Disciplined in the Bamboo Suite

by Paul Markham

  The final batch of six smacks really did catch Agnes off guard. Young though Sarah may have been, her hand delivered a series of resounding smacks, extending right across Agnes' bottom, causing Agnes to squirm as the sting of each smack dissipated into the underlying buttock.

  At the end of the hand spanking, Sarah brushed her hand lightly over the reddened bottom and felt her way softly, once again, over the rounded contours, bordering on, but never crossing, the boundary of intimate touch. Agnes found herself sighing, with her eyes closed, whilst, unknown to her, Fiona hugged Sarah and kissed her cheek before the young woman left the room via the ante room through which she had entered, crossing an older woman, in her mid-40s, who was on her way in.

  The interval between the hand spanking and the first stroke with the strap probably lasted approximately four minutes but, by the time the fabric of the soft leather was being draped lightly across the exposed cheeks, Agnes was semi-disoriented, trying not to rationalise what she was feeling, mentally and physically.

  The change in sensation from her burning buttocks did, however, draw Agnes' attention back and she watched, in an almost hypnotic state, as the end of the strap was gripped by a new white-gloved hand and was drawn back, before being released to fly back onto the waiting buttock with a Thwack! sound that echoed behind the curtain and filtered through, in muffled form, to where Agnes was gasping for breath. Jennifer, who had taken over from Sarah, was standing opposite Fiona and took her cue on each occasion to deliver the next stroke. This time, there was no pause during the discipline and the strap fell, with gradually increasing intensity, twelve times across the deepening red skin of Agnes' behind. At intervals of approximately 15 seconds, the crack of leather bounced around the walls of the rear half of the room as the rounded muscles bounced under the impact. Agnes' mind was swimming in a jumble of thoughts, her bottom stinging more sharply with each stroke, her body singing with an arousal it had never previously experienced.

  The strapping was, in fact, over before Agnes realised that she had taken the full tally. There was then a pause, during which an unreal silence hovered over the scene as Jennifer looked questioningly at Fiona and the latter looked back at the short, moderately springy cane that she was holding flexed in her hands. Fiona beckoned to Jennifer to wait for a few moments whilst she moved to the wall and pulled the curtain back slightly, crossing to the front of the room. She stooped beside Agnes, who looked her straight in the eye, now suddenly alert and full of an energy she had never expected to feel. Before Fiona had a chance to say a word, Agnes nodded in assent to the unasked question. Fiona smiled and kissed her on the forehead and popped her head briefly behind the curtain to nod to Jennifer. Agnes looked down at the screen as Fiona made her way back to her.

  Behind the curtain, Jennifer took up her stance at the correct distance. She held the cane out and brought it very lightly onto the equator of Agnes' bottom. In the grip of unfathomable thoughts and desires, Agnes watched in fascination as the slight movements of the cane coincided with the tapping that she felt across her buttocks. She relaxed, almost pushing herself into the cane, then froze as the implement disappeared briefly from view, re-appearing a split second before a sharp sting blazed its way across her bottom. She arched her back and gripped Fiona's hand tightly. Agnes' breathing became shallow for a few seconds, but then deepened dramatically as she struggled with the pain. Despite the sharpness, she managed a smile and then closed her eyes and waited for the next stroke to land, which it did approximately fifteen seconds later, right at the base of the buttocks. The gasp that it elicited was, if anything, deeper than it had been under the first stroke and the tightness of Agnes' grip strengthened proportionately. The final two firm strokes made their impact well and truly felt, being laid on at the same intervals, landing between the first and second pair of tramlines that were forming lividly across the pale skin.

  As the mental and physical effects of the disciplinary session sank in, Fiona went behind the curtain again and mouthed "Well done!" to Jennifer, then smiled very warmly as the older lady waved, with a reciprocated smile, before following the route that Sarah had taken out of the room, into the entrance ante-room and then on to the corridor.

  With a barely perceptible whirr, the curtains glided back into their appropriate recesses in the walls and ceiling, whilst the lights came up very slowly. Fiona looked at Agnes' well-chastised bottom and smiled before stooping at her friend's side just as the monitor was disappearing back into the floor, leaving no trace whatsoever of its presence. Agnes opened her eyes and looked into Fiona's gaze with a mixture of affection and unspoken desires.

  "It's up to you now, Fi!"

  Agnes winked through the vestiges of a tear as Fiona acknowledged the request and moved to the side of the folding frame, where she pressed lightly on an icon depicting something resembling an operating theatre table, with arrows rising from the extremities. Again, there was a whirr and, slowly, the ends of the frame began to move upwards, whilst the entire frame started to rise, stopping with a slight click at a position where Agnes' prone form was comfortably positioned level with Fiona's elbows, pivoted about the axis of her hips at an angle of approximately 15degrees below the horizontal in the upper and lower halves of body. This left her bottom elevated, with the buttocks very slightly stretched.

  Fiona moved to Agnes' feet and released the brass catch. The two segments of the lower part of the frame moved a fraction of an inch apart and Fiona then broke the Velcro fastening before tying the strips of Velvet to the sides of the frame. Then, she removed Agnes' knickers very carefully from her thighs before moving to the head of the frame. Again, she removed the restraints, then adjusted the arm-rests before walking at a measured pace to the changing room, discarding the knickers in the disposal basket and taking a fresh, identical pair from the top drawer. She returned with the small garment and a pillow, placing the knickers on the table, alongside the cream, gel and cotton wool balls. Walking back to Agnes, she placed the pillow under the young woman's floating head and smiled, before kissing her gently on the forehead. Fiona then returned to the changing room and armed herself with four soft hand towels, a deep plastic bowl full of warm, plain water and a soft natural sponge. These items she carried carefully back into the main room, placing them on a trolley, alongside the table bearing the toiletries.

  Having returned one final time to the changing room, Fiona washed her hands carefully, dried them meticulously, then re-entered the main room. She wheeled the trolley across to the elevated spanking frame and took her stance alongside it. Leaning across Agnes' prone form, she blew gently down along the lines of the four stripes that had become well established on the virgin cheeks. Reaching with her right hand, she took cotton wool and the gel and, having applied a good portion of the latter, proceeded to run the cotton wool across the length of each stripe in turn, never once allowing either her hand or the cotton wool, only the gel, to come into contact with the weals.

  Whilst the gel was taking effect, Fiona wheeled her chair across to Agnes' head and began to stroke her hair gently. Her whole manner was one of consolation and empathy, for she knew exactly how Agnes was feeling at that moment. She whispered into her friend's ear, "Ok, Aggie, I know it's early for an opinion, but was there anything you actively disliked about that experience?"

  Agnes looked at her friend, expression-less at first, then broke into a beaming smile and whispered, "Not a thing, Fi. And I doubt that this will be the last time!"

  "Really?" replied the young physician, almost, but not quite, astonished to hear that it had gone so well. "Actually, I'm not surprised," she admitted, in half truth. "I think your reaction is similar to what mine was. Are you very sore, love?"

  Agnes winced slightly and nodded in confirmation. "Very sore!" she replied, "but I can't make sense of the way the soreness isn't what I'm used to when I've hurt myself. Anyway, what was it you were saying about surprises?" she added, with a wicked grin.

  Fiona looked on tenderly as her hand
massaged the back of Agnes' neck.

  "Aggie," she said, in a slightly diffident voice that did not really fit with her image, "are you sure you want an exact replication of my post-discipline wind-down treatment?"

  Agnes held a hand out and Fiona took hold of it gently. Agnes squeezed her softly and smiled. "Yes, please!"

  Fiona moved back to Agnes' bottom and, very gingerly, started to apply arnica cream to the striped skin, where the gel had now been absorbed entirely. Her fingertips moved very lightly over the weals and along the furrows of deep red skin between, where the inflammation was just beginning to show signs of subsiding. Gradually, the fingertips gave way to the palm of Fiona's hand, with a remarkable effect on each woman. Fiona had never touched another woman in this way before, despite having had intimate tactile contact with hundreds of female patients. She felt a great depth of warmth and closeness to Agnes and smiled to herself as application of the cream finished.

  "How is the sting now, Aggie?" she enquired quietly.

  "It's been replaced by a deep throbbing sensation and its not entirely unpleasant," replied Agnes, drowsily.

  Agnes may well have been relaxed, but the fires were burning inside and outside her body. After Fiona had washed her hands once again and returned to her friend's side, it was almost a natural reflex to move her hand back to comfort Agnes' cheeks. Agnes rolled her hips very slightly and uttered a barely perceptible groan as the two halves of the lower segment of the frame parted. Fiona's left hand slid back onto Agnes' right thigh and her fingers folded around the soft skin. Very slowly, as the lights dimmed again, her hand moved towards deepest intimacy with Agnes. Both women let out a slight gasp as the migrating fingers finally folded round the soft feminine down surrounding an intimate area that exhibited clear enough evidence of how receptive the young woman was to this delicious attention. As the lights finally went out, Agnes carefully lifted her middle, wincing slightly in the process, whilst Fiona slid a thick towel underneath her. The chair was then wheeled between the leg sections of the lower segment of the frame and skilled medical hands began a journey of intimate exploration and pleasuring, the clinical benefits of which were solely sexual and psychological. Agnes smiled and sighed deeply as she welcomed her friend in the closest intimacy.

  There was something so tender and so close, intimate, about the way in which Fiona looked after Agnes, following her introduction to the therapeutic discipline scene, that one could so easily have mistaken the two women for established lovers. Over the next hour, Fiona took her friend to soaring heights of intimate ecstasy, firstly with her hands and then, drawn so powerfully to the shape and posture of her friend, with a tongue that soon coaxed Agnes to the most powerful, Richter-scale orgasms of her life. Finally, there was something entirely unselfish and intimate about the way in which Fiona washed and dried her friend in those warm and intimate places, before helping Agnes to stand and sliding the clean, fresh underwear gently up her legs and thighs and, with exquisite care, onto the ever-throbbing cheeks.

  After Fiona had showered and dressed, the two women held each other in a warm embrace for several minutes, before the diktat of the clock sent Fiona back for late afternoon surgery.

  With great care, Agnes sat down gingerly on a straight-backed chair and was surprised to find that it was not as difficult as she had feared it might be. She was bursting with curiosity to see the marks that the spanking and caning had left on her bottom, so she rose, walked slowly into the shower room and turned away from the full-length mirror, rotating her head to see the evidence. As the skirt rose to her waist, she lowered her knickers half way down her bottom, wincing in the process. She looked again at the mirror and gasped, in pure admiration. Never had she imagined for a second that she would have gone through that afternoon's events willingly. But she had! As for viewing her own 'trophies' in the mirror, she began to wonder if she was losing her grip on reality, but Fiona had spoken to her of how she might feel upon seeing the first-ever set of stripes across her bottom.

  Twenty minutes later, as she walked down the street, a passing Jack Russell terrier, with human companion, looked up from his investigations of the pavement and stared at Agnes. The companion was oblivious to passers-by, but the dog, characteristically, was not! It appeared to be on the point of barking at her when Agnes grinned and blew a kiss to the inquisitive hound. Since her imagination was obviously in overdrive, it could not possibly have been the case that the dog winked at her, before an ageing, grizzly, grey feline on the other side of the street distracted his labile attention and an unpleasant addition to road casualty statistics was only prevented by the strength of leather, feline escape speeds and a curiously engaging effect upon the dog of a very happy young woman's smile.

  Dressage

  General Sir Digby Carter-Landore took his half-frame spectacles off and leaned back in his comfortable leather Director's chair. He rested an arm of his spectacles lightly at the corner of his mouth, on the left side, whilst he digested the content of a neatly hand-written letter that lay before him on his mahogany desk, with its olive green inlay, on which the only other item was a brass desk-lamp with a matching olive green shade.

  Again, he ran the veterinary surgeon's message through his mind, and matched the findings with the verbal report that he had received just after breakfast from Mr Beddows, who was in charge of the stables - a man who had a way with horses that very few of his peers could emulate, and who knew the countryside and its lore as few others did.

  Sir Digby put his spectacles back on, and leaned forward to pick up the single sheet of headed practice notepaper, with its message from Mr Peter Bentley, the new and extremely enthusiastic young vet who had graduated fairly recently, with great distinction, and who had just joined the Baker & Welling practice at Great Harringham, where he specialised in horses. Carefully, Sir Digby read through the note once more.

  To:

  Gen. Sir Digby Carter-Landore, MC, DSO

  Ardway Grange

  Penworth Lane

  Little Harringham

  YX5 2AD

  From:

  Baker & Welling

  Veterinary Surgeons

  16-18 St Barnabas Lane

  Great Harringham

  YX3 6GG

  Tuesday, 10th May, 2005

  Dear Sir Digby

  Having examined Artemis thoroughly, as requested, in her stable at Ardway Grange, I am able to confirm that this young mare does appear to have sustained serious damage to the tendon of the deep digital flexor in her left foreleg, most probably due to inappropriate exercise in the aftermath of the episode of bursitis for which she is still undergoing treatment. It was clearly evident at the time of examination that she had been saddled and ridden recently, contrary to the advice given by Mr Welling at the time of his visit on 5th May.

  I have spoken to Professor Alastair McFadden about this problem, since I am aware that he is currently engaged in a research project dealing with injuries of this type. With your permission, I will arrange for Artemis to be taken to the Equine Centre at the University School of Veterinary Medicine for further investigation, and for such treatment as Prof. McFadden may believe to be in her best interest.

  I am unable to advise accurately at this stage as to the cost of any treatment, but I will contact you at the earliest opportunity with the necessary information. I would be obliged, Sir Digby, if you would be so kind as to confirm at your very earliest convenience that it is in order for me to proceed with the necessary arrangements, pending which I remain,

  Yours sincerely,

  Peter Bentley, FRCVS, PhD.

  Sir Digby put the letter back down on the desk and rose, somewhat stiffly, from his chair. The limp in his gait was only noticeable to the most sharp-eyed of observers, and was something that Sir Digby endeavoured to conceal by applying the full weight of his determination to mastering the pain and discomfort that even the best orthopaedic surgeons and neurologists had been unable to treat with complete success. He opened the French
windows and stepped outside into the very pleasant sheltered warmth of a formal garden bathed in a soft sunlight that was filtering through a very high, thin cloud.

  The crisp freshness of the early morning air had not yet succumbed completely to the sunshine, but it was already quite heady with the fragrance of some of the finest old English roses to be found anywhere in the county. The industrious hum of insects added a soporific tone to the overall ambiance, and the early morning 'presto furioso' of the feathered chorus had given way to a pleasing 'andante cantabile' that was complemented by the faint sound generated by a light breeze as it stirred the fresh and vigorous young leaves on the many varieties of deciduous trees that formed the woods behind the formal garden.

  Sir Digby was still deep in thought when the sound of crunching footsteps on the gravel behind him prompted him to turn round.

  Lady Catherine smiled warmly at her husband of 38 years, whom she had accompanied through the ups and downs of the life of a military officer in what were so often erroneously labelled the 'post-war' years. Memories of the pranks of a young lieutenant and his fellow-officers at the Commanding Officer's ball at the military training academy still brought a smile to her face, yet, as on even the best of summer days, shadows occasionally darkened her countenance, albeit briefly, as she recalled the youthful faces of young officers on the graduation photograph, some of whom had long since been called upon to satisfy the ultimate demand made of those who serve in the armed forces.

  From time to time, she would think back to those fellow-soldiers who had made a particular impact on her beloved 'Digger', one of whom, as it happened, was central to both their thoughts at that particular moment, since Major James Penbury had become a close family friend, and was accorded privileges at Ardway Hall that were reserved for few people, even close relatives. In fact, had it not been for James, 'Digger' would have been one more gap in the regimental reunion photograph, since the shell that had caused such extensive damage to Sir Digby's left leg would almost certainly have claimed his life, had it not been for the conspicuous bravery of Major Penbury.