Katie Sanderson completed the turn into Homewood Avenue and guided her little red Fiat slowly along the row of tall detached Victorian villas until she reached a sign that announced she’d arrived at Haverbrook House. The pretty blonde eighteen-year-old drove slowly into the driveway and parked easily in the spacious grounds.
After locking the car securely, she went slowly up the steps, pushed a button on the door entry system and leaned down to speak into the intercom. Moments later, she heard a click and pushed the heavy door open. After climbing some stairs, she looked along and saw a door on the first floor landing slowly opening. With her heart now racing, Katie approached and tapped gently on the large panelled surface of the door that seemed to be inviting her inside.
“Come in.” A soft feminine voice added its encouragement for Katie to enter, but still the blonde girl hesitated. She brushed a hand nervously down the back of her light grey trousers, took a deep breath, and only then pushed the door open wider so she could pass through.
“Miss Wakefield?” Katie closed the door and looked around the large, magnificently furnished, but deserted sitting room.
“Sit down and make yourself comfortable, Katie.” The voice seemed to come from a neighbouring room over to the left.
Katie passed between a huge sofa and one of a pair of matching armchairs that flanked it on either side, admired a collection of framed photographs that decorated the fireplace and sat down on the armchair to the right.
“I thought we’d have coffee first.” Miss Emily Wakefield, Katie’s Economics teacher at her sixth form college, appeared carrying a tray with a silver coffee pot and two ornately decorated cups and saucers. The teacher, a slim woman in her late fifties with grey hair drawn tightly back from her forehead into a bun just above collar height, was dressed in a simple pink pleated skirt and sparkling white blouse.
“Do you take milk or sugar, Katie?” The teacher placed the tray carefully down on a long low table and sat down on the sofa close to where Katie was sitting.
“Milk, no sugar, please Miss Wakefield.”
“Presumably our arrangement still stands, does it Katie?” The teacher asked as she poured their coffees.
“Yes. Yes, it still stands.” Katie answered without enthusiasm.
“You don’t have to go through with this if you don’t want to. You do understand that, don’t you Katie?”
Katie nodded. “Yes, I understand that.”
“Only possession of ecstasy is a serious matter, Katie. There has to be a punishment of some kind. You do see that, don’t you?”
“Yes, I suppose so.” The young voice sounded glacial.
“I’m very fond of you, Katie. That’s the only reason I’m offering you an alternative to the usual proceedings. The police, court appearances, and all that sort of thing. But you can still go down that route if you prefer.”
“No, Miss Wakefield. I’m really grateful to you for keeping me out of that.”
“You still sound reticent. Is it the style of punishment that concerns you. Could that be it?”
“Well, it’s a bit, unusual.”
“Is it?” Miss Wakefield considered the proposition for some moments. “Perhaps it is.” The teacher smiled. “I can recall a time when I might have caned you automatically for such an offence and given you no choice in the matter whatsoever.”
Katie took another sip from her coffee and looked at her teacher, but Miss Wakefield was staring into space apparently reflecting on times gone by.
“I did consider other options, Katie.” Miss Wakefield emerged from her thoughts. “Detentions, suspension even, but this seemed the best option that would provide you with a sufficiently severe punishment and keep things private. Perhaps, though, you have a better idea?”
Katie shook her head. She’d spent the greater part of yesterday evening trying to think of some more palatable alternative, all without success.
“So, you are certain you want to go ahead with this?” The teacher asked.
“Yes, I’m certain.” Katie drained her cup and placed it down on the low table.
“I thought I’d use a riding crop.” Miss Wakefield leaned forward in her seat, closer to Katie. Twelve strokes.”
Katie nodded, tight lipped. She had no knowledge, no previous experience to gauge how severe twelve strokes with a riding crop would be.
“Don’t worry, Katie.” The teacher smiled and placed a sympathetic hand on the girl’s knee. “The riding crop is small and thin and quite whippy. It will impart a sharp sting without causing you too much bruising. With some of the canes we used to use, you could still be feeling the effects days afterwards.”
“Right.” Katie wasn’t sure she wanted to know about the finer points of corporal punishment.
Miss Wakefield patted Katie’s knee several times. “It will punish you, but then you deserve that. Yes, it will be painful, quite painful, but it will be nothing beyond your endurance. Trust me.”
The look on Katie’s face suggested she was far from convinced. She became even more concerned when the teacher stood up.
“I’ll clear away these coffee things and fetch the riding crop. You can start getting yourself ready.”
“What do you want me to do?” Katie asked nervously.
“I think we’ll make use of that table.” Miss Wakefield nodded in the direction of a highly polished walnut dining table that stood over to one side of the large room. It had six matching chairs tucked under it. “Perhaps you could pull out the chair on the end and turn it round so the back is nearest to the table.”
While the teacher went off carrying the tray of coffee things, Katie went over to the dining table and pulled the chair out from the end nearest to where they had been sitting. She turned it round and positioned it so the back was just an inch from the table, having no idea why she had been asked to perform this task, nor indeed really certain she had done it correctly.
“Is that how you meant?” Katie asked when the teacher returned, hands ominously behind her back.
“Perfect!” Miss Wakefield confirmed. “Now, I expect you’d like to see the riding crop.”
As the teacher brought her hands to the front, Katie was introduced to a thin riding crop, a little over two feet long, made of black leather with a loop of thin leather at one end and a smaller loop at the other.
“Take hold of it.” Miss Wakefield offered. “It won’t bite you. This is where you hold it. This is the business end.” She indicated the end with the longer loop that ended in a small shiny metal cap.
Katie carefully took the riding crop and inspected it carefully. She tried flexing it and it did indeed bend a little. Then she gave her left palm a gentle tap. It stung!
“It’s quite fearsome.” Katie remarked as she handed the riding crop back to Miss Wakefield.
“It will certainly smart, and it will put twelve good stripes across your bottom, but they won’t last too long. A day at most.” The teacher smiled. “Shall we proceed?”
“What do I have to do?”
“I should slip your jacket off, Katie. You can put it over the back of one of the other chairs.”
Katie started peeling off her short white jacket, a thin one to suit the warm spring weather, and wrapped it around the back of a chair that remained tucked under one side of the table.
“And your shoes and trousers too, please.” The teacher added as Katie began to turn back.
“Is that really necessary?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Katie took a deep breath and exhaled. There was nothing she could do, though. She either went through with it or, well, the alternatives didn’t bear thinking about. She kicked off her shoes and left them under the same chair her jacket was draped around, then her hands went for the button at the top of her light grey trousers. It came undone easily and then she felt for the zip. That too slid down without hindrance, and then the trousers were loose around her shapely hips. Slowly, with doubts still in her mind, Katie slipped the trousers down until she was able to step out of them, pick them up and place them, folded, over her jacket.
It felt strange, awkward, standing in her teacher’s flat in just a short pale blue blouse and brief black knickers. Katie looked sideways at Miss Wakefield, wondering whether she should now approach the end of the table.
“You can come here now, Katie.”
The young blonde girl took the three short steps needed to stand with her teacher at the end of the table, all the while looking down at the black riding crop the teacher held before her in both hands.
“Kneel on the chair facing the table, please Katie.”
“What are you going to do?”
“We’re just getting you into a nice comfortable position, Katie.”
Apprehensively, Katie slowly mounted the softly padded chair until she was kneeling on it, then sat back on her haunches. The finely polished walnut table stretched out in front of her, looking cold and uninviting.
“Now, in a moment, Katie, I shall ask you to bend over. When I do, I want you to get up on your knees and lean forward over the table until the upper part of your body is resting right down on the table. Is that clear?”
“Okay.” Katie realised now why the chair had needed to be so arranged. When she bent across the table, her kneeling position would ensure her bottom was perfectly presented for her teacher to thrash it.
As an eerie silence pervaded the room, Katie began to wonder what Miss Wakefield was doing. She cautiously looked round. The teacher was simply standing and studying the girl’s bottom, still with the riding crop held in both hands. She was clearly following a well-rehearsed procedure, and Katie began to doubt she was the first girl to find herself in this situation.
“I’m just giving you a few moments to think about the position you are in and the behaviour for which you are being punished, Katie.”
“Okay.”
While the eighteen-year-old certainly did regret her stupidity, her mind was far more concerned with the pain that riding crop was going to inflict on her bottom at any moment now. The waiting was making it far worse.
“Bend over, Katie.”
The command was quiet, controlled, yet strangely compelling. Katie immediately rose onto her knees and bent herself forwards over the table until the hard wooden surface pressed firmly into her shapely breasts. She brought her elbows forward to either side of her face, turned her head to the left, then rested her right cheek on the backs of her hands.
“I’ll just fold your blouse up out of the way, Katie.”
“Right,” Katie murmured, and felt her short blouse being turned up above her black knickers. It seemed to her a pointless exercise, but clearly Miss Wakefield thought otherwise.
“Now, we have a choice, Katie. I can thrash you across the seat of your knickers or I can take your knickers down. If I take them down I shall be able to ensure the riding crop doesn’t strike you on the same place twice, which might be more comfortable for you. What would you like me to do?”
“Oh. I really don’t mind, Miss Wakefield.” Katie was more interested in getting this ordeal over with. She certainly wasn’t worried about her modesty in the presence of her teacher and she guessed her thin black knickers would offer little protection from the riding crop.
“Then I shall take them down, Katie.”
Almost instantly, Katie felt her knickers being gently peeled down over her hips and down her thighs until they arrived at her knees.
“We’ll start with three warm-up strokes, Katie. These will smart but they won’t be too bad. Ready?”
“Yes.” Katie answered, half of her fearing the pain and half glad that things were moving at last.
Miss Wakefield took a few moments to adjust her stance and to get a firm hold on the slim riding crop. She tapped the crop three times quite gently across Katie’s bare bottom, then drew it back a couple of feet and whipped it down.
“Uunh!” Katie grunted.
The teacher repeated the stroke, but aiming a little lower down on the girl’s bottom.
“Oouch!”
A third stroke soon followed, slightly higher up than the first.
“Oooh!”
“That was your first experience of corporal punishment, wasn’t it Katie?”
“Yes, Yes it was.”
How do you find it?”
“It certainly smarts!”
“The next three will sting much more sharply, Katie.”
“Okay.” Katie answered. Then, wanting her teacher to be fully aware of her feelings, she added: “Those first ones hurt though!”
“Keep still.”
Miss Wakefield drew the riding crop back further this time so that when she applied the stroke the implement whistled through the air far more markedly.
“Ooooohh!!” Katie squealed as the rod whipped her bottom.
“Keep steady.”
The teacher whipped the riding crop through the air again and another low down stroke lashed across Katie’s naked bottom.
“Oooooch!!”
The pretty blonde eighteen-year-old wriggled as she tried in vain to make herself a little more comfortable. She sensed, though, that Miss Wakefield was waiting and so she made an effort to hold still.
In response, the teacher brought the riding crop sweeping through the air until it slashed across Katie’s bare bottom.
“Yeeesshh!!”
“We’re now halfway through your punishment, Katie. I imagine you’re beginning to feel quite sore now.”
“It feels like my whole bottom has been scorched by a red hot flame.”
“That will make the next three even more painful. I’m sure it will make you think twice about indulging in illegal substances in the future.”
“I’m really regretting it already.”
“Let’s give you your next three.”
After giving Katie an opportunity to respond which she did not take, Miss Wakefield drew the riding crop back even further and swept it down producing a much louder crack than before.
“Yooooouuchh!!”
“I think we’re really getting the message across now, aren’t we Katie?”
“Ye-es,” Katie moaned.
The teacher applied another firm sweeping stroke like the last one but lower down.
“Yeeeeeessshh!!”
“I know. It hurts, doesn’t it? Perhaps you’re thinking you don’t deserve such harsh punishment. Is that the case, Katie?”
The girl’s reply didn’t come immediately. For long moments, neither spoke.
“No. No, I know I have to be punished severely.”
“Precisely!”
The teacher swiftly brought the riding crop back and rattled it sharply down until it cracked noisily across Katie’s naked bottom.
“Sheeeeeessshh!!”
“There! That’s nine. Three quarters of the way through your punishment, Katie. I expect you’re wanting to leap up and give your bottom a good rub now, aren’t you Katie?”
“May I?”
“No, not until you have received all your punishment.”
“Right.” The disappointment was clear from Katie’s tone.
“However, I will let you say when you want me to administer the final three strokes.”
Katie hesitated. Her entire backside felt sore and three more strokes across it was the last thing she wanted. Then again, she also wanted her ordeal to be over with. She allowed herself a couple of minutes respite.
“Okay, Miss Wakefield. I’m ready.”
“Good. Here we go then.”
There was just a brief pause before Katie heard the riding crop swoosh and then felt it whip across her naked bottom. The stroke had been applied in a slanting fashion so it cut across most of the previous strokes.
“Ooooouuchh!! That really hurt!”
Miss Wakefield didn’t respond. Instead, she brought the riding crop rattling down in another slanting stroke.
“Yeeeeooouuchh!!”
“Keep still, Katie. This is the final one.”
“I’ll try.” Katie gasped, gripping the edges of the table.
The teacher took aim and delivered the final scorching stroke, slanting like the previous two, across the waiting target./p>
“Aaaaaaaaaaahhh!!”
In fact, the final stroke had been no harder than the previous few but to Katie it felt almost beyond endurance. She arched her back and tears came to her eyes.
“Remain in position, Katie.” Miss Wakefield placed a hand on Katie’s back and pressed her back down onto the hard surface of the table. “A few moments to reflect on the suffering your stupid behaviour has caused you will do you no harm.”
In fact, Katie was grateful for the opportunity to take stock, accept her bottom was very sore but it was bearable, and to sniff back the tears and get a grip on herself. She was aware Miss Wakefield had left the room and that, too, was a relief. It was some five minutes before she heard the teacher approaching.
“Okay, Katie. You can get off the chair and get dressed whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you.” Katie eased herself up and only then realised her black knickers were still draped around her knees. She pulled them up, flinching as they tightened around her sore bottom. Miss Wakefield offered a supporting hand as the eighteen-year-old climbed unsteadily off the chair.
“I’ve brought some fresh coffee.”
“Thanks.” Katie took her light grey trousers off the neighbouring chair and began putting them on. By the time she’d fastened them and slipped her shoes on, a cup of hot coffee awaited her. She left her jacket off for the moment.
“Feeling better now?”
“A bit.” Katie took a sip of coffee.
“I’d invite you to sit down, but I imagine that wouldn’t be especially welcome at this moment.”
Katie noted a slight twinkle in Miss Wakefield’s eye, and chuckled, “No, not for a little while perhaps.”
When Katie finally parted company with her teacher she drove herself home carefully, occasionally cursing both her small car for its suspension and the local council for their inattention to the potholes.
Safely back home, all went well until she took a long cool shower and returned to her room wearing just a short dressing gown and nothing underneath. Her mother was coming up the stairs and Katie turned hastily into her room to avoid a collision when they met on the landing.
“Katie. What are those marks on your bottom?”
“Marks? What marks?”
Katie tried to close the door of her room and keep her mother out, but she was just too late. Her mother was too far into the room and in an instant had grabbed hold of Katie’s dressing gown and lifted it.
“Mother! What on earth do you think you are doing?”
“Katie! Those marks! They look like, well, I don’t know. They look like you’ve been caned!”
“I don’t think that’s very likely, do you?” Katie attempted a laugh. “And would you kindly stop staring at my bottom!”
“Who’s done this to you? What’s been going on?”
“It’s none of your business, mother!”
“So something has been going on! I think you’d better tell me all about it, or I’m going to telephone the police.”
By the time Katie had told her mother the entire story, Mrs Sanderson came around to her daughter’s point of view and accepted the hiding given by Miss Wakefield was a reasonable price to pay to avoid all the other difficulties Katie may have faced.
The following Saturday, while Katie was out shopping with her friends, Mrs Sanderson took a drive of her own to Homewood Avenue and parked her car in the grounds of Haverbrook House. After negotiating the door entry system, she was allowed up to the first floor to Miss Wakefield’s flat. The teacher met her at the door.
“Miss Wakefield? You don’t know me but I’m Katie Sanderson’s mother, Catherine.”
“Well, I’m pleased to meet you Catherine. Do come in.”
The teacher directed Katie’s mother, blonde haired like her daughter but shorter and curlier, to one of the large armchairs by the fireplace while she sat on the sofa.
“I presume you’ve come about the punishment I administered to Katie, Catherine.”
“Yes, Miss Wakefield. I happened to spot the marks on Katie’s bottom and she told me all about it.”
“I see. You perhaps think I shouldn’t have punished Katie in that fashion?” Miss Wakefield frowned, mentally preparing herself to defend her actions.
“Oh no. Not at all.”
“I’m sorry, Catherine. Are you saying you don’t object to the good hiding I gave Katie?”
“That’s right. Katie told me what she’d done and explained all the implications. I think we’re both extremely grateful to you for intervening like you did. We both realise she had to be punished severely.”
“Oh.” Miss Wakefield appeared genuinely surprised. “Can I get you some coffee, Catherine?”
When the teacher had made the coffee and returned to the large living room, she again sat next to Catherine Sanderson on the large sofa.
“So, why have you called today, Catherine?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Don’t worry, I have plenty of time Catherine.”
“Well, when I was Katie’s age and in the sixth form at school, another girl and I managed to get hold of several tabs of LSD. News somehow got around that they were in the school and we were told we were all going to be searched. They took us into the cloakroom, made us stand in a line and started searching.
“My friend and I, Clare Dickinson was her name, stood next to each other in the line. Before the teachers got to us, I was able to slip the tabs into Clare’s pocket. Of course, they found the tabs on poor Clare and she was taken to one side. When my turn came to be searched, naturally nothing was found.
“Clare was in tears while they searched the rest of us and looked absolutely terrified when they took her off to the headmistress’s study.”
“What happened to her, Catherine?”
“She was caned. Eight strokes.”
“I presume that was the end of your friendship.”
“That was what made it even worse! Afterwards, I didn’t know how I could face her. Then she came round to my house and of course I couldn’t refuse to see her without making my parents suspicious.
“She came up to my room and I started to apologise, but Clare stopped me. She said she quite understood and anyway there was no point in us both being caned. That just made it worse for me.
“I asked to see the marks and when she showed me the red weals, I was just speechless. But that’s how I knew what had happened to Katie.”
“I suppose you could have owned up and taken your punishment the following day.”
“Yes, of course I could. That’s what I should have done. But I was just too scared.”
“Why are you telling me this, Catherine?”
“Because, because…”
“Are you asking me to cane you, Catherine?”
“No! No! Of course not!” Katie’s mother looked horrified at the suggestion.
Miss Wakefield didn’t respond. She merely took a sip of her coffee and waited.
“I should have been caned, though, shouldn’t I? At the time, I mean.”
“I think we both know the answer to that, Catherine.”
“As it is, I’ve felt guilty and ashamed all these years.”
“Katie’s thrashing brought back the memories, did it?”
“I’ve never really forgotten. It’s stayed with me all this time. I still feel ashamed and disgusted with myself.”
“Will you excuse me for a moment, Catherine. There’s something I want to show you.”
Miss Wakefield left Katie’s mother and went into the next room. She returned with the slim black riding crop she had used to punish Katie.
“Take a look, Catherine.” Miss Wakefield held out the riding crop in both hands. “You now have the opportunity to expunge the guilt and shame you have harboured for all these years. Will you take it?”
“I want to.”
“But will you?”
“This is very difficult for me.”
“I can understand that, Catherine.”
“Please help me.”
“I’d like to, Catherine. You said your friend at school received eight strokes. I feel something extra is warranted for the time you have evaded your just desserts.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Shall we say, twelve strokes? The same as Katie received?”
“Yes. Okay.” Mrs Sanderson stood up. “What do I have to do?”
Miss Wakefield took a long hard look at Katie’s mother, and in particular her black track-suit with a one inch wide white stripe running down the sides of both jacket and trousers.
“May I presume you’ve dressed appropriately?”
Catherine blushed. “Yes.”
“Then you know what you have to do.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
Conscious of Miss Wakefield watching her every move, Catherine Sanderson removed her black slip-on shoes and slowly peeled down the track-suit bottoms. Her knickers were brief and bright pale blue. She placed the trousers over the arm of the chair she’d been sitting on, then said: “I may as well take this off too.” In a moment, the matching jacket had also been removed and added to the trousers on the chair, showing her to be wearing a plain white cotton top underneath.
“Okay, I’m ready.” Catherine announced breathlessly.
“Come with me.”
The two women moved over to the large walnut dining table where Miss Wakefield took the end chair from under the table and turned it round so the back almost touched the end of the table.
“Kneel on the chair and bend forward over the table.”
Catherine Sanderson laughed briefly. “Do you know, that’s one bit that was worrying me? I remember my friend, Clare, saying she had to bend over and touch her toes and that she felt very unsteady in that position.”
“The old ‘bend over and touch your toes’ was supposed to be traditional, wasn’t it, Catherine? Perhaps it was okay for a brief classroom slippering but most of us used something a little more supportive for a serious punishment.”
“Right. Well, I suppose I’d better do it, hadn’t I?”
“If you please, Catherine.”
Catherine carefully knelt on the chair and eased the top half of her body down onto the polished table. The hard wooden edge pressing into her stomach emphasised to her the vulnerable position her bottom was now in.
“Is this okay?” She asked.
“Yes, that’s fine.” Miss Wakefield confirmed. “Now, I gave Katie a choice so I shall do the same for you. I can allow you to keep your knickers on or I can pull them down which will assist me in avoiding the riding crop striking you in the same place twice. What would you like me to do?”
“I’ll, I’ll keep them on, please.”
“Very well, Catherine, if you’re sure.”
“Yes.”
“I will now administer the first six strokes, Catherine. Do not move from your present position during or after those six strokes. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Carry on.” Catherine braced her self by clutching onto the edges of the table.
Within moments, there followed a brief whoosh and then the riding crop struck with a sharp crack.
“Unnh!” Catherine grunted as the crop whipped into her bottom.
Miss Wakefield allowed a few seconds to pass and then sent another swift stroke to land across Mrs Sanderson’s backside.
“Aaah!” She cried. “That really does sting, doesn’t it?”
The teacher didn’t answer. Instead another swish of air announced the next stroke to whip across the woman’s bottom.
“Ooooh!!” Catherine cried.
Relentlessly, Miss Wakefield applied another stroke lower down onto the fleshier part of the womanly bottom.
“Sheesshh!!”
Another stroke aimed at the lower portions of Catherine Sanderson’s backside followed within moments.
“Yeeeoouuch!!”
Miss Wakefield deliberately paused for some seconds, causing Catherine to wonder what was happening. Then a sudden whoosh of air caused Katie’s mother to quickly brace herself.
“Aaaaaaagh!!” She yelled as the riding crop whipped across the centre of her scantily clad bottom.
“That completes six of your twelve strokes, Catherine.” The teacher’s voice, calm and authoritative, broke the tense silence of the room. “Do not attempt to touch your backside or soothe it in any way. Do not move from that position or attempt to get up. Any breaches of discipline will be punished with extra strokes. Do you understand, Catherine?”
“Yes, Miss Wakefield.” In contrast, Catherine Sanderson’s voice was strained and croaky.
“Just think, Catherine. If you had been brave enough to take your punishment at the time you would only have had another two strokes to go. As it is, you have another six to take.”
“Yes. Yes, I know I deserve it, Miss Wakefield.”
“Indeed you do, Catherine. I shall give you a few more minutes to ponder the error of your ways and then we’ll continue.”
Mrs Sanderson immersed herself in the memory of her friend, Clare Dickinson, and the caning she had to endure alone all those years ago. Her entire backside was throbbing with the effects of her first six strokes of the riding crop, and the thought of taking another six terrified her, but she knew she had to suffer the punishment for her own sake as well as Clare’s.
“Right, Catherine, are you ready?”
“Yes, Miss Wakefield.” Catherine brought her mind back to the present. “There’s just one thing. Could you pull my underwear down for the remainder of my punishment, please.”
Miss Wakefield smiled. “Very wise, Catherine. Yes, of course.”
The teacher delicately inserted her thumbs into either side of Catherine Sanderson’s brief bright blue knickers and eased them down over the already sore bottom until they rested around the woman’s knees.
“Six good red stripes, Catherine. Let’s give you another six.”
“Okay.” Catherine answered, gripping the edges of the table.
Taking a firm grip on the riding crop, Miss Wakefield took aim and swished the implement powerfully down until it thwacked across Catherine’s now naked bottom.
“Ooooouch!!” Catherine cried. “Boy, that really smarts!”
The teacher ignored the comment and held the riding crop poised. Then, after a few moments, she swept the slender rod down to deliver another resounding stroke across Catherine’s sore bottom.
“Aaaaaaahh!!”
“Keep still, Catherine.” Miss Wakefield warned as the woman arched her back and began to move out of position.
“Sorry.” Against the pain, Catherine forced herself to settle back down and offer her bottom for another stroke of the riding crop.
Miss Wakefield duly obliged. The riding crop rattled down and delivered another sharp swipe across the woman’s naked backside.
“Eeeeesshh!!”
With Catherine dutifully retaining her position, the teacher allowed a few moments to pass and then whipped the riding crop down again, aiming low on the woman’s bottom.
“Yeeeeoouch!!” As her eyes moistened, Catherine looked round without fully focusing on the teacher standing behind her. “I bet Katie managed to cope better than I’m doing.”
“Concentrate on your own punishment, Catherine. What happened with Katie is of no consequence at this moment.”
“Yes, of course.”
Within moments, the riding crop lashed down again and another stinging stroke impacted across the woman’s backside.
“Ooooooooohhh!!”
With tears now streaming down her face, Catherine held on to the edges of the table for all she was worth. The intensity of pain across the whole of her bottom was burning and smarting and all she wanted to do was get up and try and ease the agony, but she knew she couldn’t do that.
There was a long pause, and Catherine was just about to look round when she heard the riding crop whistling through the air until it cracked across her naked bottom.
“Eeeeeeeessshhh!!”
As Catherine struggled with the fresh bout of scorching pain, she remained alert for any sign of the next stroke. Instead, she heard Miss Wakefield speaking slowly and calmly.
“That concludes your punishment, Catherine. Please remain in position and allow yourself a few moments for reflection.”
“Is it? I hadn’t realised.” Catherine responded instinctively before considering the second part of the teacher’s announcement. “Sorry, yes of course.”
The tranquillity of the large sitting room contrasted avidly with the turmoil that accompanied Catherine’s punishment. Miss Wakefield stood behind Katie’s mother, riding crop held poised in both hands, as she looked down at the woman’s backside and the angry red stripes that criss-crossed the creamy coloured surface.
“Right, Catherine. I think you can get up whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you, Miss Wakefield.” Catherine eased herself up from the hard surface of the table, pulled her knickers gingerly back on and dismounted from her kneeling position on the chair. Soothing hands clasped her sore bottom as she turned towards the teacher. “Thank you for doing that, Miss Wakefield.”
The older woman looked carefully into the tear-stained face and recognised the sincerity etched across the attractive features. “You took your punishment well, Catherine. Do you feel we’ve dealt adequately with the guilt you felt?”
“Yes. Yes, I deserved a good thrashing and that is what I feel I’ve received.”
“Why don’t I get us some fresh coffee while you get dressed?”
With Catherine clothed in her black track-suit, the coffee drunk and after thanking Miss Wakefield many times over for her assistance, finally Katie’s mother left for home.
“Where have you been?” Katie asked, as her mother came through the front door.
“Oh, nowhere.”
“Nowhere? How can you have been to nowhere?”
“Katie! You’ve given me that answer a million times when I’ve asked you where you’ve been.”
“I only give you that answer when I don’t want to tell you when I’ve been somewhere I don’t want you to know about.” Katie smiled. “So, just what have you been up to?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s another answer I give when I’ve been up to something I shouldn’t be doing.” Katie, still smiling, slapped her mother’s bottom playfully.
“Ouch!! Careful, that hurt!”
“Mum! I only smacked you gently. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
Before Mrs Sanderson could prevent her, Katie grabbed the waistband of her mother’s track-suit bottoms and yanked them down. The brief blue underwear concealed very little.
“Katie!”
“Mum! Those marks! They’re just like I got when I’d been to Miss Wakefield’s.”
Catherine Sanderson sighed. “Okay, let’s get some coffee on and I’ll tell you all about it.”
The End
© Kenny Walters 2009