by Susan Thomas
It was nearly time for him to arrive; he liked her simply dressed in a plain skirt and blouse with no tights or stockings and very plain knickers. The sight of anything fancy upset him. He didn't like her to wear make-up or even very much jewellery, but she did slip on a plain gold crucifix that she'd worn as a girl. As soon as the doorbell rang she hurried to open it, and immediately adopted the demeanour he liked: quiet, submissive and demure.
"Good afternoon, Sir," she said quietly, opening the door wide.
He was tall and stern looking, a long face with a strong jaw and dark hair that was now going rapidly grey. He was dressed in a dark suit, and he stood looking down at her for a while before coming in.
"Good afternoon, young woman, I hope you have not been sinful since I saw you last."
She looked at the floor. "I have Sir. I've not been good at all."
"Do you need to be punished?" He rolled out the word 'punished' as one might describe a delicious dish in a restaurant.
Without looking up, she acknowledged that she did.
He took her by the arm and led her into the kitchen-diner where he sat down, pulled her over his lap, and began to spank her bottom across her skirt. He spanked hard - even with a skirt and knickers to protect her, he made her bottom warm. His hand smacked down all over her cheeks with great hard smacks in a never-ending rain until her legs were kicking, and then he stopped.
"Young women who have sinned must feel the physical cleansing of chastisement even if it means a loss of modesty."
Then he raised her skirt exposing her plain knickers. Gently, he smoothed his hand over her bottom, almost caressing it. He did this for some time, and the sting of the first part of her spanking faded and became pleasant warmth. She enjoyed this bit for it was always pretty much the same routine.
"Sin, young woman, must be spanked out of you- are you ready for your punishment to continue?"
"Yes, Sir, please do not spare me."
She had read this line in a book, and when she had first used it with him he had been so pleased it had become part of their regular ritual. He most certainly did not spare her. He spanked her across her knickers very hard indeed, and then gently and delicately pulled them down, before spanking on and on. Smack, smack and smack his hand came down upon her bottom, making her kick and squeal until the knickers worked down her legs and finally flew off onto the floor. She usually ended in tears at this part with an extremely hot bottom which she had to clutch in order to get relief. Finally, she was allowed to stand, and she held her bottom under her skirt, feeling the hot skin and marvelling at how much soreness his hand could cause.
"Do you think that you have now been punished enough?"
"I'm not sure, Sir." This was something else he liked, it was in effect an invitation to punish her some more.
"What, there is more sin! Don't tell me that there has been fornication."
"I'm sorry, Sir, I have been bad, I know I must be punished."
"Have you a hairbrush, young woman?" Well of course he knew full well she had, it was already sitting waiting in the spare bedroom as it was every week, but the little scenario had to be played out in full.
She led him upstairs to the bedroom, and in her best penitent manner fetched him the hairbrush, and handed it over with downcast eyes. Her knickers, of course, were still on the floor downstairs so when he instructed her to remove her skirt it left her naked from the waist down. He never asked her to take her top off, never once had he fondled her breasts as her other clients did. He sat on the bed, and once again she went over his lap. She hated the hairbrush, it stung with an intensity she found hard to describe. She always bawled the place down as he spanked her, but this part was always quite short, so although painful it was soon over.
The very first smack of the back of the hairbrush made her cry out and kick her legs, and it was downhill after that. She writhed over his lap and kicked her legs as the brush just stung and stung. She always panicked as the stinging pain rose to a crescendo. Smack, smack went the brush, first on one cheek and then the other and then right across, a methodical pattern that really was a punishment.
Every week she tried to remember bad things (other than her involvement with her clients who didn't count in her mind) she had done so the spanking was to some purpose, but the pain of the hairbrush drove everything else from her mind.
After the hairbrush spanking, he allowed her a little recovery time by making her stand in the corner. She was even allowed to rub her very sore bottom, blow her nose and wipe her eyes. Then, when she had stopped snivelling, it was time for the cane.
"How many men have you known?"
She knew that some Bible translations used the word 'knew' as a euphemism for sexual intercourse so she interpreted the question correctly.
"Five this week, Sir."
"Five married men doubtless?"
He was very critical of married men who went with other women, and often took a milder view of her sin. Still the cane it must be and ten strokes, which was two strokes for every man. She went to the wardrobe and got out the cane, handing it to him with her eyes downcast. Without being told, she went to the bed and bent over, putting her hands flat on the end.
He said nothing before beginning, and suddenly the burning line of the first stroke made her gasp out loud. Swish and crack went the cane, each one sharply painful, but she knew he wasn't hitting her anything like as hard as he could. The cane left raised red welts, but by the end of the weekend they would just be faint bruises which would soon go. Ten strokes were hard to bear on an already well-spanked bottom, but bear it she did because he paid well.
She did not straighten when he had finished making her bottom smart with ten burning lines. She knew better than that, and parted her legs a little in preparation. She heard the zip go and the buckle of a belt undone, and then his hardness was pressing against her entrance, seeking to push its way into her, urgently push its way in. He grasped her hips and then he was in, hard and huge inside her. She sometimes thought he was bigger and harder than any of her other clients, but maybe it was what went before.
His thrusting was powerful, and only his grasp of her hips stopped her from falling forward onto the bed. As he thrust, that strange tingling sensation began somewhere deep in her tummy and continued with its little electric jolts right down into her most private parts. It was always the same effect, he had aroused her, and as he thrust she felt herself heading into a fierce orgasm. This time his thrusts quickly grew more urgent, and abruptly they came together, their cries filling the room. It was her first real orgasm of the week, although she prided herself on the quality of the fake ones she had given her other clients.
He had been a virgin when he had got married, and swore he had been with no other woman than her, either before or since his wife died, so she allowed him to have her without a condom. He was the only client that had that privilege.
Now when she stood, all changed. He took her into a most tender embrace like a married man with a beloved wife; it was her only tender moment with a man all week. They stayed like that for some time, both seemingly reluctant for it to end. When they parted, they cleaned themselves up and went downstairs, where she retrieved her knickers.
"Will I see you in church on Sunday?" He sounded anxious as if her presence meant much to him.
Of course she would be there, he was a wonderful preacher, and she always got so much from his sermons. She knew what this week's sermon was to be: "Resisting the Temptations of the Flesh", and she was sure she would learn a lot from it. He lingered this time as if wanting to say more but not having the words. Instead, he gently put out a hand and stroked her cheek before turning and opening the door. Soon, he was striding down the road. She didn't know where he was going but he worked tirelessly for the community, and his ministry was respected even by those who had no faith. She wondered if their little scenario was one he had played with his wife before the cancer got her. It didn't matter, but she sensed that he desperately needed
this release and was proud of her small part in his work. She'd have done it for free if she could do without his money.
The Full Experience
There were three of them sitting in the outer part of the principal's office. They did not speak, but looked increasingly nervous, and sat next to each other on three of the six chairs, as if huddling together for warmth. Every now and then the secretary glanced up from her work to check on them, and smiled as she saw the nervous postures with their heads looking down at the floor.
The row of chairs was known throughout the school as the paddle bench as it was where the kids went and waited when they were to get paddled. A large clock with Roman numerals ticked loudly on the wall above their heads. Some kids said they were going to sit under the clock so that they wouldn't have to use the word paddle, for the principal was famed far and wide for his skill in using the implement.
The silence in the room became fearful, the clock ticked loudly, somehow making the waiting unbearable... tick tock, tick tock. Only that and the secretary's occasional glances disturbed the nervous waiting.
Abruptly, the principal's door was thrown open, and three heads went up with suddenly raging heart rates. "OK, Kathryn, you're first up." He stood by the open door, and the middle one of the three stood, looking suddenly very scared, before walking into the room. The door was shut behind her, and the remaining two looked briefly at one another as if asking who was next, but still they did not speak. The secretary smiled again at their nervousness.
A sound came from the room next door. It was easy to deduce what it was: the sound of a wooden paddle striking a jean-clad bottom with force. Both of those waiting nervously had been told that the sound was a 'pop', but that didn't sound like a pop to either of them, more a sort of muffled crack - much nastier than 'pop'.
Again the dull crack which made both the waiting girls jerk. Crack again and once more the two girls jerked, knowing their turn wouldn't be long. The secretary smiled softly as she noticed one of them using her fingers to count the number of swats landing on the bottom next door. Crack, and the counter lifted another finger, looking even more scared, before crack could be heard for a fifth time. The two looked at each other and the secretary could imagine what thoughts were drifting between them: "Will it be more than six?" The sixth crack on the bottom next door brought a wail of pain which made the two of them turn a little whiter than they were already. Then there was only the sound of voices, but the words were unclear.
The door flew open again, and the principal ushered Kathryn out. She was crying freely and clutching her bottom. "Go stand facing that wall over there and do not move and do not talk. Janice, go in."
Janice stood, at first almost reluctantly, but then straightened her back and marched in as if she was going to her execution. The door closed smartly, leaving behind one girl sobbing against the wall and one sitting, looking very pale.
To the one remaining un-paddled girl, the sounds from behind the door seemed to go faster this time, her turn becoming frighteningly close. She eased forward on the chair so that she could straighten her legs quickly when her time came. Crack, crack, crack, crack... as yet no sign of a cry or a wail, Janice was being very brave but she doubted that she would be. Crack, crack... then the sounds stopped, and she let out a sigh. The secretary smiled. Again the sound of voices and then the door banged open once more, and Janice came out walking stiffly, holding her bottom with both hands. Her eyes were moist and her face was white, but with two burning spots on each cheek.
"Go put your face to that wall and don't talk and don't move until I tell you." Janice obeyed, and he turned to the last one who had got to her feet and straightened like a soldier on parade. "Mary, in."
With a hammering heart, she walked in, trying to convey composure but failing dismally. As the door banged shut, trapping her in the office, Kathryn had stopped crying, and the secretary smiled again.
Mary stood still, looking quickly around as if seeking an escape route. In front of her was a large modern desk, behind it a large black chair and in front of it on the highly polished floor, three parallel lines. Bookcases were on one wall, framed certificates and photographs on another and a window on the third. On the desk was a large paddle which, now she had seen it, seemed to grow larger every second. He picked it up.
"OK, Mary, you're getting six." He assessed her height with a quick glance and continued. "Go put your feet on that middle line, bend over the desk, and put your elbows and hands flat down on it. Keep your feet still and do not move, you understand?"
She did as she was told, and looked up at the bookcases behind, deciding to focus on the books to block how scared she was and also to block out the pain. Her bottom was protected only by a thin summer skirt and a light pair of panties, her tanned legs had no pantyhose. She now wished she had worn thick jeans and panties underneath, though it hadn't done Kathryn much good. She spotted a slim paperback with an orange spine: Catcher in the Rye, what a great book that...
Crack! The sound of the paddle hitting her seemed to reverberate around the room. The sheer force of the swat rocked her slightly, she gasped softly, and then as the heat hit her, she gave a nervous smile. This was only the first one. Her eyes scanned the shelves desperately, seeking focus... Long Day's Journey into Night, yes another...
Crack! "Mmmmmaugh!" A strange sound was wrung from her, and for a moment she screwed up her eyes to deal with the pain and the heat she now felt on her bottom. This hurt badly. She urgently sought a focus for her mind. A boring-looking tome with an old cover, The Relevance of Education by J S Bruner, caught her eye, and an alternative title sprang to her mind: The Relevance of the Paddle.
Crack! Her face screwed up, and she put her head down, the books forgotten, a grunt of pain escaping her lips. Then she sighed. It was all much worse than she had imagined. She looked up again, scanning books and trying to ignore the fierce heat in her bottom. Curriculum Theory: Conflicting Visions and Enduring Concerns. She got no further than thinking it sounded duller than ditchwater when the paddle hit her thinly covered bottom again.
Crack! Her head went down smartly and she made that strange 'Mmmmmaugh' sound again. She could feel her eyes begin to prickle with incipient tears, and she sniffed to regain control. I won't cry.
Crack! Now the pain and heat had built up to such an extent that she emitted a loud 'Aaaah.' She knew it had probably been heard outside, but now she didn't care; it was becoming too much for her. Her eyes began prickling again, and she sniffed, desperately hoping to keep the tears at bay.
Crack! "Oooh," she groaned, and her chin began to wobble while her eyes began to leak liquid. She knew she was teetering on the edge of tears. She concentrated on holding her position, and lifted her head to check the books.
"Stand up, that is all six."
She stood very slowly, pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose.
"Outside."
She turned, and walking carefully with a fire on her bottom, she walked through to the outer office. It seemed a million years since she was last in here. She saw the secretary smile.
"Go get your face against that wall, do not talk, and do not move until I tell you."
She faced the grey-painted wall, her hands clasped to her bottom in a vain attempt to ease what she was feeling. She was still fighting tears, and when she thought of bending over that desk it made her chin wobble again and begin the slide into full crying. She threw her mind back to the books, she'd never read the O'Neill one, she must do that.
The principal could be heard doing something at the secretary's desk, and then the sounds stopped. "OK ladies, that's it, you can all turn around now and relax. That's your paddle experience over. I hope you felt it was what you wanted but it's authentic - that is exactly how we paddle the students here at this school. I have here your certificates which I signed just now. We have them in your presentation boxes for you along with your complimentary book, The History of the Paddle, that includes a section on this school."
He picked up a box. "Kathryn, you're first, congratulations on taking a real high school paddling."
Still somewhat tear-stained but now smiling ruefully, the married mother of two stepped forward and took her box, shaking hands at the same time. "Thank you so much, Principal Wiley, I am so sorry I cried."
"No problem," he said and smiled encouragingly. "It's meant to hurt, and tears are common even amongst the boys."
"Janice, congratulations on taking your real high school paddling."
Janice stepped forward with a grin on her face, and shook hands, taking the box and book awkwardly. She said nothing, just looked bashful. She knew she'd taken it well, and was looking forward to boasting to her husband that she had not cried.
"Last but not least, Mary. Well done Mary, it is hard being last and hearing the others getting paddled, so congratulations on taking your authentic paddling."
The school was large with different exits so the principal had arranged for three senior girls to guide them out. "We find that our 'experiencees' get bewildered after their paddling so it is best we show you out," he explained.
Kathryn and Janice left with their guides after a mutual hug among the three 'experiencees'. Principal Wiley spoke longer to Mary after the other two had gone. "Now I am meeting you later for the full experience, I believe. My secretary has the address and time. It will be my pleasure to help you get the full experience you are looking for."
As she left, the secretary smiled. She thought all these women were mad, but the money they paid was helping towards the competition standard swimming pool they were building, and that was all that mattered. She smiled again.
