Over the Knee

by Fiona Locke

  Courtney hadn’t got off lightly either. Ten strokes with a paddle, well laid on, would weaken anyone’s knees. Peter didn’t care for the paddle. He thought it unrefined and so he rarely used it. When he did, he made it a very childish punishment indeed and preferred to administer it over the knee. The belittling nature of it was almost harder to bear than the acute sting of its impact.

  I felt myself growing hot as I remembered one of my earliest fantasies: the spanking machine. It was the ultimate impartial punishment. And until I discovered the spanko community I couldn’t have known how common a fantasy it was.

  My version was an elaborate ritual of objectification, set in a futuristic reformatory. I had been disrespectful to one of the instructors – a serious offence. My name was called over an intercom system and everyone listened as I was summoned to the disciplinary wing of the compound. It was called simply ‘The Centre’.

  A bookish man in a pristine lab coat led me into the room where the punishment was to be administered. The room resembled a sterile operating theatre and above the floor was a large gallery where several seated figures observed the proceedings with disinterested solemnity.

  The doctor betrayed no emotion at all as he consulted his clipboard and explained to me that the reformatory governors were introducing a new form of discipline. Because of my persistent want of respect, I had been chosen as the first experimental subject. His function was simply to operate the machine and take notes on the results.

  There was no need for any telling off. Indeed, once the system was perfected, there would be no need for any human interaction at all. The machine would ensure that instructors and administrators were not swayed by manipulative tears and pleas for lenience. Absolutely fair and impartial, it would simply perform its function and the offender would soon learn that it was no use fighting the system. Resistance would be punished swiftly and severely and the machine was incapable of pity.

  An adjustable padded stool stood in the centre of a large platform. Two sturdy legs angled out in either direction away from the seat. A wide leather strap hung from the seat and there were smaller straps at the base of each leg. Behind the stool stood a large hooked arm with a complicated network of chains, cogs and springs. At the end of the arm, suspended above the seat, was a thin wooden paddle.

  The doctor measured the distance from my feet to my waist and set about preparing the machine. I watched with a mixture of awe and dread as he raised the seat to a satisfactory height and tilted it forwards, so that it sloped downwards and away from the paddle.

  ‘Come here,’ he said. When I hesitated he added brusquely, ‘Do as you’re told, girl.’

  There was a murmur of disapproval from the gallery and the doctor nodded and made a notation on his clipboard.

  Had I earned extra strokes for not co-operating? I was too scared to ask. I moved towards him fearfully and he guided me into position over the seat, securing the strap tightly around my waist and effectively pinning me down. The slope of the seat forced my back to arch invitingly, making a prominent target of my bottom.

  My legs hung down so that the tips of my toes just reached the platform. The doctor fastened the straps round my ankles and buckled them tightly. My arms were next. I struggled a little in protest, but he merely smacked my hand. I couldn’t move.

  The doctor set aside his clipboard and without a word he lifted my skirt. Then with a brisk businesslike motion he tugged my knickers down to my knees. I moaned a little and darted a glance up at the gallery. A chair creaked from there, but I couldn’t make out any faces. Behind me the doctor was making some final adjustments to the arm of the machine.

  At last he retrieved his clipboard and stood to one side. ‘Ready, gentlemen,’ he said.

  A booming voice from the gallery responded, ‘Begin.’

  The doctor moved into my peripheral vision and there was a whirring noise as he switched on the machine. I heard the clicking of gears and the paddle drew back, striking my vulnerable bottom smartly, immediately.

  I recoiled and strained away from the arm, but I was held fast. Before I could begin to process the sensation, the paddle struck again. I yelped, struggling feebly in my bonds. Another sharp swat; another yelp. The unremitting paddle rose and fell, brutal in its unstoppable cadence.

  Tears were soon streaming down my face, but the machine did not relent. I had no idea how long it was programmed to spank me and my helpless cheeks burnt as the unfeeling machine performed its simple function, impervious to my distress.

  Over the humming of the machine I heard the scratch of the doctor’s pen as he jotted down his observations. The men in the gallery looked on silently as I cried out at each swat.

  I was so lost in the pain and misery that I barely registered when the paddle stopped. Relief washed over me and I went limp, panting for breath. I hung my head and saw the doctor behind me, examining my bottom. I winced as he placed his hand on each cheek in turn, gauging its warmth and tenderness. Again his pen scratched and he addressed the gallery with satisfaction. ‘38.2 degrees.’

  My objectification was complete and total.

  I drifted out of the fantasy to discover that my hand had strayed inside my knickers. Flushed and excited, I indulged myself, turning on to my stomach on the bed. Shoving a pillow under my hips, I raised my skirt and pushed my knickers down below my bottom as I pictured myself strapped down to the spanking machine.

  The cool air on my bottom enhanced the sense of exposure and I reached behind to squeeze my sore cheeks, rekindling the pain from the birching. Gasping, I ran the fantasy through my mind again. This time, however, I was made to wait in a queue, watching with increasing anxiety as each girl ahead of me had her bottom smacked by the unrelenting automaton. Before each punishment the doctor read out her offence and the length of time she was to be paddled.

  By the time it was my turn I was ready to explode. The machine had barely begun to redden my bottom when I felt the first quivering spasms. Within seconds they overwhelmed me and I drowned myself in a flood of images.

  Fifteen

  ‘I’VE HAD ENOUGH of your insolence, young lady. And your excuses. It’s clear you don’t take my authority seriously, so I have no choice but to show you that I mean business.’

  Without another word, the governess seated herself primly in one of the straight-backed wooden chairs against the wall. I stared at her lap, watching the way her skirt rose slightly and tautened against her long firm legs.

  ‘Over my lap,’ said Courtney.

  ‘Wanna play?’

  I blinked at her. ‘What, just the two of us?

  Her bright-green eyes sparkled with mischief. ‘Of course. I’ve been dying to get my hands on your bottom since the night I got you into trouble at Selfridges.’

  I smiled at the memory. The planning still blew my mind.

  ‘I was dying to follow you and watch,’ she said. ‘But Peter wouldn’t let me.’

  ‘Yeah, I might have been a little suspicious if I’d seen you.’ I laughed.

  Peter was in York for the night and Shaun was working late, so Courtney had come over to have dinner and keep me company. She was a natural flirt, so I didn’t take her hints as anything but her usual playful banter. But, after a few glasses of the spicy Barossa Valley Shiraz she’d brought, our conversation evolved into something more than sisterly intimacy and I realised she was serious.

  ‘So …?’ she promtped.

  We’d been punished together only a few days before. Submitting to her after that would seem strange. I also had no idea what she was like as a top. Would she be as intimidating as Peter?

  As though reading my mind, she said, ‘Don’t worry, I won’t traumatise you. Much.’

  I relaxed into a laugh, considering her offer. I had absolutely no idea what to expect. And, even though marks from the birching still criss-crossed my cheeks, the allure of power exchange was irresistible. ‘All right,’ I said finally. ‘Let’s play. What did you have in mind?’

  ‘
Oh, I didn’t really have anything specific in mind,’ she said with forced nonchalance, making it obvious that she did. ‘But I do have this governess fantasy …’

  I shifted in my seat, my face growing hot as I thought of the governess stories I’d read. Uncompromisingly strict, Victorian governesses. The idea of being a child under her control definitely appealed to me, but I was too embarrassed to admit to wanting it. I needed her to take the initiative.

  Sensing my obvious interest through my hesitation, Courtney did just that. ‘All right.’ She lifted her head, lengthening her neck. The simple gesture made her appear formidably tall. ‘Your father has decided that you’re too wilful to be sent away to finishing school, so he has hired me to instruct you in manners and etiquette.’

  I bit my lip.

  ‘But you’re a little rebel and you decide to embarrass him at a dinner party one night.’

  My imagination ran with it: I could see the elegant Victorian dining room laid with fine china and the polished family silver. A seven-course meal served by footmen in vibrant livery. Pheasant. Fine claret. Plovers’ eggs in aspic. My father and his stuffy friends in evening dress seated around the glossy table, politely and condescendingly making small talk for the sake of the ladies. Perhaps I had been told off earlier for speaking to a young man without a proper introduction. Perhaps I resented my governess for restricting my liberty. Perhaps I set out to get her sacked by displaying deliberately bad manners at this respectable gathering. I imagined my father’s thunderous face as he sent me from the room.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ I said. I licked my fingers, smacking my lips as though devouring the last of the chocolate sauce from the sweet course.

  Courtney grinned as though she could taste it too. ‘Very well, then. You’d better go up to the schoolroom and wait for me.’

  I smiled slyly and went upstairs. I sat down at one of the school desks, drumming my fingers to dissipate my nervous energy.

  Courtney kept me waiting about ten minutes and I hardly recognised her when she came in. She was wearing a sombre ankle-length black dress and she’d pulled her hair back away from her face in a severe bun. The very picture of strictness and sophistication.

  I couldn’t suppress a smile. Despite her pretence that she’d thought of the scene on the spur of the moment, she’d come to the house well prepared.

  ‘There’s nothing to smile about, young lady,’ she snapped, closing the door behind with her a sharp bang.

  I jumped.

  ‘Stand up, young lady,’ she snapped.

  I got shakily to my feet.

  ‘Your father tells me that your manners at the dinner party last night were deplorable. He says you embarrassed him in front of his guests and that I am to straighten you out.’

  Her velvety Southern voice was made for scolding. She had definitely missed her calling.

  ‘Your lapses in etiquette make you look bad, young lady, but they make me look worse. You know this very well, so I’m forced to assume it’s deliberate.’

  A nervous laugh fluttered at the back of my throat and I fought to swallow it down.

  She saw the struggle in my face. ‘There’s nothing to smile about,’ she said coldly and waited for me to get myself under control. ‘Do you have anything to say for yourself?’

  ‘Erm …’

  ‘Don’t mumble! And look at me when I’m speaking to you.’

  I straightened up. ‘I … suppose I just … forgot myself,’ I said. ‘Miss.’

  Courtney arched one eyebrow. ‘You forgot? I see. So you need a reminder, do you?’

  ‘No, miss.’

  ‘Oh, but clearly you do if you’re forgetting my etiquette lessons so completely.’

  ‘I didn’t forget, I just …’

  She gave me an icy smile. ‘Just chose to disregard my teaching so as to embarrass your father, is that it?’

  I protested again, but she cut me off. ‘Your father employed me because you didn’t have the discipline to be allowed to go away to finishing school. He expects me to instil that discipline, and your behaviour last night shows how much you need it.’

  ‘But I –’

  Courtney raised one slender finger and I shut my mouth instantly.

  ‘Over my lap.’

  ‘But miss, it’s so undignified,’ I protested.

  ‘Punishment isn’t meant to be dignified. If you had behaved you would have retained your dignity. But when you act like a petulant child you will be treated like a petulant child. Now if you don’t place yourself over my lap you will suffer the further indignity of being hauled across it.’

  Suddenly, the stuffy schoolroom felt like a meat locker as the chill of erotic fear overwhelmed me. I stepped to her side and stretched out across her shapely thighs. I gazed at the grain in the floorboards, pressing my fingertips to them. Her lap was soft and yielding, so unlike a man’s.

  Courtney’s hand rested lightly on my bottom and gave it a gentle pat. Then she flipped up my tartan skirt. She slipped my knickers down and a delicious shiver ran down the stepping-stones of my spine.

  ‘Naughty little girls,’ she purred, ‘need to be taught how to behave, don’t they?’

  ‘Yes, miss,’ I whispered.

  Her cool hand descended on my bare bottom, caressing it in slow circles, savouring its smooth whiteness.

  ‘When girls act in vulgar ways, they disgrace not only themselves, but also their families.’

  Her mellifluous words were so eloquent and proper. And I knew without being told that they were words she’d heard before, probably from some Southern belle governess of her own. The authenticity made me blush and I surrendered to her firm ladylike admonition.

  ‘I’m sorry that it’s come to this,’ she said and I could almost believe the wistful tone in her voice. ‘But you’ve brought it on yourself. You’ve had this spanking coming for a long time and now you’re going to take it.’

  ‘Yes, miss,’ I said, my voice so soft I doubted whether she even heard me.

  ‘What a sweet little bottom you have,’ she murmured. ‘So round and delicate.’

  The soft hand lifted from my skin and seemed to hang suspended in the air forever before coming down on my bottom with a loud smack. I gave a small mouselike squeak. Another smack, another little yip. Another and another and another. It didn’t hurt, but that made it even harder to endure. She was treating me like a very little girl indeed. The embarrassment warmed me like a fever as she smacked me briskly and thoroughly. Her soft hands didn’t neglect the tops of my thighs, either, and I kicked feebly at the low smacks.

  ‘Blatant disobedience,’ she chided affectionately. ‘And what has it earned you, young lady? A good sound spanking.’ A harder volley of swats punctuated her words and I began to yelp in earnest.

  I imagined my bottom growing pink under her ministrations. Pink and then red. Now it was starting to hurt. It was nothing like as hard as Peter spanked me, but her words were exquisitely humbling.

  At last she stopped and I whimpered softly, wriggling a little over her lap. The warm glow in my backside was slightly comforting, matching the flush in my throat and face. She urged me up with a sharp swat and I struggled gracelessly to my feet, too embarrassed to look at her. I stood before her, rubbing my bottom. When I reached down to pull my knickers up she stopped me.

  ‘No, leave them down. I’m not finished with you, little miss.’

  I wilted.

  ‘If you think that’s all your little performance last night has earned you, you’re sorely mistaken.’

  Now I was really worried. I looked up at her fearfully.

  ‘Your mother’s hairbrush,’ she said. ‘The one on the dresser. Bring it here.’

  For a second I was puzzled. Then I remembered. The antique ebony one on the dresser in the master bedroom.

  ‘At once!’

  I scurried to obey, my legs hobbled by the panties that clung round my knees. I couldn’t bear the humiliation of shuffling down the corridor like that and I hesitated in
the doorway and cast a pleading look back at her.

  ‘I don’t care if the servants do see you,’ she said frostily. ‘Now if you don’t fetch it this minute I will call the parlour maid in to horse you on her back while I spank you.’

  One couldn’t help but admire her exquisite cruelty.

  Out on the landing, I glanced around nervously as though the butler might appear at any moment and see me bare-bottomed. I hurried to the master bedroom, afraid to keep Courtney waiting too long.

  I had seen the hairbrush lying there so many times, looking so innocent. Just another authentic prop in the eighteenth-century house. But as I picked it up I felt its heft. I smacked it against my palm, startled by its potency. It was a fearsome implement, belied by its Victorian gentility.

  With shaky sweaty hands, I crept back into the schoolroom and presented it to my governess, nearly dropping it in my nervousness.

  Courtney took it from me with the barest hint of a smile. She stood up and set the hairbrush down on the chair. ‘I think we’ll have a little deportment lesson while your bottom is still nice and pink. Then we can see about driving the message home with the hairbrush.’

  ‘Yes, miss,’ I groaned, not knowing what else to say.

  She took a large book from the shelf and tested its weight in her open palm. Then she raised it above me and gently lowered it down on to my head.

  Anticipating her, I adjusted my stance to keep my head level.

  She let go of the book and I felt it wobble slightly. I reached up to steady it and she smacked the back of my wrist with a dainty flick of her fingers.

  ‘Hands at your sides.’ She circled me, inspecting my posture. ‘Let’s see that naughty red bottom,’ she said, lifting up my skirt and tucking it into the waistband.

  I bit my lip, turning scarlet at the feeing of exposure.

  Satisfied at last, my beautiful tormentor nodded towards the far corner of the room. ‘There and back,’ she said.

  I gulped. It seemed a mile. And having my skirt up and my knickers round my knees only enhanced my disgrace. I took one hesitant step, trying to hold my head perfectly still. So far, so good. Another step and I felt the book shift slightly to one side. I tilted my head so it wouldn’t fall and had to fight to keep my hands away. But as I lifted my foot to take another step the book slid off and thudded heavily to the floor.