Continuing the series, the contest is over and the show’s producers now extend it to include advice to the public.

By Kane Strokes

The studio signal light flashed ‘OFF AIR’, the compere put his arm around Helen’s shoulder.

“A celebratory glass of champagne?”

“Not yet, I have my friend to attend to. She is as much a part of this final as I was.”

The compere was insistent. “The girls will take care of her.”

His tone infuriated Helen. “You take you arm off me or I’ll be using this on you!” She said swishing the trophy cane.

Shocked, he stood back, as did the two attendants. Helen thrust the cane at one of them.

“Hold this,” she said whilst she went over to Cathy, still bent over the armchair. The floor manager saw what was happening.

“Clear the studio please, everyone. Let’s give the ladies some privacy.”

The floor manager saw the compere ready to argue. “I mean every one.”

The men gone, Helen went to face Cathy, still crying. “Please tell me you’re all right.”

“I’m ok, but my bum isn’t,” joked Cathy, trying to laugh through her tears.

“Just lift your feet a little for me to pull your skirt up, then we’ll get you to the dressing room.”

Cathy lifted each foot slowly. Helen slid Cathy’s skirt up, then made sure her friend rose very slowly. Arms around each other, they headed out of the studio.

In the dressing room there was an armchair, and Helen helped Cathy lower herself over the arms, her skirt pulled up. Helen took a jar of cold cream from her bag.

“I knew one of us would be needing this.”

Gently she soothed the cream into the welts traversing Cathy’s bottom. As she did the door burst open and the show’s producer barged in waving a sheaf of papers about.

“OUT!” Ordered Helen.

She heard him say something about an extra show, contracts, sign here.

“OUT!” She repeated the order. “Our contracts expired with this last show, leave it there, we’ll read them in due course.”

He was about to argue, but Helen snatched the papers from him. “OUT!” She repeated and pushed him towards the door.

“Now, where were we?” Helen returned to applying the cream to the welts on Cathy’s bottom. Cathy gradually recovered her composure, and walked slowly and stiffly out of the building to a waiting taxi, and very carefully lowered herself onto the seat, wincing as she did so and emitting a yelp. Cathy clenched her fists and pushed them into the seat, pushing down hard in an attempt to raise her bottom as far off the seat as she could.

“That’s the studios that have the spanking contest, isn’t it?” The driver asked as he pulled away.

“Is it?” Asked Helen with as much innocence as she could muster. “I don’t think I know the program. What happens?”

The driver continued to navigate his way through London’s traffic laden streets towards his destination.

“It’s a spanking contest,” explained the driver. “A knock-out competition; each week the weakest spanker goes home after being spanked by that week’s winner.”

“Sounds interesting,” said Helen.

“It’s the final tonight, I’m recording it.”

“Who do you want to win?” Asked Cathy.

With one eye watching the road, the taxi driver leaned back.

“It would be unfair for either of them to lose, there’s nothing between them.”

“You sound a most knowledgeable expert on the subject,” remarked Helen.

“I’ve had my moments.”

The rest of the journey was completed in silence, with Cathy still pushing down on the seat and trying her best to raise her bottom off the seat.

“Here we are ladies, your hotel.”

Helen paid the cabbie, Cathy waiting by her side. Helen turned to walk into the hotel. Cathy waited and leant into the driver’s window.

“Psst! I lost,” she said, then turned and flipped up her skirt revealing her bare and welted bottom. The skirt fell back down, Cathy walked away rubbing her bottom.

A screech from tyres braking hard, hooters and an angry verbal exchange; the cabbie had been so shocked and mesmerised by what Cathy had said and done, he inadvertently pulled out into a line of traffic, just missing a collision.

Cathy grinned.

“Did you tell him?” Helen asked. “I should spank you again, my girl,” said Helen, grinning.

They collected their room keys from reception, then made their way to their rooms, Cathy still walking slowly and increasingly more stiffly.

“Your room, young lady, I want to check those welts are ok.”

“No you don’t, you just want to admire your handiwork,” replied Cathy, grinning and poking her tongue out at Helen.

“Less of your cheek; now get to your room and get your skirt and knickers off, Nurse Helen says so.”

“Just my skirt, I didn’t want my knickers. You did a good job.”

Cathy opened the door to her room. Her first task was to switch on the TV.

“Let’s watch us, shall we?”

Then she undid her skirt and let it fall, and laid herself face down on the bed watching the TV. Helen observed Cathy’s bottom properly for the first time since the recording finished. She studied the welts fully traversing Cathy’s bottom, from her sit spots to her crease. She looked at the cross welts. Already small bruises were evident where the welts crossed. She knew Cathy would have trouble walking and sitting for days, maybe a week, to come.

The show started on the TV. It was strange watching themselves from two hours ago. As they watched, Helen worked the cream into Cathy’s bottom. Just as the programme ended, their mobiles rang; respective daughters congratulating and commiserating, one asking that both mum and Cathy were all right and still friends.

Minds were put at rest, then Helen declared: “Time for me to go. I have some papers to read, a contract for a show, a masterclass. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“I’m calling room service for breakfast. I don’t want all to know I’m trying to sit on a thoroughly well spanked bum now, do I?” Replied Cathy.

“There is one other thing,” said Helen. “You are coming back to Scotland with me as agreed. Winner plays host to the loser, or would you like to discuss it further?” Helen picked up her trophy and flexed it, grinning evilly.

“On one condition,” replied Cathy.

Helen suddenly stopped grinning and looked quite serious as she continued to flex her trophy.

“We fly. My bum couldn’t stand how ever many hours it is by train.”

“Agreed, I’ll book our tickets.” Helen responded.

The next morning, Helen joined Cathy for a room service breakfast. She told Cathy about the contract. They just wanted Helen.

“I’m not doing it. We were both as good as each other last night. It was only that one girl looking more worried that won it for me. Either we both do the master class, or it won’t happen.”

“You’re sure about that? Please do it if you want to. I really don’t mind.” Cathy told her friend.

“I’m certain, but I am open to discussion.” Helen said, with laughter in her eyes.

“Not with by bottom, thank you!” Retorted Cathy.

They had breakfast, and called a taxi for the airport. Once more, Cathy sat with her fists pushing into the seat to raise her bottom. Helen received a call on her mobile; the TV company. She told them her terms.

“They’ll agree, they want one last pay day from the show, and they’re afraid another company will snap us up. I’ll switch my phone off, get them worried.”

Throughout the flight, Cathy found it hard to find a comfortable sitting position, leaning forward or trying to slouch, and resorting to pushing her fists into the seat to lift her bottom.

Helen whispered to her, teasing: “If you don’t stop fidgeting and sit still, I’ll give you something to fidget about!”

Cathy grinned and poked her tongue out.

As they walked to the airport car park, a rather excited young lady tried to hug them both at once, gabbing: “Well done, mum,” and: “It was unfair you had to lose, Cathy,” in one breath. The young lady was Sarah, Helen’s 20 year old daughter, a university student who was still required to touch her toes for the cane if she misbehaved. Sarah led the way to the car. Cathy lagged behind, taking slow careful steps.

As she reached the car, she said: “I’ve tried to make it as comfortable as possible for you, Cathy,” pointing to the back seat adorned with innumerable pillows and cushions. “You just sit on as many as you need, and I’ll try to avoid as many bumps and potholes as possible. I know from personal experience just how sore your bottom is,” she said with a big grin across her face, much to the merriment of her mother.

At last able to relax, no strangers around to overhear conversations, the topic of conversation throughout the journey home was the spank off and Cathy’s welted bottom.

Now at home, Sarah retrieved the cushions and pillows from the car, and placed them on dining chairs and the couch. She shared her mother’s evil sense of humour.

“I’m not being cheeky, Cathy, but can I see your welts?”

There was a warning ‘Sarah’ from her mum, but Cathy raised her hand to stop her.

“Prepare the couch, and you can see them as they should be seen. They hurt like hell, but I’m proud of them, and,” turning to Helen. “I hope you’re proud of the way you decorated my bottom.”

Once again when dropped her skirt and stepped out of it, proving she had spent the day ‘commando’. She approached the couch and bent right over, wincing and gasping as the welts stretched. Her decorated bottom was now high on the top of the couch. Helen waggled her trophy in anticipation. Both Helen and Sarah studied Cathy’s welts.

“This one looks sore, Cathy.” Sarah said, inadvertently stabbing it with her finger.

“AARRGGHH! It’s fuuc… very sore, actually.”

Helen laughed. “I’d have forgiven a lack of self control then. Sarah, please be more careful.”

“Ooops, sorry, mum. Sorry Cathy.”

When the welts had been properly inspected, maybe drooled over as well, Cathy had the painful task of standing again. Slowly she eased herself up, with help and support from both her hosts.

Cathy was treated like a queen, but received several instructions to bare her bottom for another application of the cream. The TV show’s producer agreed to Helen’s terms, and would email the contract once it was signed. They’d arrange for a courier to collect it.

Helen and Cathy read the contract, which Helen had insisted have equal billing to both herself and Cathy; a lucrative deal for both of them. The studios wasted no time in setting the ball rolling for the masterclass show.

Cathy, meanwhile, was finding it easier to sit, thanks partly to Helen nursing her welts. She returned home after her three day stay, ready to meet again for rehearsals.

The weeks past, and Helen and Cathy met again at the studios for the rehearsals. The producer explained what he wanted; for each implement to be demonstrated, with commentary from these two experienced spankers as to how and why they spanked in a particular style. After much discussion, it was agreed that Cathy demonstrated the hairbrush and cane, whilst Helen would demonstrate the slipper and the tawse.

Throughout the series, the producers had been inundated with letters from mothers and partners saying how much society needed to get back to these ways, and pleas for help in disciplining wayward sons, daughters and partners. So instead of volunteers, Helen and Cathy would be spanking the naughty whilst giving instruction to either their parent or partner.

Cathy was first to demonstrate a good hairbrush spanking. A mother and daughter were brought in, the mother explaining that her daughter had been in no end of trouble throughout her teens. Something had to be done to bring her back into line before she ruined her life. Cathy noticed that the girl, Beverley, continued to roll her eyes as her mother spoke. She chewed open mouthed on a piece of gum, only answering her mother with disinterested grunts and shrugs of the shoulders.

“Well, young lady, do you think I can change your ways? I know I can.”

The girl stared blankly at Cathy. She turned to Beverley’s mother and asked her for a tissue.

“First, you can stop that disgusting habit of chewing gum like that. You look like a cow chewing the cud. Take the gum out of your mouth and put it in this tissue.”

Beverley had never been spoken to like this before, and not in such a tone either. The defiance in her eyes wilted, and she then obeyed Cathy’s instructions. Her mother took the tissue from her. Cathy sat and told the girl to bend over her knee. Obeying the instructions, she laid herself across Cathy’s lap.

Cathy looked up to the girl’s mother.

“This is the classic pose, but I know Beverley will kick and wriggle. Therefore, we’ll put her in a more constraining position. Cathy brought her right leg around to trap the girl’s legs, at the same time shifting her so her bottom was high on her left thigh.

“Comfortable?” Cathy asked. “If you are, you won’t be for long.”

Once more Cathy looked to the girl’s mother.

“I’ll demonstrate for you the benefits of using a smaller hairbrush, and the larger clothes brush. We’ll start with the clothes brush, but first, one final thing, essential to a good through spanking.

Beverley’s mini skirt had already ridden up high. Cathy took hold of the hem and folded it back to the girl’s waist, then, thumbs in the waist band of the girl’s knickers, pulled them down too, well below her bottom, exposing her modesty thong.

“Mum, stop her!” Beverley yelled, unaware that Cathy was already holding the brush head high and about to descend rapidly on the proffered bottom.

The brush hit Beverley’s cheeks hard on the dome of her bottom, fully across both cheeks. The sound was lost in the large TV studio. A moment’s silence, and the studio filled with the sounds of Beverley’s yell. She tried frantically to kick and wriggle her way to freedom, but Cathy had her trapped.

“You’re staying where you are. Your bottom belongs to me, and you will very much regret that.”

Cathy then turned to Beverley’s mother. “You see now why I put Beverley in this position. I’m now going to carry on with this brush for another six smacks. Note how high I hold the brush.”

Cathy raised the brush again, and brought it down with equal vigour fully across her cheeks, slightly lower than before. Beverley yelled and kicked.

“Never let her be able to predict where the next spank will land. Point to where you think I will spank next.”

The woman pointed to an area below the previous smack.

“I expect Beverley is thinking the same, that is why…”


Cathy cracked the brush down hard on top of the first spank. Beverley yelled and tried to kick and struggle her way to freedom away from the punishing blows of the clothes brush. The cameras zoomed in for close-ups, for slow motion replays, and peered into the girl’s anguished face. Cathy continued to spank, each time the brush held high, each spank unpredictable as to where it would. Her bottom from the dome to her crease was already glowing red.

“Now to demonstrate the advantage of this smaller brush. First, you can spank each cheek at a time. Vary the areas you whack, she’ll never be able to predict where the next whack comes. Also, it is easier to spank with a flourish.

Almost immediately, the brush was rising and falling rapidly on Beverly’s bottom. Cathy covered her whole bottom, the crown to the crease, and slightly below. The girl kicked and screamed, pleading for Cathy to stop and saying how sorry she was. Cathy stopped the spanking and looked to the mother.

“Another advantage is the ability to angle the brush instead of always spanking across the cheeks. You can spank down them, that is particularly useful here.” Cathy pointed to Beverley’s cleft.

“Spanking along the cleft will make a very sore bottomed girl.”

“Right, young lady, I’m going to let you up now, and I’m going to give you the brush to hold. You will apologise to your mother and ask for a spanking.”

The girl started to protest, but Cathy cut her short.

“I advise you to obey me, otherwise I will start again and we’ll keep repeating it until you learn to obey. I’ll tell you again, and for the last time, are you going to apologise to your mother, hand her the brush and ask her to spank you.”

Cathy heard the girl utter a faint: “Yes.”

The tear-stained and red-faced girl faced her mother, handed her the brush and apologised. She asked for the spanking, as she’d been told to. The mother took the girl across her knee, and followed Cathy’s advice and instructions to the letter.

A hard and relentless spanking followed, repeating everything she’d learnt from Cathy, until the girl lay submissively across her mother’s knees, no fighting and no struggling.

“She’s had enough,” said the mother.

“Nonsense, now the real spanking begins. Twelve, from here to here, hard and fast,” said Cathy, pointing to the crown of Beverley’s bottom to her crease.

The mother did as instructed, to finish the spanking with a flourish. Beverly was helped up. She clung to her mother, saying how sorry she was, as they made their way to the dressing rooms.

As they left, Cathy whispered to the mother: “Mothers who fail their daughters by not spanking when it should be done should suffer the same consequences, don’t you think?”

The mother, lost for words to reply, blushed and ushered her daughter to the dressing room. Cathy grinned and licked her lips at the prospect of dealing with the mother as well. The lights faded on Cathy, as the spotlight was now turned to Helen, the compere and the slipper, ready in Helen’s hand.

To be continued.

© Kane Strokes 2016