Author's Statement: Big Billie is opposed to spanking and circumcision
except for consenting adults. However, spanking and circumcision
sexually excite him, so he writes about them.
Part 1: Miss Joan Johnson Asks for It
I still vividly remember that trip to the West Indies. It was in 1965 when
I was 22 years old. I was a newly qualified teacher and I was having
some difficulty in finding a suitable full time job.
It was then that I saw an advertisement, complete with box number, in
'The Teacher' magazine. It was in the name of a man called Johnson,
and it offered a temporary post for one year in Barbados for a female
governess. The successful applicant was being hired to teach Advanced
Level History, Geography and French to Mr. Johnson's daughter.
The interview was with Mr. Johnson in London, while he was there on
one of his business trips. He seemed to like me and it went well. The pay
was not very good, but it included travel expenses and board and
lodging, and this, plus the added bonus of a year in a beautiful tropical
paradise, was sufficient to get me on the jet to my Caribbean destination.
On the evening of my arrival, there was a meeting. Mr. and Mrs.
Johnson introduced me to my pupil, Joan. It was an experience that I
found most unnerving. Joan was a lot bigger, physically, than I was. I am
a petite brunette, about 5'3" tall. At that time, I was fit and sporty,
with a
background in ballet (at which I was a qualified instructor) and in
gymnastics. Joan, however, must have been 5'10," or even, perhaps,
5'11" tall. Unlike me, she was big boned and buxom. At 17 years old she
had the full-bodied figure of an older matron, except that her waist and
tummy were nicely curved inwards and her neck was long, slender and
graceful. I also noticed that Joan's hair was long, straight, thick and black
and her cheeks a healthy shade of pink. Her eyes were stunning. The
eyebrows, lashes and pupils were jet black, the eyeballs as white as
alabaster, and the irises a deep and translucent blue. Joan's skin, for
example on her neck, upper arms and bosom where it could best be
observed, was sun-tanned. This was to be expected as the mansion where
she was living had a garden that stretched down to the beach. I was to
learn later that, in places where it had not caught the sun such as on her
breasts, buttocks, lower tummy and pussy, Joan's skin was a beautiful
milky white. Joan's breasts were shapely, hemispherical and very well
developed. I could see through her thin blouse that they had to be
encased in a large and substantial bra that held them into a fetching
pneumatic cleavage. My pupil was wearing thin shorts that were a little
too small for her, and I could see that her legs, and particularly her bare
thighs, were thick and muscular, and that her bottom was large, plump
and meaty.
All this, however, would have interested and stimulated, rather than
disconcerted, me if I had not sensed from Joan's attitude that she disliked
my presence in her home, and that she did not want me as her governess.
I picked up this resentment partly from my observation of her sulky and
hostile reaction to me, and partly from what her father said. Apparently,
Joan had been withdrawn from her boarding school in England because
of an attitude problem towards her teachers and her work.
Now, during my teaching practice the previous year I had been placed
in a large comprehensive school in London that had some serious
discipline problems. At that time I was a mere rookie and I had not coped
well. In fact, the bigger teenaged girls, in particular, had run me ragged,
to my deep humiliation and embarrassment. I had seen this year in the
tropics as a welcome break from all that hassle, and was annoyed that
Joan's father had not been completely honest with me at interview in
London.
"From what you are now telling me, Mr. Johnson," I said testily,
"I feel
that I am unsuitable for this job. I am newly qualified, and I do not have
either the experience or the authority to cope with a difficult and
unwilling pupil." I was ready to fly back to Britain at my own cost, but at
last Mr. and Mrs. Johnson persuaded me to stay. It was agreed that I
would give the job a trial run for 6 weeks, after which time I could return
home, at their expense, if I wanted to.
What happened next amazed and transfixed me. At the end of our
meeting, Mr. Johnson rounded on his daughter, and asked her to look
him in the eye. "I have had enough of your disobedience and insolence
towards your teachers, young lady," he said. "Why, Miss Trubshawe
here was almost sent scurrying back to England at the mere report of
your naughtiness." He then turned to me. "Sally," he said,
"I am sorry
that I misled you in London, but you were the best person I interviewed,
and I badly wanted to get you here. I cannot undo my deviousness, but at
least I can try to give you the authority you need to do the job." With
that, he rose and walked over to a cupboard at the side of the room.
Rooting inside it, he pulled out a large gentleman's plimsoll. "Here, take
this," he said, "and keep it safe. And if madam here gives you any lip
or
cheek, then use it to slap her down. You have my full permission and
authority to employ whatever programme of corporal punishment you
feel is appropriate." He turned back to Joan. "Well, my girl, what do
you
think of that, then?" Joan was clearly shocked at this sudden and
unexpected initiative, and her pink cheeks blushed a deeper shade of red.
There followed a period of tense, embarrassed silence that seemed to go
on forever. Then, just as the tension was beginning to get oppressive,
Joan made her reply. "But I'm too big to be spanked" she blurted out
in
deep confusion and embarrassment. Her father gave a wry smile,
shrugged his shoulders and left it at that. Meanwhile, I was stunned at
Mr. Johnson's salacious proposal, and at Joan's sudden and unexpected
use of the saucy and stimulating word "spanked." In the sultry evening
air, beads of sweat stood out on my forehead, my mouth went as dry as
desert sand, and my heart pounded fiercely against my rib cage.
For the first few weeks things went quite well. Her father's words
seemed to have had some effect on Joan, and although neither of us made
any allusion to what he had said, his threat, and the authority he had
given me, seemed to spur her on to scholarly efforts. I was still very
nervous, however. For much of the time, Mr. Johnson was away on
business, and he usually took his wife with him. Thus, I was left alone
with Joan, with only Maggie, her old black nanny, and three black
menservants in the house.
Worse still, as time went on, Joan became lazy and unreliable in her
work. Getting her down to breakfast at a reasonable hour, for example,
got more and more difficult, despite Maggie's best efforts. Eventually, I
decided to ask Maggie for her advice. She was clearly very fond of Joan,
and was as worried as her parents were at the way she was squandering
her education. "I don't think talking to her will do any good, missie,"
she
told me. "I should lay down some rules. Then tell her what they are, and
that if she does not keep them, you will use that slipper like Mr. Johnson
told you." We had this conversation at 8.15 a.m. Joan should have been
down to breakfast 15 minutes earlier, but did not appear for another 20.
When she arrived I asked Maggie to stay with us while I lectured her. I
was fed up with her insolence, I told her, and with her persistent lateness
and lethargy. If there were any more lack of respect, unpunctuality or
laziness I would use the authority that her father had given me and
discipline her physically.
This was the first time that I had mentioned corporal punishment to
Joan. She blushed, partly in embarrassment and partly in anger that I
should dare to bring it up, I thought. Then she blurted out that she did not
intend to be spoken to like that, by me or by anyone else. There followed
a tirade about how she had never wanted me as her tutor in the first place,
how she had no intention of obeying my every beck and call, etc., etc.
Then, calling me some choice and offensive names, she flounced off to
her room.
During Joan's tantrum, I sat there helplessly. In my view, things were
going from bad to worse and there was nothing I could do about it. But
then Maggie came to my aid. She pointed out that soon Joan would be
going for her morning shower, and she said that, when she came out of
the bathroom, a little reception party would be waiting for her. "You go
into the study, missie," she said conspiratorially, "And take that big
slipper with you." I did as I was told, and sat in the chair behind the big
desk, slapping the plimsoll nervously against my left palm as I waited. It
was, I noted, a size 10, very light and floppy, and extremely well worn,
with a large, thin, smooth, flat rubber sole. Then I had a bright idea. I put
the plimsoll in my brief case, clicked and strapped the case shut, and
deposited it in the far corner of the room.
Meanwhile, Joan had come out from her shower. As she was on her
way back to her room she had a rude shock. Maggie, who acted as the
_major domum_ when Mr. and Mrs. Johnson were away, had ordered the
butler, the cook and the groom to seize her and to drag her to the study,
which they did with some relish. Soon, she was standing before my desk,
disoriented, dishevelled and angry.
"You know why you are here," I said abruptly, trying to keep my words
to a minimum to hide my nervousness. "You have two choices. You can
submit willingly or we can use force. Shall I tell these gentlemen to go,
or will they be needed?" There followed a long period of embarrassed
silence, until at last Joan peevishly turned to the menservants. "Get
out"
she said abruptly and rudely. "And you too," she added to Maggie.
"Oh
no," I said, firmly, "I want Maggie to see this." I then paused,
and,
keeping up my stern disciplinarian act, I looked Joan straight in the eyes.
It was an effort to conceal my fear and lack of confidence, but I managed
it. She stared back defiantly and insolently for a while, but then averted
her gaze and looked at the floor, her spirit shaken, but not, I felt, as yet
subdued.
"Right," I said sharply, and at my words Joan looked up at me again,
this time with an uncertain and less confident gaze. "Take off your bath
robe please." The victim seemed physically jolted by this suggestion and
blushed a deep red. There was a very embarrassing silence that seemed to
go on for hours. "But I've got nothing on underneath," Joan finally
blurted out, and for the first time she sounded vulnerable. At this news
my heart leapt into my mouth. This was exactly what I had been hoping
for. I found the prospect of catching Joan "on the bare" both
stimulating
and satisfying in the extreme. If I had said anything my voice would have
cracked, so I kept silent. I tried to face my adversary out with a
nonchalant and slightly amused smile. After what seemed an age, but
which was more likely about ten seconds, I motioned to Joan to comply
with my order. By now, I could see that she was sweating profusely in
the humidity of the tropical mid-morning heat, and was beginning to look
trapped. It seemed to be slowly dawning on her that, although she was
much bigger, and almost certainly physically stronger, than I was, I had
on my side an amount of effective force that she could not match. I kept
staring into Joan's translucent bright blue eyes. By now, my confidence
was growing as Joan's waned, and I began to realise that, if I played my
cards right, I could almost certainly emerge from this interesting and
stimulating personality clash as the mistress - both of Joan, and of the
situation. Eventually I added, "If I have to tell you again, madam, you
will be sorry."
Then, it actually happened. I watched intently as Joan slowly,
reluctantly and petulantly undid the bow on the belt of her bathrobe.
Soon, the belt was hanging loose and the robe fell open, revealing a
stunning nude body. Then, looking flustered and embarrassed, Joan
pulled the bathrobe backwards over her shoulders and let it drop to the
floor in a heap.
Wow, will I ever forget that moment! Suddenly, standing bare-naked
before me, at the peak of her physical beauty and fitness, was one of the
loveliest ladies that I have ever seen. She was so gorgeous, big, strapping
and sexy that she might have been the Greek goddess, Juno, as depicted
by Titian in his painting "the Judgement of Paris." But Joan was much
more youthful and nubile than Juno. Juno, in ancient Greek mythology,
was the wife of the greatest god, Zeus. She must therefore have been an
older and more experienced lady with ample authority to avoid the
embarrassment, indignity and stinging humiliation of getting her bare
bottom smacked!
Anyway, to return to Joan: from her long, swan-like neck, past her
voluptuous breasts, large but youthfully pert, down to her trim, firm,
inviting stomach and her broad but perfectly tapered waist, she was
exquisite. Further down, the parts of her anatomy that I was more
immediately concerned with for disciplinary purposes were equally
appealing and even sexier. I could not see Joan's bottom for the moment,
since she was facing me, but her thighs bulged gently and gracefully
outwards, and her plump, hairy labial lips curved into her crotch at the
tops of her thighs, where they were lost in a downwardly pointing
triangular mass of thick pubic ringlets, black and curly. Then I noticed
something else that I found very sexy. Joan's arms, neck, midriff, thighs
and legs had been tanned and toasted by the sun to a beautiful golden
brown. But the sexiest bits, namely her pneumatic breasts, her lower
tummy and her crotch had been covered by her bikini and were, as
described above, milk white. Finally, I noticed that, sprouting from
underneath Joan's armpits, were two large, thick, luxurious and curly
clumps of black hair that, together with her hirsute minge, formed a
downwardly facing isosceles triangle of three dark, inviting fur balls. The
total effect was stunning. Yet again, my resolution was shattered. Oh,
God, I thought, what am I to do? I sat there in my chair behind the desk,
and gazed intently at the naked lady before me. I do not know how long
this went on, since I was so absorbed that I lost all track of time.
My victim looked so stunning and so ravishing that I do not think that I
could have gone through with my disciplinary exploit if I had not got
mad. But, as I stared at my big bare pupil, I slowly began to feel the
anger rise within me. At first, it was towards all those big cheeky girls at
the London comprehensive where I had done my teaching practice. I am
from the cathedral city of Chester, and they were far too smart,
metropolitan and street-wise for me. Frankly, they really gave me the run
around. Worse, I think that some of the boys had admired and fancied
their young trainee teacher, and this had made the girls jealous.
"Ouch!" I
thought to myself as I recalled my humiliation. "Those young madams
were almost criminally insolent. They showed me absolutely no mercy.
And now here is another young madam trying it on as well. Well this one
is not going to get away with it. I will tame her spirit and show her who
is the boss. I will cool her courage. Right, madam, pride comes before a
fall. Prepare to get yourself slapped down good and hard."
With such thoughts as these I sat for a long while, eyeing up my prey
and working up my courage. As I did so I had one of what were to be a
number of very sexy thoughts. It was a very hot day, even by the
standards of the West Indies, and I noticed again that the heat and
humidity of the morning were building up sharply as the time
approached noon. Joan, despite her nakedness and her recent cleansing
and refreshing shower, was sweating ever more profusely, and was
silently squirming. Her whole body was glowing. The two luxuriant
clumps of hair protruding from beneath her armpits were damp and
soggy. Her skin was moist, salty and glistening with perspiration, and
beads of sweat stood out on her forehead and on the tops of her
shoulders, from where they from time to time trickled down her face,
neck and upper body. From the expression on her face and the way that
she was breathing heavily I could see that my nubile pupil was feeling
harassed and flustered. "Wow, lady!" I pondered, my imagination
excitedly bursting into rhyming couplets:
With sexy remarks I'll make you wriggle
All hot and bothered, what a giggle!
Then with my pump I'll play the rotter
I'll bother you more and make you hotter!
Finally I spoke, as slowly and as authoritatively as I could given my
racing heart. "Right, miss," I said. "Bring me your father's
plimsoll,
please. It is in my brief case over there." And I airily pointed to the
corner of the room where I had just put my case. This cunt teasing little
touch has now become one of my trademarks when I am slapping butt. It
is not always logistically feasible, of course, but when it is I always rile
and humiliate the victim by making her fetch and hand to me the
implement for her own chastisement. On this occasion, however, I had
my doubts that Joan would actually do it. At first, she stood her ground
and glowered back at me, outraged and angry. But I steadily returned her
stare. I tried to put a confident smirk of triumph on my face. But really I
felt neither confident nor triumphant, but very nervous and unsure of
myself. Yet again, however, my bluff worked. I watched entranced as
Joan faced away from me. For the first time in my life (but, happily, not
the last!) I caught an eyeful of her big bare white bottom as she turned it
towards my desk, and I ogled it intently as Joan moved to do my bidding.
She undid the clasp of the case, but then nervously botched her first
attempts to undo the two short straps on each side of the lock. This was
hardly surprising since I had buckled them as tightly as I could to cause
her this very embarrassment. Eventually, however, fuming and blushing
profusely, Joan succeeded in extracting the pump from the case. She then
ungraciously plonked it down on the desk in front of me. "No," I said,
stretching out my open right hand. "Give it to me. Gently. Onto my hand
if you please." ["Soon," I thought to myself, "I will be
giving it to _you_
my girl. But it won't be gently. And it will be onto a part of your
anatomy that's a lot funnier, sexier, saucier, kinkier, more perverted,
more intimate and more embarrassing than your hand!"]
When the plimsoll was firmly in my grip, I gave Joan my next order.
"You see that small red mat in the centre of the room," I said.
"Please
stand on it and face the window." By now I was beginning to enjoy
myself.
I now had my second clear, uninterrupted view of Joan's voluptuous
derrière, and again the sight made me catch my breath sharply.
Compared to my own trim posterior Joan's bottom seemed enormous.
The backs of her thighs and her calves had been tanned a beautiful deep
golden brown by the sun. But her bottom displayed a downwardly
pointing equilateral triangle of white meat where Joan's bikini bottom
had protected her more intimate bits from the sun's rays. The bottom
point of this sexy triangle was lost in the backwardly sprouting bushy
black hairs of the pussy meat. And what a bottom Joan's was! Her soft
buttocks appeared to be held together by the suppleness of youth into two
large, milk-white pear-shaped hemispheres, nubile and quivering. In my
time it has given me great pleasure to have smacked the bare bottoms of
a number of black ladies of Afro- and Afro-Caribbean ethnic origin. I
have noticed that the buttocks of such beauties are tight and taut, so that
the slipper almost seems to bounce back off them in a most pleasurable
and enjoyable fashion. White ladies, however, such as Joan, bring their
own disciplinary delights. In contrast to their black sisters, they seem to
have softer, floppier and more vulnerable bottoms, into which the
plimsoll bites nicely leaving beautiful sexy red indentations. These
obviously show up better on white, rather than on dark, skin, but this is
not the whole story. The really overexciting aspect is the way the nubile,
fleshy meat of their bottoms shudders, wobbles and quivers to the
stinging blows of the pump. At this moment in time, of course, I had all
of these exquisite delights yet to taste, but I was still able to fantasise
about them to the extent that I could already feel the wetness in my
crotch, and my clitoris standing hard and engorged at the top outer edge
of my pussy.
"Now," I said. "Put your feet together, please, and touch your
toes,
keeping your legs straight." Slowly and reluctantly, Joan obeyed my
instructions and bent forward to touch her toes. "OK," I added.
"Please
wait there for me until I am ready." For my part, I did not rush. For the
moment I remained seated and began to admire this new rear view of my
naked pupil. Wow! She was stunning! Soon my heart was pounding and
my palms were sweating as I gazed, or, rather, leered, at the sexiest thing
that I think I have ever seen. This was what I was later to come to refer to
as Joan's plump, juicy pussy meat, that chunky, sexy, fleshy bit where
her bum curved around to her pussy crack. Phwoarr, how did I keep from
fainting as I gawped at that rear view of Joan's quim, at the two meaty
labial lips, and at the thick, curly ball of black pubic hair that sprouted
backwards from those lips in luxuriant profusion? I resolved there and
then that it was that part of Joan's anatomy, the soft, sexy undercarriage
of her bum where the meat was at it most plump and tender, that I would
target for no less than six of my intended twelve slaps. That luxurious
pussy hair, sprouting backwards in a rich clump, would be my slipper's
target. Indeed, I thought, I would try to slap through it as if attempting to
bring the slipper's sole into contact with the plump, hairy meat of the
labial lips at the base of the _mons veneris_.
Meanwhile, Joan was bending over obediently as per instructions. Her
white buttocks looked big and vulnerable as they stood out in sharp
contrast to her sunburnt back, thighs and calves. Yes, my girl, I thought
to myself. That's a beautiful piece of raw, tender rump steak that you've
got there. It's escaped a tanning from the sun, but I will see it well
roasted by my slipper! Then, slowly, I rose from my seat and walked
over to Joan, positioning myself to her left hand side at right angles to
her big bare bottom. I then drew back my right arm, as my right hand
firmly grasped the slipper. Yes, I thought, there seems to be ample room
for a good, wide swing.
Part 2: Miss Joan Johnson Gets It – Ouch!
For the next few minutes I delivered (to Joan's bottom rather than to her
face) a stern, headmistressy lecture. In the course of this I stressed the
need to show respect and obedience to teachers, the necessity of
appropriate punishment for the disrespectful, and the duty of the young
to submit to discipline justly enforced by their elders and betters.
[Respect! Elders! What a pontificating madam I was! I was less than 5
years older than Joan!] I laid it on the line, and I really rubbed it in. She
had nonchalantly and arrogantly assumed that she could treat me like
dirt, and seemed to think that it was funny and of no consequence when
she insulted me. But to me her insouciant contempt was not funny at all.
It was a very serious offence. It undermined my professional role, and
made it impossible for me to do my job. On a purely personal level, I
added, I had a right to be treated with courtesy. Besides, I was a proud
lady, and I liked my own way. So I was going to show her who was the
boss, and pull her up short in her tracks. When I had finished with her,
she too would no longer consider her insubordination either amusing or
trivial. I then gave a résumé, which I had rehearsed to myself beforehand,
of Joan's transgressions, particularly of her rudeness, her name-calling
and other manifestations of her lack of respect, adding that she had asked
for her comeuppance over and over again. She richly deserved it, and
now she was going to get it. And this, I concluded, was only the first
dose. There was plenty more where this came from, as she would soon
be finding out. I was her governess and, from now on, I intended to
govern her. And my governance would be fair but firm. If she did not
show me proper respect, it would not be detentions or extra work. Big as
she was, I would punish her like a naughty little girl and she would suffer
the humiliation and the indignity of a bare-bottomed spanking. Her head,
and her attitude to discipline, were both as hard as bone, and I could
make no impression on them. But, as she would soon be finding out to
her embarrassment and discomfort, her bare, unprotected bottom would
prove softer, fleshier, vulnerable and much more impressionable!
Throughout this harangue, Joan remained bent over, squirming, seething,
indignant and angry, but, at the same time, submissive, compliant and
now seemingly resigned to her fate. She did not even tell me to get on
with it, although, in the circumstances, I suppose that this was
understandable!
Well, the time for the denouement had now arrived and I nervously took
up my stance with my legs slightly apart, still positioned at ninety
degrees to Joan's bare bottom. As the moment of truth loomed near, I
was beset with the jitters yet again. The situation was so sexy that I
thought at one point that I would swoon or melt into jelly. But, at last, I
regained my composure. I even had a sexy idea for what to do next. I
lined up the plimsoll onto the target area and pressed it to the bare meat.
Then, with a sudden motion of my wrist, I flicked the slipper back and
then sharply forward again, thus slapping the flat sole across the naked,
exposed pussy meat of Joan's undercarriage. My intention was to address
Joan's bare rump like a golfer addresses his ball, except that my
movement was faster and sharper, and I carried through with my flick,
rather than stopping it when it reached its target. I thus used the slipper
rather like a horsewoman uses her riding crop, and the slap was just hard
enough to be sharp and disciplinary, rather than playful. Joan's plump
white cunt flesh wobbled invitingly from the force of the blow. "Aw!"
exclaimed the victim, in a rueful, miffed tone. I then left the plimsoll in
the position where it had landed while I contemplated my aim.
Meanwhile the pussy hairs protruded saucily from around the rim of the
sole (as, of course, they protruded even more saucily from around the rim
of the quim, at that moment temporarily covered by the sole!) "Come on,
my girl," I said. "Those legs are not straight enough." I then
gave Joan
another stinging little flick with the pump, right across the pussy hairs
again, applying it this time slightly harder. Joan was clearly displeased at
this. "Ouch!" she responded testily. Meanwhile I gently pushed her
head
down towards the floor. "No. Stretch," I added. "Go on, right
down. No."
(Flick, crack!) "Not good enough." I thus used the slipper to gee up
my
victim for the third time. This time I slapped it home right across the twat
yet again, and just that little bit harder still, so that, as indicated, it
landed
right where the other two slaps had landed with a crack that was sexily
and satisfyingly shrill and high pitched, and that left me in no doubt at all
that I had hit the target flush and spot on. This third flick certainly had
the required effect. Although the blow was nowhere near as hard as the
ones to come, Joan was obviously quite determined not to take another
one like that if she could avoid it. "Aw! That hurt!" she cried, and
again
she sounded both rueful and angry. But by now she had got the message,
and she started sweating, straining and grunting to touch her toes in the
required fashion. "That's still barely acceptable," I concluded,
"But just
this once I will let you off. Since this is the first time that you have taken
the pump I will ascribe your failure to obey to inexperience and make a
start. But keep stretching downwards and straining hard, madam. The
slightest hint of any relaxation and you will catch it again, and harder!"
Over the years these saucy little tail flicks with the pump before the
spanking proper commences have become part of my stock in trade.
They are a sexy and amusing piece of foreplay before the fun starts in
earnest and I go on to really screw the victim! I usually apply from three
to six of them, and I make each flick just a little bit harder than the
previous one. I always make sure that these slaps land across the back of
the pussy hairs, smack onto the twat against the plump nubile cunt meat,
and that each slap lands absolutely flush and exactly on top of the one
before it, so that the tingling builds up incrementally. And, of course, I
flick the older and bigger girls (the nubile ones with meatier twats and
pussy hair!) just that little bit more freely and often, and just that little
bit
harder. The slaps, at least the first two or three of them, do not, I suppose,
really hurt all that much. But they carry an infuriating little sting and are
a saucy prelude and reminder of just how sharp the following spanks will
come. The girls hate them! For example, the big strapping 16 and 17 year
olds in 5C resent the 12 proper spanks that they normally get and seethe
in anger when they have to take extra wallops, up to a total, as they see it,
of between 15 and 18. And wow, my goodness but it doesn't half slap
them into line! If not by flick three, then almost invariably by flick six,
even the most recalcitrant madam is puffing and panting and straining
madly to comply with my orders! I thus always ensure that my victims'
bottoms are well stretched when they take the pump in earnest, and that
there is no possibility of the girls hardening their muscles and tightening
their rumps against the blows that follow. Also, by the time the pussy
meat has taken between three and six of these slaps from my large, flat
slipper, an amusingly ample area of it is beautifully pink, tingly and
tender - tenderised, you might say, like prime rump steak, in preparation
for the roasting to come! Wow, how I love a soft, vulnerable target!
Meanwhile, the victim is thinking, as I crack some merry quip such as
"now we can begin," that if it tingles this much before I have even
started, how much more will it sting by the time I have finished.
Needless to say, to encourage such thoughts, I pause after I have
administered my flicks to give the victim ample opportunity to ponder
what is to come, and to allow her bottom plenty of time to shudder in
anticipation of what is about to hit it. During this pregnant pause, I
expect the victim to continue to stretch, strain and grunt in her efforts to
bend over as far as she can. Any sign of relaxation and I give her another
flick, quite a hard one this time to indicate that I am losing my patience
with her. And if that does not work she takes the pump again, several
times if necessary, until I am sure that she is striving hard enough. Then,
if she is so foolish as to relax during her chastisement, she gets another,
extra, sharp flick or two. Twelve is my record total for preparatory flicks.
I applied them across the rump of a rebellious 17-year-old madam who at
first flatly refused to do what I said. By slap 9 or so, however, I had
broken her and then, to teach her a strict lesson, another 3 sharp cracks
re-echoed around the room as I gave her another three hard flicks across
the thin, tightly stretched gusset of her gym knickers, thus: "Right
madam, now in future remember. (Flick 10!) Do (Flick 11!!) as you are
told (Flick 12!!!). OK, that's better, now we can start." Then, after that,
she got the usual 12 of the best, slapped home with just that little extra bit
of spite and venom. Wow! From then on she was firmly resolved never
to take another 24 swats like that ever again. At subsequent spankings
she always obeyed my instructions with great promptness and
tremendous enthusiasm!
But I digress; let me return to Joan. "Yes, my girl," I thought
as I
congratulated myself on my handiwork and admired her pink, tingling
rump. "I bet that stung. But that was only the beginning. Now I'm really
going to make your pubic ringlets fly. Your pussy meat will soon be
wobbling and tingling a lot more than that!" I then took careful aim as I
again gently pressed the sole of the slipper into the bare, pussy meat, now
all pink and tingling, and repeated my golfer addressing the ball act.
Next, I brought back my arm, bending my knees and keeping the slipper
nice and low so that I could strike the inwardly sloping pubic meat flush
with a slightly upward blow, right where I had just been flicking it, and
where I had then pushed the slipper's sole to the pink, naked, tingly cunt
flesh. This was my moment of triumph, and I savoured it for several
seconds. As I did so, I felt another violent surge of anger and frustration
well up inside me. I thought of how Joan had been systematically rude
and disrespectful to me for the last two or three weeks, setting my
feelings and my self esteem at naught. Who does this flipperty-gibbert
think that she is, I thought. I'll give it to her! Big as she is, I'll cut her
to
size! No matter where it ends I am going to teach her a short, sharp
lesson that she will never forget. I will make her wince and shudder to
remember this day, even when she is an old lady. After a little while
pondering such thoughts, I was seething with anger and determined to let
Joan have it. I felt spiteful and malicious and I wanted revenge. "Right,
madam," I thought in exultation and triumph, "It's show time! I will
make you feel sorry for yourself! I will make you regret what you have
done! I will make you rue the day that you ever dared to cross ME! I will
tame you and slap you into line! I will punish you strictly and severely
for your insolence! Take that!"
I then brought round the pump, very smartly and firmly, onto Joan's
plump tingly pink pussy meat. By now I was, as I have said, hopping
mad at Joan. But, by a great effort of will, I still managed to control my
anger. I was careful not to use every ounce of my strength, since I did not
want to hurt Joan too badly. I was determined to humiliate her and to
make her tingle like hell. But I wanted to sweat her, wind her up and get
her hopping mad, not to break her or to reduce her to tears. Even so, the
pump fairly whistled through the air. Fortunately, and more by luck than
judgement, my aim was impeccable. I had never used corporal
punishment on anyone before, and I was very green and inexperienced.
But luckily my first blow landed absolutely flush, right slap across both
bare buttocks, just above the backs of the thighs, with a loud, crisp,
crack. As the blow landed, I also noticed that, as I had anticipated, Joan's
tousle of black pussy hairs was blown and scattered every which way by
the breeze from the pump, and the pink cunt meat quivered and wobbled
in the most alluring and sexy fashion. The sharp crack that rang out as
the slipper hit home, and the stimulating sight of Joan's flying pussy
hairs and shuddering bum flesh, caused my fluttering heart to leap under
my rib cage. But there was something else that I also found unbelievably
sexy. Joan's quivering arse meat wobbled the sole of my plimsoll, and
the wobbling was transmitted to the palm and fingers of my right hand as
I gripped the pump around its heel. It was a delicious feeling! It almost
felt as if I had slapped Joan with the flat of my hand. However, because I
had not used my hand, but a gym pump, my palm and fingers were
tingling a lot less, and Joan's bottom much, much more!
I next gave a satisfied grin as I heard Joan gasp audibly. She was clearly
shocked and taken aback by the force of the blow and she breathed in
sharply through her teeth. "Yes, madam," I thought, "I may be
green, but
I'll redden you. Now I've got you on the hop I won't half make you bite
your lip." Then my mind started racing with all sorts of sexy quips.
"If
you're rude, I'll slap you nude." "When you offend, you'll bare and
bend." And so on.
I was compos mentis enough, however, to pause before delivering my
next slap. I took my time and waited for Joan's bottom to tingle. Soon I
triumphed to see the sexy red imprint of my slipper in sharp outline, like
a red coloured tattoo etched across the plumpest and sexiest parts of both
buttocks, right where they were already pink and tingling from my three
preparatory slaps. When she got married in a few years time, I mused,
that was exactly where her husband (lucky man!) would be slamming her
with his stiff and excited cock. Joan was a big, lusty girl, and she would
enjoy that. But for the moment that part of her body which would later
give her exquisite and voluptuous pleasure was being slammed hard not
by a young man's cock but by my slipper, and her cunt flesh was taking
the rap of a sexy and humiliating punishment. What a superb way to
chastise a big, cocky teenager! She was of marriageable age, large, lusty,
and almost certainly eager for sex. But instead of the delights of the
marriage bed, she was taking this stinging, undignified and demeaning
chastisement. She was being spanked like a naughty little girl (only
MUCH harder!) right across the most adult, womanly, intimate and sexy
part of her body (the "X" certificate bit). What a beautiful and
poetic
method of humbling her and bringing her to heel! She would surely
shudder and wince years later as her husband rhythmically walloped her
cunt meat with his cock to recall this earlier walloping, far more
humiliating and painful yet, in a kinky kind of way, every bit as sexy. In
fact, for me, as the excited observer and a keen aficionado of spanking, it
was considerably sexier. Yet again, doggerel verses formed in my
imagination. "It's not a cock that slams your cranny, it's a pump slapped
hard across your fanny."
Meanwhile, from the middle of the red weal across Joan's buttocks, the
voluptuous curly black tousle of pussy hair still sprouted backwards from
between her bum cheeks, having now reformed itself into a thick ball
after its recent scattering. This too, I found unbelievably sexy. Those
thick, bushy black hairs were the physical and biological proof of Joan's
puberty, adulthood, and femininity, and they were blatantly, jauntily and
indelicately sprouting from the very seat and centre of her sexuality. It
stimulated me almost to orgasm to think how that fur-ball of pubic hair
was about to be scattered again and again by my trusty pump, and of how
the nubile cunt meat from which it sprung was about to be rapped,
wrung, stung and reddened. My common sense told me that Joan was far
too old, far too big, far too nubile, and far too sexy to suffer this stinging
indignity. It was all too preposterously funny, absurdly droll, ludicrously
amusing and ridiculously hilarious. In other words, it was the most
exquisite and perfect comeuppance for her. Oh wow! This revenge of
mine, I thought to myself, was very, very sweet. More sexy quips formed
in my mind: "Yes, my bonny bird, just feel how I'll ruffle your tail
feathers. I'll singe your minge for you and no mistake."
Joan's sexy predicament struck me as being very, very funny. But she
clearly thought that it was anything but a joke. The force of that first
spank, and the loud, sharp crack that it made as it struck home, had
clearly been a distinct and unexpected shock for her, and it made her
hopping mad at me. Then, over the next four seconds or so, as her bum
began to tingle and ring like a bell, she got even more infuriated. "Oh!
Oh!" she muttered angrily, "That stings, that really, really stings.
Oh, you
bitch! You bastard! You absolute cow! How dare you do that to me!
Who the hell do you think…?" Crack!
While Joan was venting her spleen against me, I slowly and deliberately
pulled back my arm again and took careful aim. Then, just as she was in
the middle of her rantings, and just when the tingling from spank number
1 reached its crescendo, I brusquely and peremptorily cut across her
comments. However, I said nothing. Instead, I let my slipper do the
talking. Just at the very moment when her bum had fully felt slap number
one, and she was at the height of her vexation and fury, I gave her
another one! Having scored my first bull's eye, I found that I was able to
hit home with the same accuracy a second time. The pump whistled
through the air, and hit its target with a crack so sharp and high pitched
that it sent a frisson down my spine. Again, the pussy hairs were
scattered, the nubile meat of the bottom shuddered and quivered
deliciously, and I was gratified to see that the second red mark
overlapped more or less exactly with the first one. The force of this
second blow temporarily nonplussed Joan. She abruptly ceased her
diatribe against me in mid-sentence. Instead she grunted involuntarily
and breathed in sharply. "Wow, lady," I thought, my mind careering off
again into erotic thoughts, "This is just the beginning. Am I going to
rattle your big meaty arse for you!"
As the tingle from this second spank was incrementally added to that
from the first, Joan took up again her sexy and rebellious verbals. "Oh,
you cow, you complete cow! You absolute 24-carat bitch! Aw! Aw!!
Aw!!! Oh, my God, that stings! That really, really stings! I'll get you for
this, you bastard! I'll have you sacked for it! Wait till I tell daddy! I'll
have you on the next plane back to London before your feet can touch
the ground. I'll sort you, you bitch, just you see if I don't! ...
(Etc.)...."
Now, with this line of attack, dear reader, Joan hit me right on the raw.
Despite my seeming self-confidence I was by no means sure that I was
not overstepping the mark with my saucy disciplinary exploits. It seemed
to me in the heat of the moment (and indeed for long afterwards) a
distinct probability that Joan's father would be outraged if and when he
heard the salacious details of her punishment. Despite the permission that
he had given me to spank his daughter, surely he would consider this
comeuppance of hers to be well over the top? I was beginning to enjoy
my job in the West Indies, and I did not want to go home just yet. Yet if
Joan complained loud enough to her dad that was exactly what I could
see myself being forced to do. The thought miffed me, and made me
even angrier with Joan than I had been before. "So you would tell tales
on me, would you, madam?" I thought to myself. "You would get me
sacked would you? How dare you threaten me! How dare you even
suggest such a thing! I may never catch you bending again, but while my
luck holds and I have your bare buttocks at my mercy I will take my
chance to enforce a sharp and sexy revenge." Then, as my anger and
frustration welled up to its peak, I again cut across Joan's diatribe against
me in the sexiest and most effective fashion that I could think of. With
more than a hint of malice and venom in my riposte, I hit her with a third
hard spank. Crack!!
"Ouch! Oh! You bitch! You cunning, vindictive vixen! Aw! Aw!! Aw!!!
You may hold the whip hand now, you cow, but just you wait! Just you
fucking well..." _Whack_!!! Again, it may have been rather rude and ill
mannered of me, dear readers, but, at the height of Joan's ravings, I gave
her another one. As I explain below, this fourth slap I aimed higher up
Joan's bottom, onto white meat that had as yet remained unchastised.
But, my goodness, I made her pay a sharp and sexy penalty for
threatening me with the sack again, and also for that "fucking" of
hers!
Yes, I made her rue her indelicate and unladylike use of a 4-letter word!
Wow! Did I give her something to rattle her arse and make her feel sorry
for herself! That fourth spank was a beauty, and it left Joan in absolutely
no doubt that, while I may have been initially amused by her insolence,
her threats and her bad language were now beginning to annoy me, and I
would tolerate them no longer. In short, it was time for the victim to shut
up, or else! "Aaagh!" she cried. But then, at long last, she realised
that, at
least for the time being, I had her fast by the hairs of her well-developed
and hirsute pussy, and that there was nothing that she could do about it.
She therefore sensibly decided to sweat her temper, to stop threatening
and swearing at me, and to suffer the rest of her stinging, undignified and
humiliating comeuppance in angry but compliant submission.
Now let me narrate a few more details of what was happening at Joan's
rear end. The third slap I delivered to the same part of Joan's rump, onto
its sexy undercarriage. But then, to give her some relief from that
merciless trip hammering, I applied the next six slaps higher up, to those
parts of the butt that until then had remained unchastised. I aimed ad lib
at the plumpest and whitest bits, trying my best to spread the smacks as
evenly as I could over the whole bottom, and to turn it a nice even shade
of red. The problem was that Joan had a big bottom, and I only had 12
spanks to play with. But my trusty slipper, with its big, flat sole, was
more than equal to the task. Swish, crack, sting, pause, tingle; swish,
crack, sting, pause, tingle was the remorseless sequence as I continued to
allow plenty of time for the bare bum to tingle between each slap. The
fourth whack, the particularly sharp one, landed right across the middle
of the rump, the meat of the seat, as you might say. Then I aimed above
and below this central benchmark until the whole bottom was an even
shade of red except for the nubile pussy meat on Joan's undercarriage,
which was a deeper hue. I must say that it was a great help to me that the
bottom was bare, since I could see exactly where to aim. Every time I
struck the target, the crack of plimsoll against bare meat rang out sharply
and sexily, and Joan gave little gasps and cries at the force of the blows.
For the last three strokes, I returned again to the plump pussy meat, the
epicentre of my assault. I was still determined that, by the time I was
done, it would have taken in all a full six of the best. I also made sure that
the punishment built up to a shattering and orgasmic climax. Swish,
crack went the tenth slap, just a little bit harder than all of the previous
nine except for number 4, and onto meat that by now, even after its short
respite, must have been ringing like a bell, and really raw, sore and
tender. Meanwhile Joan continued to let out sharp grunts and cries at
every slap as her reddened bottom quivered and danced. Again I waited
for Joan to feel the full sting of slap number ten. Then, even harder, I
gave her slap eleven. "Oh!" she cried involuntarily. "Oh! Oh!
Oh!" I
looked down, and saw that she was wincing. "At last, madam," I
thought,
"I think I am beginning to get through to you." Then I girded up my
loins
for the final spank. Into slap number 12 I put just a little bit of extra spite,
malice and venom, giving it almost all that I had, and completing a
blistering finale to my act. The slipper whistled home for the last time
(for the moment) and cracked sharply against the tender, reddened pussy
meat. Joan gasped audibly and her bottom shuddered again. "Woooh,
woooh, aaagh!" she murmured gently as her bum smarted at the full
accumulated tingling and stinging of my 12 of the best.
Part 3: Aftermath
Next I rapped out an order. "Stay where you are, young lady, and keep
your fingers on your toes. If you move from position before I say so, you
will regret it." I then returned to my seat behind the desk to view my
triumph. Joan's big bare bottom was covered with the red weals from my
slipper. Over most of the bum these had merged into each other to form a
large, deep, even, red patch. The pussy meat, of which I had a perfect
view as Joan bent over, as I had intended, was even redder than the rest
of the target area. Then, below the bottom, the two broad, plump backs of
the upper thighs gently bulged out in brown, sun-tanned contrast to the
red meat and the black clump of pussy hair above them. "Wow," I
thought. "I bet that stings."
I was now sitting down directly opposite Joan, as she was facing and
bending away from me. My eyes were at about the same level as her cunt
meat. From this angle I noticed again something that made me breathe in
sharply. Past and beyond her pubic ringlets Joan's two plump labial lips
and her cunt slot between them were on full and prominent display as
they hung invitingly and alluringly below and behind her crotch. It was
exactly as if Joan were presenting her rump to a mate, inviting him to
insert his stiffened cock beneath and between her hot, reddened buttocks
and into her receptive pussy. "Wow!" I mused. "What a sharp and
explosive shag that would be! Oh God! You are bending over there just
asking for it, my girl! If I were a red bloodied male I would be very hard
pressed to avoid taking and violating you right now. In the passionate
heat of this moment it would be more than worth a long prison sentence
for the rape and pillage of your virginity.
I continued along this saucy, naughty line of speculation for quite a
while, and began to put it into the context of the men in my own life. So
far there have been three of these, my father, my little brother John, and
my husband Dave (whom at this stage, I had not met). They are three
very different characters, but, in the willie department, they have one
thing in common. They have all been circumcised.
When I was a girl I remember vividly that my dad used to complain
ruefully about his little operation. Then, when John was old enough to
understand what being circumcised meant, he started to join in with the
whingeing, and they would really wind each other up about it.
As a family we were always very open about sex, especially by the
standards of the 1950s and early 60s. My father made no attempt to hide
his cock from my gaze. When it was on display, therefore, I would, from
an early age, stare at it and wonder what "being circumcised" actually
meant. As for John, he is two years younger than me, so I had constant
viewings of his penis right from the word go. In his case too I would
wonder what his tool would look like if it had not taken the chop.
I did not fully realise the awful truth until I was at college. At
the time
it was the early 60s, and sexual morality were becoming less restrictive.
I succumbed to the greater climate of freedom, and at the age of 19 I lost
my virginity to my then boyfriend. My lover had not been circumcised
and I was stunned by my first view of his flaccid cock. The prick tip
was, I noticed, entirely covered by a thick double fold of skin, which, he
told me, was called the "foreskin." The cock as a whole had a
dramatically different appearance from my dad's. I found this a subject
of great interest, and throughout my relationship with my lover I handled
and inspected his cock on every possible occasion - which was quite a
few! He told me that "circumcision" meant "the cutting off
of the
foreskin"! And he showed me where the cut took place, and which skin
was removed. Wow, I thought. Then dad and John must have had the
equivalent of about 15 square inches of adult prepuce snipped off the end
of their willies, or about as much skin as there is on the palm of a man's
hand! No wonder they are feeling cut up and sore about it!
In contrast, my next boyfriend, like dad and John, had been
circumcised. This gave me the chance, for the first time in my life, to
handle an adult circumcised cock and to inspect it carefully. Again, I
was stunned by the experience. All around my friend's penis shaft was a
circumcision scar. With his permission, I measured this, and found that
it was about 5 inches long, even when his cock was flaccid. As with all
the other circumcisions I have seen, the operation had evidently been a
messy job. In one place there was a stitch-tunnel that had filled up with
puss, and in another a disfiguring little skin flap. The scar was ugly,
livid, pitted and pockmarked, and the whole cock looked badly beaten up
and battered. My friend, like every other circumcised man I have known,
was obsessed and infuriated by what he called the "assault and
battery"
inflicted on his cock. He would complain loud and long to me about it,
especially if I egged him on, and asked questions.
From that point of time I decided that I liked the idea of men being
circumcised. I know that, like my love of smacking ladies' bottoms, this
is kinky and perverted. But I cannot help it. It is just the way
that I am.
Anyway, from then on, dad, John, and later Dave, have had to take a fair
amount of flack, ribbing and stick from me on the question. It is
brilliant, really. I love a wind up, and to wind them up really tight
about
having had their cocks chopped is as easy as falling off a log.
Anyway, back to Joan. As I sat there eyeing up her pussy and cunt
slit,
I began to think how much dad and John would enjoy the sight before
my eyes. In 1966 my dad was 57 years of age, and a very dirty old man.
He loved to eye up bikini-clad ladies on summer beaches. He would
often make saucy and suggestive comments about young ladies of his
acquaintance. Indeed, he would tell my mother confidentially and in
private that, if he was not a married man, he would just love to slam dunk
his cock into some of my girl friends. Mum did not mind this too much.
His fantasies helped to keep him sexually active, and she herself then
reaped the rewards in bed. But she would sometimes attempt to shame
him by telling me what he had said. Anyway, I knew exactly what dad
would be thinking if he were in my place at that moment. I imagined
him naked, with his great, stiff circumcised mutton dagger raised before
him. Wallop! Joan, poor innocent virgin, would not know what had hit
her, and very quickly her hymen would follow his foreskin into history!
Then I thought of my little brother, John. He was shy with ladies,
but,
like my dad, he was very interested in them. What, I wondered to
myself, would he not give for a ten minute assault on Joan's vulnerable
and unprotected pussy. Wouldn't he just love to rub his circumcision
scar up and down her pussy! Whack! Poke, rub, grunt, poke, rub,
grunt,
etc. Joan would have been caught at a hopeless disadvantage, and within
seconds her chastity would have been dead meat! I suppose what helped
to stimulate these saucy thoughts was that I was not getting it myself at
that time. I was sharply frustrated and my mind conjured up some very
graphic fantasies! Thus, for between five and ten minutes, I continued to
stare entranced at Joan's bare, bending rump and hairy pussy while I gave
my imagination full reign and felt my clitoris grow rock hard in my
knickers.
At last, however, I snapped out of my trance and gave another order.
"Right, now listen carefully. I want you to move you fingers from your
toes and put your hands on top of your head, rising to stand upright as
you do so. You will then stand still and await further instructions" Her
spirit now tamed, at least temporarily, Joan silently and obediently
complied. Now that she was standing up, I had an even better view of her
gorgeous body: the long, straight black hair cascading down over her
shoulder blades; the graceful inward curvature of her broad waist; the
wide, outwardly sloping hips; the big, sexy red bottom with thick black
pussy hair sprouting from underneath it; the broad meaty sun-tanned
thighs; and the beautiful shapely brown calves. Whew! Again I stared
enchanted, and again I know not for how long.
Finally, I asked Joan to turn round and face me. As she did so, I noticed
with satisfaction that, in her humiliation and embarrassment, Joan was
blushing profusely so that the cheeks of her face were almost as red as
the cheeks of her bottom. I then took my chance to get a last, lingering
stare at Joan's ravishing front view. I remembered what my little brother,
John, used to say about ladies, and about what turned him on. "Bums and
tits," he would say. "Bums and tits, and eyes and thighs." So now
I stared
into Joan's translucent, bright blue eyes and then gazed down at her
plump, pneumatic boobs. These were milky white apart from the two
delicious red nipples in the middle of each breast, because, as I have said,
they had been protected from the sun by Joan's bikini top. They stood
out in contrast to the surrounding tanned meat on the upper bosom, arms
and tummy. Then my eyes roved further down Joan's figure again, to
admire the white triangle of flesh and the hairs around her pussy, and,
below these, her plump, meaty upper thighs, which had been bronzed a
beautiful shade of brown by the sun. "God!" I thought. "You're
beautiful. The lucky devil who marries you will get infinitely more
pleasure than any son of Adam deserves, or has any right to, in this
imperfect and sinful world."
Then I had another saucy thought. God, I mused, I hope that your
husband is circumcised. No man in this world is worthy to enjoy beauty
as stunning as yours perfectly, as nature intended and with his foreskin
on. His cock should have had fifteen square inches of nerves and
sensitive tissue chopped off it. It should have an ugly five-inch
circumcision scar around its shaft. And its prick tip should be exposed,
calloused over and desensitised. And even then the pleasure of that cock
will be far too sharp, and far too exquisite." Thus I continued for a
further few minutes with these and similar kinky and saucy fantasies.
By now my anger had been successfully vented, and I began to think
that I had perhaps used the slipper a little too freely on Joan. I think that
if she had broken down and wept I would have been devastated with
remorse. The spanking had jolted me into ecstasies of sexual pleasure,
and the effect was like a drug. I was hooked, and I knew that I must have
more fixes. I was certain that I would try to engineer more chances to
smack Joan's bare bottom, and I felt guilty about it. What was so kinky
and exciting was that I was being such a spiteful and vindictive bitch. I
had vented my spleen on my victim out of pique, and not as a responsible
teacher administering due and appropriate chastisement. Joan had riled
me, and I had exacted my revenge with haughty malice. The appalling
thing was that I was really proud and pleased with the way I had slapped
her down. It had sexually excited me more fiercely than anything else I
could remember, and I was shocked and puzzled at the sharpness of my
pleasure. If, or, as I hoped, when, I smacked Joan's bare bottom again I
vowed to try not to do it purely for my own perverted joy in mastering
and dominating her. But I was only a petite little madam, and I had got a
real kick out of bending this big strapping filly to my will. I had brought
her so sharply and so pleasurably to heel that I decided to make myself
no promises.
Anyway, for the moment, I thought that the time had come to be more
sympathetic to my charge. I smiled pleasantly. "OK," I said, in as
cheerful and kindly a voice as I could muster. "We will talk about where
we go from here at 11 o'clock. Put your bathrobe on, go back to your
room and compose yourself." Joan turned away from me to pick up her
bathrobe, presenting me with another view of her big red bottom. And
then she did something that I found very sexy. It was now at least ten
minutes since the last slap had landed on her bum, and Joan was no
longer smarting and tingling from her punishment to any great extent.
This, indeed, as I have noted elsewhere, is one of the great advantages of
slipperings. They sting like hell at the time, in the most vexing and
infuriating way. But, on the other hand, they do no lasting damage and
the victim soon regains her composure. Joan had by now clearly done
this. However, she still brought both hands off the top of her head and,
very ruefully and lovingly, almost wistfully, she rubbed and massaged
the pussy meat of both buttocks with her fingers. While she did this she
took no thought of covering her nakedness. She continued slowly and in
an exaggeratedly gingerly fashion for about twenty to twenty-five
seconds, taking care that her bum was pointed towards me so that I got
an excellent view. Indeed, Joan was clearly hamming it up. She was so
provocative, almost raunchy, in her actions that I could only conclude
that she was deliberately trying to turn me on - very successfully, I might
add! Joan was clearly embarrassed, vexed and hopping mad at her sharp,
saucy and humiliating chastisement. But, like me, she too seemed to find
it sexy, salacious and amusing, even though the joke was on her.
I noted with satisfaction that Joan came down five minutes early for our
11 o'clock tryst. She had changed into a pretty, flowery and very
feminine summer frock. It was thin, low cut and close fitting around her
waist so that it showed off the tops of her boobs, her cleavage and her
curvy waistline very well. But then it emphasised her broad bottom and
hips by flaring out beautifully over her thighs. It ended, cut off, just
above the knees of her bare legs. I paid particular attention to Joan's
mood, however, and was surprised to see that she seemed somewhat
chirpy. For all her faults, I knew that this was an open and generous girl
who would not hold grudges.
"Ah, Joan," I said good-naturedly. "Hello again. Won't you take a
seat?"
"If it is all the same to you," she replied, not without a slight
twinkle in
her eye, "I think I would rather lean." And she stretched herself out,
in an
alluring pose, against the wall, taking a somewhat theatrical and
exaggerated care that her bottom did not come into contact with it.
"Well," I asked, looking squarely into her translucent, bright blue
eyes.
"What have you got to say for yourself, then?" She gazed back at me,
without resentment or dislike. "Well," she said. Then she paused.
"If our
roles were reversed, I don't expect you would have much to say would
you?" I smiled good-naturedly. "In your dreams, lady," I thought
to
myself. "O.K.," she went on, in a tone that suggested that for her the
incident was over, "I admit it. I damn well deserved it, didn't I?"
Then
she smiled and ruefully rubbed her bottom again through her thin dress
and knickers, not in pain but for the undignified and comical effect, as if
acknowledging, for the second time, that the joke was on her.
I had thought out my next speech in advance, and I now proceeded to
deliver it. I intended to continue with a programme of corporal
punishment, I told her, but it was for her own good, and it would mainly
be used as a threat, to encourage her to work. There would be a system of
merit and demerit marks, and she would only get the slipper when she
had amassed 12 demerits. At any time she could bring down her tally of
demerits by undertaking extra studies, and each hour of overtime would
earn her one merit mark (the equivalent, although I did not say it, of
avoiding one spank.) Even when she reached 12 demerits, she would not
be punished immediately, but I would negotiate with her a grace period
during which, if she worked hard, she might hope to escape the rap. If,
after this time, however, she ended up with more than twelve demerits,
she would be disciplined, and the surplus demerits above 12 would be
carried forward. Three times a year, before the Christmas, Easter and
summer breaks, all demerits would be cancelled, although any merits
would be carried forward. Merits would be awarded for good and
conscientious work, and demerits for laziness, unpunctuality, etc. She
would never get a demerit for trying her best, I assured her, for example
in her weak subject, History, even if her performance was disappointing.
Over and above this system of merits and demerits, however, there
would be a short list of offences that carried an immediate retribution.
These included deliberate and perverse disobedience and wilful lack of
respect. I did not realise it at the time, but this was quite a significant
speech I was making. I have from time to time used a similar system of
discipline throughout my teaching career.
"Well," I concluded, "Any questions?" Since her spanking
Joan seemed
to be in some awe of me and to accept my authority over her, at least in
principle. I was surprised to see that she appeared to have no real quarrel
with the gist of what I had said. But, naturally enough, one or two things
concerned her. "O.K.," she said grudgingly, "I suppose I could do
with
something to keep me on my toes. But what punishment do I get if I
don't come up to scratch." "One slap from the slipper for each of your
12
demerit marks." "And what will I be wearing at the time?" As she
asked
this, she gave a saucy little simper in anticipation of my answer.
"Absolutely nothing. Your instructions are to report dressed only in your
bathrobe, which you will be asked to remove before being chastised."
When she heard this reply, Joan let out a sexy little giggle. But then she
sobered up. She thought long and hard, during which time I gazed
steadily into her stunning blue eyes. "Wow," she gasped. Then,
"Hey!
That's not fair! That would really tingle!" She tried to sound indignant.
But I detected in her voice a tone of exaggerated outrage and amused
mock horror, as if she found the idea comical and risqué. Then she
paused. "Ouch!" she cried out gently. And she rubbed her bottom
ruefully again with both hands through her clothing in remembrance and
realisation of exactly what my words meant. "Phwoah! 12 of the best!
With that enormous slipper! Across the bare bum! I'm too old for that!
I'm far too big to be spanked! Oh, the humiliation! I would feel a
complete fool! And I bet it wouldn't half sting! Oh, wow, wow, wow!"
Again she sounded incensed and affronted, but at the same time
fascinated, amused and sexually turned on. At any event, she did not
seriously argue with me. She realised, I think, that I had the whip (or
rather the plimsoll!) hand. She knew that I could call on the servants for
support to enforce my regime physically if I had to. She thus resigned
herself to the inevitable in a spirit of cheerfulness and acceptance. In my
view, to strip and smack a big sexy 17-year-old lady was over-
stimulating to the brink of orgasm, and the very stuff of farce. What a
hilarious and ridiculous plight for the victim! It was very saucy, very
funny and a real turn on. I was stunned, however, as I had been earlier,
that Joan seemed to agree with me, even though it was her who was
being made to "bare and bend." The sexy joke was on her, but she did
not seem to mind. Indeed, she seemed stimulated by the situation. Thus,
far more easily than I had thought possible, the matter was settled, and
we got on with our lessons.
I thoroughly enjoyed the rest of my year in the West Indies. My
incentive scheme worked well, and really kept Joan on her toes. I did not
spank her all that often, but I still got a big kick out of saying "three
demerits, my girl" or "lady, six demerits" since I knew that what
I was
really saying was "madam, take three/six slaps from the plimsoll across
your bare bottom." I could, of course, have dished out penalty points like
confetti and had myself a ball, if I had wanted to. Certainly, I tried to
keep up the pressure on Joan by constantly pushing her to the 12 points
threshold, and sometimes I did spank her, to remind her what it felt like
and to keep her on her toes. But, on the other hand, I had grown fond of
my charge. I often gave her a chance to redeem demerits by doing extra
work, and I never again spanked her in vindictiveness or anger. Thus,
sadly, with Joan (unlike with some of my other victims!) I never
recaptured that fierce sexual ecstasy that I had felt the first time I
chastised her.
Even so, Joan took the rap a fair number of times, and on each occasion
it gave me great pleasure. I maintained exactly the same successful
format as employed in our first punishment session. First I warmed
Joan's pussy meat with a few preparatory tail flicks. Then, during the
spanking proper, the first and last three slaps were always applied, with
great accuracy if I say so myself, to the sexy, intimate undercarriage of
pussy meat adjacent to the pubes. And the middle six spanks were aimed
ad lib over the rest of the bare bum, very briskly and sharply.
The sessions were more relaxed now, since I knew that I was mistress
of the situation, and of Joan, and that she would obediently comply with
my orders. Thus the "kinky spiteful bitch tames rebellious madam"
theme, which had turned me on so violently the first time I spanked Joan,
was never, unfortunately, to reappear. I still got a big kick out of it all
though, especially from the whackings that I dished out after Joan turned
her eighteenth birthday in the February of the year after I arrived. Wow,
but that was sexy! In the UK 1965-6 was just before the age of majority
was lowered to 18 from 21. Today you would not be able to spank a
young lady of 18 to 21, unless, perhaps, you had her permission. If you
spanked her against her will, you could easily face a charge of indecent
assault. But 18 to 21 year old ladies (and their bottoms!) had no such
protection in the mid-1960s, even in the UK, let alone in Barbados! Then
they were still defined as children. Thus, in the case of Joan, I was _in
loco parentis_, and I had full authority from her father to whack her.
Unlike today, she had no right to refuse and no legal redress against her
chastisement. Did I say that Joan was legally defined as a child? Some
child! She was, of course, by the time of her eighteenth birthday and the
slappings that followed it, a fully-grown lady, biologically mature and
beautifully developed. The legal position that allowed me to slap her bare
bottom as if she was a little girl was as ridiculous as it was sexy, amusing
and kinky. I could not believe my luck.
Alas, with the more recent legislation, I am unlikely to slap the bare
bums of many more 18 to 21 year old girls, at least in the UK! Those
were happy days that will never return and I often recall how I felt at the
time. My main emotion, I think, was amusement at the ridiculous and
hilarious spectacle of a big, fully-grown lady, a woman of marriageable
age, having to bare her bottom, present it for chastisement, and get it
smacked like a little child. Even funnier, she used to get it smacked very
hard. I never again slapped Joan in anger. But I still laid on the pump
very sharply and smartly. Indeed, after her eighteenth birthday I took to
slapping her bottom just that little bit harder than before. She complained
about this, and said that she was now too old to be spanked at all. Instead
of her chastisement abating, however, it was being applied with renewed
vigour. Secretly I saw her point. I was still applying those stinging and
infuriating little tail flicks across the pussy meat before the spanking
proper. Then, when I began to whack Joan in earnest, I was still allowing
just enough time for her bum to tingle after each smack. And then there
were the ten minutes of bending over and standing up, hands on head,
afterwards, during which bum rubbing was verboten. During that time
Joan would be stinging, tingling and smarting, and her naked body and
her bare, well-smacked bum were exposed, in all their intimate
splendour, to my enraptured gaze. Wow, I really let her have it, and I bet
it didn't half sting! At her age, I could understand why she thought such
treatment was inappropriate.
Another sexy aspect of Joan's spankings was that she used to protest
while I was chastising her, and also before and afterwards. I enjoyed this
and, within reason, was fairly tolerant of it. We were living in intimate
proximity to each other and it was impossible for me to maintain a
disciplinary aloofness and hauteur. My official stance, however, was that
Joan should take her chastisement in compliant silence, and that if she
did not she was liable to be made to pay for her indiscretions.
Joan used to get particularly infuriated by my preparatory tail flicks.
For
example, I would give her one. Smack! "Go on!" I would tell her.
"Stretch and bend!" "Ouch!" Joan would yell indignantly.
"That hurt!
And I am stretching, you cow!" Next I would wait about four seconds,
for Joan to fully feel the effects of my first flick. Then I would give her
another one. Smack!! "That one was for insolence, young lady!" This
would normally enforce a temporary period of silence. Then I would wait
another four seconds before... Smack!!! "And that's for still not
stretching! Go on! Down! You are beginning to annoy me!" "Aw! Aw!
Aw! Oh, you bastard! You absolute 24-carat bitch!" Four-second wait,
then the victim would catch it again, and harder: SMACK! This time I
would not comment on my flick, since the reason for inflicting it was
obvious.
Next Joan would continue with her verbals into the spanking proper.
For example, "Ouch! Too hard!" she would shout, and every time she did
this I always made the next slap slightly harder still. A lot of her
interjections, however, escaped without punishment as long as they
seemed to me to be reasonable. "Aw! That tingles!" she would yell, and
I
was forced to concur that this was a fair comment! Sometimes Joan
seemed to grudgingly admire my handiwork. "Aaagh! Oh, my God! That
was a beauty!" she would cry, "Ouch! That really, really stings!"
And,
flattered, I would exact no extra retribution. Other stock condoned
comments were as follows. "Wow! I'm too big for this!" "I'm 18,
for
God's sake! I'm too old!" "Oh, hell! I feel a complete fool!"
"Ouch!
Across the bare bum again! That's indecent that is!" "(Whack!) Ngh!
This is hurting my dignity! (Pause. Whack!) Ngh! And other places!"
Meanwhile I would sometimes add to my enjoyment by reciting little
pre-composed doggerel verses to myself. Here are some examples. As
you can see they are all pretty awful. "Pussy hairs all in a clump, take
the
pump across your rump, chump!" "Bum all bare, bending there, furry
clump of pussy hair, slipper whistles through the air. Crack!" "Crack,
crack, crack the slaps all go, wince and grunt it stings you so, where
you'd never show your beau."
Joan always made a parting shot after spank number 12, when she knew
I could not immediately get her back. I usually accepted this with good
grace, except that if she was too cheeky I might threaten her with three
demerits unless she apologised. This usually pulled her back into line.
Then, in the ten minutes of hands on head, her comments and complaints
would continue. Again, unless she was especially cheeky, I would let her
get on with it, listening to her backchat with interest. I always knew that,
if she went too far, the threat to inflict three demerits would soon tame
her. I think, on the whole, that it was probably these verbals that made
me enjoy my chastisement of Joan more than most of my other
disciplinary exploits. In those later years when I was a schoolteacher the
girls always took their correction in silence, or else restricted their
utterances to "Aws," "Ohs," "Ouches" and other
involuntary expletives.
Of course, I could have made Joan stop if I had wanted too. And she
could have stopped herself at any time. But, despite the extra
chastisement that her comments sometimes brought to her, she seemed to
like to have her say. I think that, as for me, her salacious verbals gave her
a sexy thrill.
Naturally enough in the circumstances, Joan would continue to
complain about my disciplinary code before her punishment commenced,
and again when it was over. However, I pooh-poohed her objections,
which she used to make most vociferously before she was due to take the
rap. I always spanked her after her shower in the morning, and during
breakfast she would complain bitterly about what was about to hit her.
But I always answered her firmly, politely, and with a twinkle in my eye.
She still had three years to go before she was an adult, I said, and that
meant three more years of whackings. If I was still her tutor, and if she
deserved it, I would not hesitate to chastise her, even on the eve of her
21st birthday. In any case, so what? It was no big deal. It was true that I
was a bit brisk and free with the pump, but then, if the punishment was to
be effective, I had to be. And, in any case, it was only a mild slippering,
not a serious beating with a cane. I supposed it stung a bit, but then it was
supposed to. It did not, I should imagine, tingle for long, and it did her no
lasting injury or harm. It was true that I was laying it on a bit harder. But
she was bigger now, and her bum could take it. Besides, her exams were
closer, so there was even more need to keep her on her toes. The
discipline was firm and strict, but it needed to be if it was to do her any
good. She might not realise it now, but there would come a time, after
she had passed her exams, when she would heartily thank me for
smacking her bare bottom for her. Yes, when she was older, we would
both joke and laugh at how stroppy and insolent she had been, and at
how she had been so effectively and amusingly slapped into line.
During these lively and interesting breakfast-time debates on the
appropriateness of my disciplinary methods, Joan often tried another tack
that I found very sexy. Even if you accepted, she would say, that her
spankings were justified, that was still no excuse for whacking her on the
bare, so hard, and so many times. At her age it was undignified to have to
strip off. She should have the right to take it while wearing knickers and
jeans. Even then, the slaps would really sting. They should therefore be
applied less vigorously. And just one slap, in her view, would constitute
an adequate punishment, or perhaps two or three if she had been very
naughty. But twelve really hard ones across the bare bum was too much,
and very demeaning.
My answer to these arguments you can probably work out for
yourselves. To be effective, I would say, the punishment had to sting and
humiliate. It was like with speeding and parking tickets. Motoring fines
had to be punitive and prohibitive if they were to slap the culprits into
line. If they were set at levels that offenders thought were reasonable
they would have little deterrent value. I was the appropriate person to
determine her punishment, and I had a duty to make it sharper and more
humiliating than she thought it ought to be. Then I would send Joan off
to her shower, telling her to report to the study in her bathrobe by 9 a.m.
sharp. I would then remind her, as she flounced off indignant and
fuming, that she was going to get 12 of the best from the slipper across
her bare bum. You can bet that I didn't half tease my victim, and that I
never let her off the hook. And my comments had exactly the effect that I
wanted them to have. They really wound Joan up and, to my great
amusement, made her hopping mad.