Sixteen of the Best

by Sarah Veitch

  SIXTEEN OF THE BEST

  Compiled and Edited by

  SARAH VEITCH

  Sixteen of the Best first published in 2007 by Palmprint Publications. Published as an eBook in 2013 by Chimera eBooks.

  ePub ISBN 9781780803562

  mobi ISBN 9781780803579

  www.chimerabooks.co.uk

  Chimera (ki-mir'a, ki-) a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy.

  New authors are always welcome, or if you’re already a published author and have existing work, the eBook rights of which remain with or have reverted to you, we would love to hear from you.

  This work is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The author asserts that all characters depicted in this work of fiction are eighteen years of age or older, and that all characters and situations are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright Sarah Veitch. The right of Sarah Veitch to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex.

  -oOo-

  A collection of sixteen prize-winning adult discipline short stories compiled and edited by Sarah Veitch.

  Contents

  Introduction

  Goddess

  Way Out West

  A New Understanding

  Cat Fight at the Lucky Seven

  Disobedience À La Carte

  Disobedience, Passion and the Unjust Whip

  Broken Vows

  The Mercy of Strange Men

  Lessons

  Beloved Birch

  The Key to the Unknown

  Think Pink

  Rubious - The Colour of Rubies

  Come Here

  How Not to Manage Debt

  Hard Times

  Introduction

  A bare bottom served up for punishment will always give the discerning reader an erotic charge, and there's no shortage of such reluctantly-exposed flesh in this collection. There's also a diverse range of settings and themes. These stories resulted from the publisher's international spanking fiction competition, the stories chosen solely on merit over four discerning years, with winning authors coming from Australia, Canada, England, Scotland, USA and Wales.

  We're in the firm hands of the overseer at a women's reformatory in the highly arousing L'Ancien Regime. He gloats over each miscreant's punishment: 'She knows she cannot win and her agonised buttocks will turn her into a dancing puppet, wheedling and beseeching to be spared.'

  It's the man who begs to be spared in Goddess, the only woman-on-top piece in this mainly female submissive collection. Dan submits to the ritual of punishment until 'All the tortured waiting, teasing, misery and urgent hunger spun together in a white sphere' in this hypnotic detective tale.

  The next story, Way Out West, utilises humour in addition to the nerve-tingling caning scenes. Suzee angers the local sheriff, Stan, who has no choice but to raise her skirts and smartly apply his palm, incremental

  ly increasing her humiliation. 'I don't think she is learning her lesson. I think we'll have those drawers undone. See how she likes it on the bare.'

  Back to the present day with A New Understanding about the psychological and physiological aspects of CP. 'A more serious caress followed, and I think I briefly lost my mind, too desperate to come to consider, to care, to breathe. He obliged my need, slicking fingers on either side of my clit, pinching and twisting and stroking, his other hand thrusting inward and up, hard, until I came.'

  Hands are again applied to rumps in Cat Fight at the Lucky Seven, but it's not enough to turn the local women into good girls. So Stan, who we met earlier in Way Out West, has to apply a willow switch: 'Stan surveyed his work with some satisfaction. Suzee's bottom was bright red with a series of dark lines across her trembling cheeks.'

  It's breasts which are reddened in Disobedience à la Carte, a perfectly-realised study of a CP relationship. 'The anticipation of the whip, the pain, the punishment is almost unbearable. My nipples press against the rain-wet tee-shirt, my pelvis moves in spasms against the cunt-wet knickers.'

  Whips also figure in Disobedience, Passion and the Unjust Whip when slave girl Aquistana is sent to an inquisitor to be taught a painful lesson. 'Such crude disrobing had been shocking to her, and the humiliation made her face burn hotly. But she knew there was nothing she could do to entirely conceal her intimate places.'

  We're transported to a strict academy in Broken Vows where the unfortunate Miss Williams is soundly tawsed by her collegiate colleagues. Fortunately there are consolations: 'She was aroused but sore at the same time, wanting him to enter her, to finger her into a deep long orgasm.'

  There's also sexual arousal, as well as profound humiliation, in The Mercy of Strange Men when Lydia is displayed, naked, to a roomful of appreciative onlookers and has her bottom beaten with a riding crop. It's the epitome of pain-pleasure: 'He begins to spank her in time with his thrusts, and she writhes below him, not knowing whether to beg him to stop or insist that he never does.'

  Never say never is also the mantra of the student submissive in Lessons as her dominant lecturer takes her mind and body to the limit: 'She could feel every inch of his fingers leaving their mark, branding her. The skin of her ass stung and tingled.'

  The main character in Beloved Birch also ends up with a sore arse, but in this case he's an eighteen year old vandal who has been sentenced to a judicial birching. As he is submissive this is his wildest wet dream, 'A swish in the air and the birch struck the centre of his buttocks with a slashing whip-like crack. An exquisite lance of pain seared across his behind and he shuddered with pleasure.'

  There's an equally exquisite test for Beth in The Key to the Unknown when her lover fits her with a chastity belt and arranges for her to be corrected by a range of increasingly-demanding men and women: 'Often he lashed me to the central pillar in the music room and used his favourite - a vicious cat-o'-nine-tails. The leather thongs licked up between the crack in my buttocks and stung my tenderest skin.'

  There's further well-warmed skin in Think Pink when youthful presenter Suzie Starr enrages her environmentally-friendly producer and earns herself a thorough tanning. 'Hoisting her more firmly across his lap, he began to lash her naked contours. He slapped for all the times she'd taken part in some stupid show with an alliterative title. He slapped to punish her for contributing to dumbed-down TV. He watched dispassionately as she jerked and kicked and implored him, as she desperately tried to rise up and push his fingers away.'

  Colour also features prominently in Rubious - The Colour of Rubies where a pretty Gothic brunette meets a submissive Russian woman. 'I usually ask a receiver to kiss the paddle before and after use. Sometimes I douse the surface with water because it makes an already tender bottom much more sensitive to the smacking leather impact. And because moist reddening cheeks look even more enticing.'

  A hand and a strap are employed in Come Here when a man disciplines his female lover for lying to him. 'Naked now except for her high heels and stockings, she waited for his next move, trembling both from the spanking she had just received and what more was to come.'

  Emily has it coming after she takes money from the Kinky Teachers Club in How Not to Manage Debt. The disciplinary committee take her to task and make her strip: 'Calloused, knowing hands ran down my sides and familiarly over my buttocks, making me squirm. I jerked when a hard male belly a
nd a harder cock pressed into my back as a different pair of hands squeezed my breasts.'

  Bringing up the rear, so to speak, is my own story, Hard Times, set in a nineteenth century women's prison. Constance enrages the warden with her airs and graces and is sent to the punishment hall and fettered to the birching frame. 'He picked up the punisher again, knowing that this was his favourite part of the session, the second half. By now, the girl bent over the frame knew exactly what a thrashing felt like, was desperate for respite. He only had to scrape the birch against the ground - as he was doing with the paddle now - for the troublemaker to pucker up her disarmed bare bottom. He only had to move his arm and make the air currents change for her to push herself desperately against the metal bar.'

  So there we have it - sixteen of the best plus my own humble contribution. I hope that you enjoy reading these prize-winning stories as much as I enjoyed editing them.

  Sarah Veitch

  L'Ancien Regime

  Michael Redbrick

  On the tenth anniversary of his appointment, the Proctor of Women's Quarters at Westendorf Reformatory was asked by fellow officials to give a short speech. He said this.

  [All of the report is the spoken word. Speech quotes are omitted to keep the document simple]

  GENTLEMEN, welcome to the Reformatory. Since there are but half-a-score of us, let us be as informal as we can. Discard your coats, you'll find hooks on the side walls. Choose a comfortable chair and draw nearer to the fire, for listening is hard when cold nags. Smoking is permitted. Hot toddy will be served after my short address and later our subject shall be thrown open for general comment.

  You have asked me to talk about discipline, especially as it pertains to the young women in my charge. I have no need to remind you, any group of women in their late teens and early twenties, grouped together and living as closely as my charges do, can easily fall into bad habits. Girls by their nature can be petulant, sulky and throw a tantrum if they do not get their own way. Some may also be so foolish as to attempt to play the coquette, which leads to wilfulness and insolence. The phrase 'womanly conceit' was not coined by accident. To quell any rebellious nature and dampen unruliness and high spirits, I enforce strict discipline. If any young woman is less than polite, respectful and obedient I at once take the skin off her bottom.

  It's the only way. If you're going to keep a girl obedient then she's got to know the meaning of a well-flogged bottom. I mean a bottom so sore she can't sit. I mean with welts that chafe and backs of the legs that hurt when the skirt rubs against them. No good talking to her, no good threatening to teach her a lesson, you've got to move in quick, seize her by the scruff, force the head down and lay on.

  I don't spend time chastising them verbally. They know why I've called them out and they know they won't go back to their seat without a hole in the pit of their stomach and six burning welts cut across their tight arses. There's never the slightest chance that the culprit might be innocent and have been ordered to stand before me by mistake.

  When the tickler starts to tap them behind the knees they know it's the start of a ritual. I question the miscreant about whether she has completed her work. She mumbles about being 'nearly done'. The tickler taps more urgently and slides up the back of her legs to beneath her skirt. The newcomers are the most fun because they begin to plead. Please, I'll try harder. Please, not today I'm in a fragile condition. Please, you thrashed me yesterday and I don't think I can bear another dose.

  For a decade I've witnessed pleading, begging and wriggling to escape. There isn't an excuse any young woman can come up with that I haven't heard. I smile understandingly, shake my head and lower my eyes, I might even stop tapping the tickler. But any girl who has been in the 'house' for more than a fortnight knows that none of this sweet empathy means a damn.

  Funny how differently they cry. With some the tears come with the first stroke. Others can take five or six before they break into song. What I specially like is when two or three give me a tune at the same time. They're not melodic but never mind that, their throats open, their eyes squeeze and out come the howls. With some it's snuffling and moaning, with others it's short sharp yelps of pain, with yet others it's a steady aaahh! with mouth open, eyes wet. Then there's the keening you get at wakes.

  Oh I wake them alright; no sleeping when my tickler is busy. Rather they're high on their toes, jiggling and nimble with plenty of fancy footwork, heads thrown back, hair flying, chin up and the lips stretched in a yell. I don't mind how long that chorus goes on, I've had them at full throttle for ten minutes and whenever they look like quietening I'm in there like a ferret at a rabbit.

  They never quite get used to it. Doesn't matter how often you call them out from the kitchen, laundry or scullery. The moment you chuck them under the chin with the point of the tickler they tremble with fright. Their eyes stare with that helpless look of fear and pleading. I tell them to stop making a fuss, pull themselves together, stop wringing that handkerchief, stand still with hands by their sides. Their eyes leak salt tears which cut a runnel down their soft, downy cheeks, sometimes running into their mouths. I've seen a tiny pink tongue dart out and capture a silver droplet before now and I've nodded to let the culprit know I've noticed and she'll take an extra three for the temerity.

  It isn't true that every girl's bottom is noticeably different. Different categories I grant you. There are the trim tight ones that hardly protrude at all, almost boyish in their shape. There are slightly fuller ones, pleasantly rounded and firm enough to stand out. At the other extreme are the fat ones, not to my taste I'm afraid, although there are plenty I know who like a meaty rump to flog.

  To me a big bottom is banal; rather my taste moves towards the other end of the scale. I like a girl with not too much flesh on her bones, with long legs and pert little cheeks, apple firm flesh and an apple-tight skin. A tight young bottom you may call a Cox's Pippin. And when the bottom is round, firm and suntanned the words Golden Delicious come to mind. Golden skin doesn't show the cane marks as vividly as the snow white flesh of a Granny Smith and I do like to be able to count every stroke of my efforts. But Golden Delicious, if it's topped with a narrow waist that leads upwards to champagne-glass tits has actually made me hold my hand and deliver only six cuts where a fat arse would certainly have got twelve.

  What a difference between a girl who's never had the cane, and one who's getting a repeat dose. The former, not knowing what is in store, puts on a brave face and although she may not be impertinent or wish to question authority, she does not show that deep, fearsome respect that she should. When she bends it's with a mixture of courage and dignity and a belief that she will bear whatever she is given and try her best not to cry. Punishment is nasty, she thinks, but it cannot be so bad that she cannot bear it. She tells herself: 'I shall be strong, brave and fight to keep my dignity. If I am submissive when the caning is over it's only because I don't wish for more. But my spirit will still be my own, I will remain my own secret person and I will not be broken.'

  All of which is tommyrot! It's foolishness and self-delusion. No amount of willpower can preserve a girl's composure and self-respect once the tickler gets busy. She may start feeling strong, but it takes only a few strokes before she is cowed and very few more before she understands the tickler is going to take her all the way to hell. And how could it be otherwise? The tickler never gets angry, feels no pain and knows nothing of pity or mercy.

  From the moment the girl knows she is to be caned there begins a battle of wills, the will of a vulnerable, flesh-and-blood young woman against the will of a long whippy cane. The outcome is never in question and by the time we have finished her flesh is aflame and pulsing, her heart strumming, her eyes streaming and her will broken. And all this happens well before punishment is over. For even though I win every contest I enter, I still continue to cane to make the jackanapes pay for her insolence.

  Compare opposition and defiance to a girl who has been thrashed before and has now to face fu
rther discipline. This young madam has an entirely different attitude for she knows she cannot win and her agonised buttocks will turn her into a dancing puppet, a demented doll performing a jig of torment, wheedling and beseeching to be spared. She cannot be spared, for to make any allowances would be to set a train of thought in motion which might lead to resurrection. My young women must know who is in command and what they must endure. If I express a whim they must race to satisfy it. If I issue a command they must obey with speed.

  The alternative is to endure the tickler at his most persistent and go through an unholy ordeal. A second or third timer, as we may call her, hurries to her place, waits in terror and submits from the first stroke. This does not mean the tickler will be any the more lenient for as I say it has no feelings and is only hungry to complete its task. But if I see full submission and unfeigned remorse I can moderate punishment. Tears flow, of course, generally before the main business has begun, but it is sooner over and often the culprit, quite unbidden, will drop to her knees to beg forgiveness.

  There are four punishment positions I use and for each the girl must be naked. If I am in the reception area, say, where there is no desk, no bed, and bare wooden floors, I will stand the unclothed girl upright, stretch her arms above her head and fasten her wrists to an upper beam, so she is on tiptoe. She can take the weight on the balls of her feet and stay balanced provided she is not touched.

  When the tickler whistles across bare buttocks there is a tendency for her knees to bend so for a moment her feet may leave the floor. They touch down again quickly enough but balance is lost and if you cut at regular intervals she will dance and scrabble to stay grounded. Girls hung so can take up to a dozen but it is best not to keep them tied for too long as they may strain their underarm muscles. When released from the shackles the wrists can be chafed and it is best to lead the girl to the wall to face the brickwork and let her hold herself upright. In due course two others can be delegated to help, and she will put her arms around their shoulders as they take her to the dormitory.