer to spend much of my time in jeans, much to my mother’s dismay, but I do have a classic black dress which I thought would be suitable, so decided to pack that. Of course I could not tell my parents where I was going that weekend. Despite my mother’s apparent liking of Mr Robinson, I felt sure she would disapprove of me staying overnight at his home, and quite rightly too. I therefore said that I was going to stay with an old school friend for the weekend, which didn’t raise too many questions. As I left, mother shouted out to me.
“Enjoy yourself, Sally, and behave yourself too. I know what you young girls can be like when you get together, so don’t go doing anything I wouldn’t do.”
She was laughing as she said that and I wondered if she would consider baring her bottom for Mr Johnson to punish as being something she would do, it made me smile.
The train ticket was for the twelve o’clock train out of Eastbourne, so I had plenty of time to get to the station and, thankfully, there were no delays. It left as scheduled. The journey was via London, and I had to disembark at Victoria station, catch the underground to Kings Cross, and then get a final train to Leeds. I dislike the London underground; it is hot, stuffy and crowded, and I was pleased when that part of the journey was complete. I had taken a book to read but found it hard to concentrate, my mind trying to guess what may or may not happen over the next twenty-four hours Eventually, I admitted defeat and resigned myself to watching the passing countryside instead.
It was a long journey but eventually the train arrived at Leeds station around a quarter to five, and it was already dark outside. I picked up my bag and left the train. As I stood on the platform, I saw Mr Robinson approaching me from the left. He raised a hand in recognition, and seconds later he had arrived by my side, taking my bag from me.
“How lovely to see you again, Sally. Did you have a good journey?”
“Yes, but a little tiring,” I replied.
“I can appreciate that; travelling by train is not the pleasure it used to be in the past. At least it was on time though. Come along, the car’s not far away.”
I followed him out of the station into the car park and he led me to his car, a blue Mercedes, which I recognised from when he had been staying with us in Eastbourne. When he switched the ignition on, the radio came on, tuned to a news programme, which we both listened to while making the odd comment about the various stories in the news that day. It took about half an hour to reach Mr Robinson’s house, which I guessed was a few miles out of Leeds in the suburbs somewhere. Although it was dark outside it appeared to be a nice neighbourhood, a tree lined road with rather expensive looking houses on it. He turned up one of the drives and stopped the car.
I got out and followed him into the house. It was modern, large, I thought, for a single person to live in, and nicely decorated and furnished.
“I’ll take you to your room, follow me.”
He led me up the stairs, along a landing to a door at the end which he then opened, and, after entering the room, turned the light on.
“I hope this will do. The bathroom’s just across there if you need it.” He indicated another door opposite. “Make yourself at home and then come down when you’re ready, I’ll make us some tea, I presume you drink tea?”
“Yes, and the room’s lovely too.”
As he went downstairs, I looked around the room. It was obviously a guest bedroom but, again, tastefully decorated and furnished and I had no doubt I would be comfortable in it. It also had a double bed, a luxury compared to my single bed at home. I would enjoy the extra space. I had little to unpack but put my dress on a hanger in the wardrobe to prevent it creasing any more, before going downstairs to join Mr Robinson. There was a mug of tea waiting for me and while we both drank he asked about my parents, about Eastbourne, and said he quite missed being down there after staying with us for so long. Eventually he looked up at the clock; it was coming up to seven.
“I’ve booked a table for eight o’clock at the restaurant. It’s rather exclusive so I hope you will enjoy it, the food is excellent. We could do with leaving around seven-thirty, so perhaps you would like to go and get ready. If you want to shower there are towels on the chair in your room and you will find a hairdryer in the bedside cabinet.”
“Thanks, I think I will.” I replied.
I went up to my room, undressed and selected a large fluffy white bath towel from those left for me, which I wrapped around myself before going to the bathroom. I stood under the shower, the warm water was refreshing after my day of travel and I was looking forward to my meal out. I was glad that I had decided to visit Mr Robinson.
I dried myself before returning to my bedroom where I found the hairdryer and quickly dried my hair. As I stood in front of the mirror, I turned slightly and noticed that my bottom no longer displayed any marks from the caning I had received a couple of weeks earlier. Once again it was unblemished. A thought crossed my mind, would it still be like that tomorrow? I didn’t dwell on that question as I needed to get dressed. I had brought with me my ‘sexy’ underwear; it was actually a rather nice looking matching bra and panties set in black, edged in red lace, and in a silk material that made me feel glamourous when I wore them. I slipped the bra and pants on, then took out my dress and got into it, pulling the zip up at the back with a little difficulty. It was quite a neat fit; low cut at the front, although not provocatively so, and of a length that finished just above the knee. Apart from shoes, that was it. I had already decided to leave my legs bare.
I looked at myself in the mirror and thought I looked quite presentable, sophisticated even, and with my sexy underwear on beneath my dress felt ready to seduce someone, I thought, not that I had any intention of doing that to Mr Robinson. I went downstairs and found Mr Robinson waiting in the hall. He too had changed and was now wearing a smart suit and tie. He looked at me and smiled.
“You look very nice, Sally. That is a lovely dress you are wearing. I could not have wished for anything better, you have done me proud.”
I felt myself blush slightly as I replied, “Thank you.”
“Are you wearing knickers?”
The question took me by surprise; it was both unexpected and inappropriate, I thought.
“Err, yes I am.”
“Take them off and leave them on the hall table there.”
I hesitated, unsure of what to do.
“Because I have asked you to do so. Hurry up, we need to be leaving.”
It seemed futile to argue and so, reluctantly, I reached up under my dress, pulled my knickers down and then stepped out of them and placed them on the hall table. Mr Robinson opened the front door and I followed him out to the car, still feeling somewhat confused by his request. Over the course of the evening I began to understand why he had made that request of me. My dress was not of a length or design that I was in any danger of exposing myself to anyone, but I was continually aware of my lack of underwear, that there was only the thin material of my dress front and back preserving my modesty, and that beneath it my bottom was bare.
Despite my lack of underwear, I enjoyed the evening immensely. The restaurant was very up-market and the food indeed excellent. We shared a bottle of wine, which helped me relax, although I was in no way drunk at all. The conversation also flowed easily. We talked about my college course, my future career hopes and Mr Robinson told me a little about his work, although not too much, he insisted, as he didn’t wish to bore me. He talked of places he had visited and I of ones I’d like to visit, and the evening passed quickly. I also saw that side of him that I had only briefly glimpsed before when he had been talking to my mother in the hall on the morning he first left our house. He smiled often as we talked and was engaging and good company, and I didn’t have that usual feeling I had when I was normally in his presence.
Eventually he paid the bill and we left and returned to his house, arriving back just before ten-thirty. As we stood in the hall he turned to me and spoke.
“I think it is time for you to go to bed, Sally. Get yourself ready for bed and I will come in to see you before you turn out the light.”
I was about to say that it was a little early for bed, but I realised that this wasn’t a suggestion but an instruction that I was expected to obey. In any case, it had been a tiring journey earlier and I could probably benefit from an early night, I thought. I went upstairs to my room, visited the bathroom, undressed and put my pyjamas on, and then got into bed and waited. All of a sudden I was nervous. What did he mean by coming to see me? What was he intending to do? Did he expect to have sex with me in return for taking me to the restaurant?
When he knocked on the door and entered, I was a bag of nerves. He held something in his hand, it was my knickers.
“You left these in the hall. I wouldn’t want you to forget them tomorrow.”
“No, thank you.” The nerves were apparent in my voice.
“Get out of bed, Sally.”
I turned the sheets back, swung my legs out and stood by the side of the bed. Mr Robinson came over and sat on the bed just to my side. He reached out and took hold of my pyjama bottoms and eased them down my legs to my ankles. Without waiting to be asked I stepped out of them, now bare from the waist down.
“Over my knee.”
He patted his lap and I climbed back onto the bed and placed myself over it, resting my head on my arms, with my legs straight out behind me. Nothing more was said as he lifted my pyjama top out of the way to fully expose my bottom. I felt relieved, not because he was going to spank me, but because my previous concerns had been unfounded; he was not intending to have sex with me, at least not for the moment.
His hand caressed my bottom cheeks and then he started to spank me, slowly, quite gently, one cheek then the other. I tried to relax and enjoy the sensation, not to be scared. As with my previous spanking after a short while he would stop and stroke my bottom, massage it, and then start again, each time spanking me harder and more insistently. The discomfort was beginning to build as he spanked me hard now, the stinging becoming more and more unpleasant, and I could not prevent myself from starting to wriggle on his lap, causing him to take hold of my waist to keep me in position. And then, just when it had reached a point where I was about to become tearful, it stopped.
I got to my feet, my hands going behind me to rub my bottom.
“Get into bed.” It was said quietly, calmly.
Mr Robinson stood up, and I once again got into bed, before he leaned over and pulled the sheets back over me.
“Goodnight, Sally, I will see you at breakfast in the morning.”
With that, he turned and left the room. I lay there for a few minutes trying to make sense of what had just happened. Less than an hour ago I had been sitting in a restaurant, nicely dressed, enjoying an excellent meal and feeling like a sophisticated young lady. Now I had been sent to bed early and spanked like a naughty young child. Why had I been spanked? I couldn’t answer that, other than perhaps he had just wanted to do it. Then I became aware of another feeling, this one more pleasurable. The spanking had not been as hard as the one I had received earlier. It had not brought me to tears this time, and now, as the stinging gradually disappeared, I was left with a warm glowing feeling in my bottom which I could not deny felt nice. I reached out and switched the light off and, as my hand crept down between my legs, I was pleased I had not replaced my pyjama bottoms.
I slept soundly, too soundly, as it was later than I would have wished when I finally awoke. I quickly showered, dressed and went downstairs to find Mr Robinson in the kitchen waiting for me.
“Good morning, Sally, I trust you slept well?”
“Yes thanks. The bed was very comfortable.”
“Good. Sit down and I’ll make you breakfast, seeing as you are the guest this time. Let’s see if I can make it as well as you did. Now what would you like? Cereal, fruit juice, a cooked breakfast, it’s your choice.”
I settled on fruit juice with a full English breakfast. Cooked breakfasts always seem so much better when you don’t have to make them yourself. Mr Robinson was once more friendly and good company and, as on the previous occasions, there was no mention of the spanking he had given me the night before. Again, it was as if it had never happened. He had already breakfasted earlier so once he had served me mine he excused himself for a few minutes while I enjoyed what he’d prepared for me. When he returned, I refused the offer of toast as I was feeling quite full with what I’d eaten, and he then suggested we have coffee in the lounge.
When we had finished, it was getting on for ten-thirty. I had been booked on the twelve o’clock train back to Eastbourne which, given that we had to allow half an hour to get to the station, meant that I only had just over an hour left before I needed to depart. Mr Robinson looked across at me.
“Sally, I want you to go up to your room. In the second drawer down in the chest of drawers you will find some clothing. Put the items on and come back down again. Be as quick as you can please.”
Once again, I was puzzled by his request. What clothing did he mean? I was sure I’d looked in those drawers when I arrived and there had been nothing there. And why did he want me to get dressed in whatever he thought was there? What was he intending? I began to become apprehensive again.
I went up to my room and across to the chest of drawers and opened the second drawer down. As I did so, a thought struck me. It had been the second drawer down in the chest of drawers where I had found the magazines that had started all of this. It surely wasn’t a co-incidence. Inside the drawer, there was indeed some clothing although there did not look to be much of it. I then remembered Mr Robinson excusing himself from breakfast and felt sure he must have placed it there during that time.
I lifted the clothing out. There were only two items, a white vest and a pair of white school knickers. Was this what he was expecting me to wear, and if so for what purpose? By now, I had learned to do as I was told and so I undressed completely and put on the vest and knickers. I did not attempt to leave my bra on. Standing in front of the mirror, I was once again reminded of something from a few weeks earlier; the cover of one of the magazines. That had featured a young girl dressed exactly as I was now, in white vest and knickers. She had looked distressed; would I be that way soon? It had been the one magazine I had not read properly and so I had no recollection of what had happened to her inside.
I left my room and started to walk down the stairs, the carpet soft beneath my bare feet. Without being able to explain why, I felt more embarrassed and vulnerable being dressed as I was, in vest and knickers, than if I had been naked. When I entered the lounge, Mr Robinson got up from his chair.
“Good, Sally, you have done as I asked. You may recall a few weeks ago, when I found you in my room with the magazines, that I asked if you had ever received corporal punishment, the plimsoll, strap or cane, and you replied that you had not.”
I nodded but remained silent.
“Since then, you have experienced the strap and the cane but you have yet to feel the plimsoll. I am therefore going to slipper you before you leave for home.”
I had expected, when I entered the lounge, that I was going to be punished in some way and I suppose I was grateful that I was not going to be caned again. The plimsoll surely couldn’t be as bad as that, but I was about to find out in the next few minutes. It was then I noticed a white plimsoll on the coffee table, my instrument of punishment.
“Come and stand here.”
Mr Robinson indicated the centre of the room which I went and stood in, he then picked up the plimsoll and moved behind me.
“Bend over and touch your toes.”
I bent forward, keeping my legs together and straight, and reached my hands down towards my feet.
“Place your legs apart and grasp your ankles, you will need to brace yourself.”
I adjusted my stance, placing my feet wide apart and taking hold of my ankles. I could feel the knickers stretch tight across my bottom, which was now thrust upwards, but to my surprise they were not lowered.
“Keep that position throughout, Sally, and do not let go of your ankles. You will receive six with your knickers on and then six with them removed.”
I tensed myself and waited. I did not have long to wait before the sound of rubber on cotton-covered bottom echoed around the room. The impact took me by surprise and caused me to rock forward on my toes, but I managed to retain my balance and my grip on my ankles. The sting of the plimsoll was nowhere near as bad as the cane, and less intense than the strap, but it was painful none the less. The first impact had landed centrally on my bottom, the next two to left and right cheek respectively. By the fourth, again delivered to the centre of my bottom, the stinging was getting too much for me. The fifth to my left cheek resulted in me letting go of my ankles and starting to straighten up, but before I was admonished I managed to bend over and grasp my ankles again. The sixth was once again delivered to my left cheek which took me by surprise and it took all of my will power to remain bending over grasping my ankles as the stinging reached a higher level. Those last two had also caused the inevitable tears to start forming in my eyes.
“Stand up, but do not touch your bottom or we will start again.”
I straightened up, relieved to finally let go of my ankles, and resisted the temptation to rub my bottom, however much I would have liked to.
“Take your knickers off.”
The instruction came as no surprise to me and I eased my fingers into the elastic at my waist and slowly pushed them down over my throbbing bottom, then stepped out of them, before dropping them on the floor.
“Raise your arms above your head.”
Without thinking, I did as I was told. Mr Robinson stepped forward and, taking hold of the hem of the vest, lifted it up and over my head, leaving me standing naked before him. Unlike the previous time, I did not attempt to hide my breasts from him but lowered my arms to my side and stood fully exposed.
“I think we had better have you over the back of the settee for the next six as I doubt you will be able to remain in position touching your toes. Get yourself over it, head well down, legs out straight and apart.”
I did not disagree with his assessment. I had indeed been struggling to remain in position and it was unlikely I would do so for another six of the plimsoll. The settee was in soft cream leather and was cool under my stomach as I lowered myself over the back of it. I bent as far over as I could, hands on the seat cushion, legs stretched wide, so that I was practically on my toes, the result of which being that my bottom was thrust upwards in the most provocative manner.
“Excellent, Sally, that’s exactly as I want you. You will now receive six of the best with the plimsoll. I will give them quicker than the previous six so, if you remain in position, it will soon be over.”
One advantage of my current positioning was that it was difficult for me to move or raise myself, which in the circumstances was probably a good thing. Two things struck me about those next six; how much louder the sound of the plimsoll was when making contact with bare skin, and how much more it stung without the protection of knickers. Mr Robinson delivered those final six with vigour and in quick succession. The stinging in my bottom built in wave after wave until I was practically overcome and I remained over the back of the settee for a good minute or two after the last of the six, crying and breathing deeply.
“When you are ready, Sally, you may stand. Your slippering is over.”
I stood slowly, my hands going to my bottom to try and ease the discomfort, not concerned about my nudity.
“Go to your room and compose yourself. You will need to be dressed and ready to leave in around half an hour, if we are to get to the station in time. You have brought a skirt with you?”
I nodded ‘yes’ in reply.
“Good, you will wear that and no underwear beneath.”
I left the lounge and each step I took going up the stairs seemed to bring fresh pain to my bottom, in the bedroom I looked in the mirror and it was bright red in colour. My tears soon stopped and I went across to the bathroom to wash my face before returning to my room to dress. I put on my bra, a jumper and the skirt I had brought with me, then folded my dress and jeans and put them, along with my other belongings, into my bag. It was now nearly eleven-thirty, so I put my coat on and went downstairs. Mr Robinson was waiting in the hallway.
“Lift your skirt, Sally, so I can see you have nothing on underneath it.”
I put my bag down and, with embarrassment, lifted my skirt at the front, exposing my uncovered pubic region to him.
“Good. It’s time we left.”
There was little conversation on the way to the station. We both listened, or pretended to listen, to the radio. My bottom was sore and it was uncomfortable sitting on it. At the station Mr Robinson took my bag and carried it to the platform for me. The train for London was already in, so he passed it to me so I could board.
“Thank you for coming, Sally. I enjoyed the weekend and I hope you did too. May I wish you a good journey home, and goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” was all I could muster in response and then I turned, climbed into the carriage, found my seat reservation and uncomfortably sat down on it. I was reminded of my lack of underwear and made a mental note to be careful when getting up from my seat or crossing my legs, although thankfully the skirt I had selected was not a particularly short one.
That was the last time that I saw Mr Robinson. I arrived back in Eastbourne just after five o’clock, tired and still sore, and made my way home. Mother asked if I had enjoyed my weekend and if had behaved myself. If she had seen the state of my bottom she might not have believed my answers.
Over the last few years I have, from time to time, thought back to those weeks with Mr Robinson and why I let him punish me, why I undressed for him, and why I visited him. I have concluded that the strange feeling I would get in his presence at times arose because I am submissive in nature and Mr Robinson dominant, and it was that which made it impossible for me to do otherwise.
I have also realised that, in many ways, I was a rather naïve teenager at the time, a little rash and out of my depth. It was reckless to have visited him without my parent’s knowledge. What if he had tried to take my virginity? Would I, could I, have stopped him?
I have also thought about the spankings I received, the strapping, the caning and the slippering. Did I enjoy them? Would I ever want them to happen again? I did not enjoy the actual punishments; they made me tearful and were painful, which is what a punishment should be, is it not? However, I did enjoy the anticipation of them, they gave me an excitement that I have not experienced before or since, and I enjoyed how they made me feel afterwards, the warm glow in my bottom, watching the cane marks gradually fade with each passing morning.
I have not submitted to punishment from anyone other than Mr Robinson, although I admit that the events of those weeks, expanded and enhanced a little, often form the basis of many of my fantasies when I need to take myself to somewhere pleasurable. But perhaps that is what they should remain, as there is no harm in fantasies.
I still get confused about my feelings even now, which is the reason I decided recently to write down the events that occurred after my first account in the hope that it might help. I am not sure that it has done, at least to any great degree.
I did say that the last time I saw Mr Robinson was when departing Leeds station five years ago. That is not strictly true. It was the last time I saw him as an eighteen year old, and in connection with the events started by my discovery of those magazines. However, I have met him again, six weeks ago.
© Steven Wilson 2018