Corrective Measures

by Sarah Veitch

  'So what can we do for you?' the man continued.

  'Liz took all our equipment with her. Ryka's here to buy new stuff,' Ryka's fiance replied.

  And buy new stuff she did! Ryka dipped her head prettily as the men brought out long whippy canes and Scottish tawses and razor strops and laid them out on the long glass counter. The assistants whisked the thin rattans through the air to show her how they'd sound before they made contact with her completely bare bum. 'This one leaves a thin red line, whereas this type creates a wide pink band which glows for longer,' the oldest man said with relish. No wonder they called discipline the English vice!

  'I think we'd like this rattan,' Ryka said nervously at last. She noticed Thomas looking longingly at the leather instruments. 'And a four tailed tawse,' she added haltingly, glad to see lust and gratitude entering his eyes.

  Thomas put his arms around her waist and pulled her back against him. 'I'll be firm with you,' he whispered, 'but I'll also be scrupulously fair.'

  The wedding went well, and at last Ryka's honeymoon night began in earnest. She walked to the hotel's large bridal suite, wondering what awaited her therein. She'd never had full intimacy or even undressed before the opposite gender! And she'd no idea if she could bear the whip or ruler or the tawse.

  Thomas was already in the room, putting his suit jacket on a hanger. He rolled up his sleeves then smiled at her expectantly. 'Ryka, would you like to choose a shoe?' he asked, indicating his new bride's side of the bed. Ryka looked down. Two black glossy toes peeped out at her. There was no way of telling which was empty and which was full.

  'I'll take the right one,' she murmured, drawing it out.

  She saw immediately that it contained a small coiled whip, a sort of lightweight riding crop. Taking it from its lair, she handed it to Thomas then stepped back.

  'You can taste the whip or choose whichever implement you prefer,' he offered.

  Remembering how he'd obviously liked the leather goods, Ryka opted for the four tailed tawse.

  'Fetch it from the suitcase now, and bring it to me,' Thomas ordered. He smiled more gently. 'When we get home we'll keep such implements in your bottom drawer.'

  'And will we use them often?' Ryka whispered, her trepidation increasing as the moment of her punishment drew nearer.

  'We'll use them whenever the situation warrants it,' Thomas said.

  Then he smiled. 'For now you're to be disciplined to maintain the old Russian custom. That is, because you chose the shoe with the disciplinary implement in it you'll get a taste of the tawse.' He looked thoughtful, as if remembering her transgressions. 'And I'm also going to chasten you for hesitating when it came to buying these self same punishment tools.'

  'I was shy about approaching the shopkeepers,' Ryka murmured, with an apologetic wince 'I was uncertain.'

  'Perhaps you'll be more certain when you've a hot sore bottom to sit on,' her new husband said.

  Ryka looked nervously at him. Next, she looked down at the leather tawse she was still holding. 'Hand me the implement and then lie on your tummy on the bed,' Thomas bade.

  The Russian bride did so, her movements jerky. She wondered how she'd feel about what came next.

  'Lift your dress up above your waist,' her spouse continued.

  Ryka reached her small ringed hands back and pulled at her hem until the ankle-length brocade skirt moved away from her haunches. She knew that her equally long petticoat still remained in place.

  'Now raise your underskirt,' Thomas said. Ryka did so, then felt her husband adjusting the material so that it would stay folded over her back. 'Which garment do you think comes off now, Ryka?' he murmured exultantly.

  'My panties, sir,' Ryka said.

  There was a pause. Ryka reminded herself that she was married now, that such acts were allowable. Still she felt very vulnerable and a little scared.

  'Oh dear, I requested a bare bum and I'm still looking at a fully clothed bum,' Thomas said softly. 'I'll have to redden it more fully for failing to obey.'

  'Please don't! It's not that I don't want to... It's just...' After a few more moments of internal struggle, Ryka slowly pulled down her lace-trimmed pants. She lay there on her tummy, knowing that her new husband was staring down at her newly-bared bottom. A bottom that had never before been tawsed or paddled or whipped.

  'Good girl,' Thomas murmured. She felt the mattress give as he knelt on one side of the bed and pulled back one arm. Ryka knew without looking that that arm contained the tawse. 'Would you like to count each stroke out loud and thank me for it?' he asked softly. Ryka nodded into the pillow, but didn't speak. 'I'll have a verbal answer, if you please,' her new spouse continued. 'Good communication is vital between husband and wife.'

  'Yes, sir,' Ryka answered, her feelings of desire and degradation increasing. She pushed her legs more tightly together and waited for the lash to fall.

  Suddenly heat sizzled across both twitching buttocks. This was a veritable brand! This was lightening in the form of leather! Ryka gasped loudly and started to scramble up from the bed.

  'Going someplace?' Thomas asked.

  She looked at his face. It showed both sadness and disappointment. 'N... no sir,' she gasped out.

  Slowly the girl flattened herself to the mattress again. Her hands fluttered by her waist, half-wanting to cover her bare bottom.

  'Perhaps it would be easier if you gripped the lower rung of the headrest,' her thoughtful spouse said.

  The Russian bride did. The tactile certainty of the wood somehow helped her to control herself. Still, she sucked in her breath as she waited for the second searing stroke.

  When it fell, it went lower than lash one. It licked the tender crease at the top of her thighs, and seemed to reverberate through to her belly. Ryka groaned and shook her hips from side to side. 'Only four more to go,' Thomas said. 'Then we'll move on to the second stage of your punishment.'

  Registering his words, Ryka groaned again. She tried to avoid her next sore taste of the tawse. 'I've accepted the tawse to please you, sir. Can't we go on to the Russian whipping custom?' She hoped that the whip would sting much less.

  'We probably could have,' Thomas replied, 'if you hadn't failed to obey me when I told you to take down your panties. That's why you're due six hard strokes of the tawse.'

  Ryka nodded into the pillows. She knew that this thrashing would ultimately make her less coy, would help bring her womanly urges to the surface. Her fantasies had always been of dominant older men. That said, it still took lots of willpower for her to ask her spouse nicely for the third tawse lash. When it came, it scorched across the centre of her naked globes. All four leather tongues seemed to flicker out their smarting impact. 'Aaah! Aaah! Aaah!' the Russian girl whimpered. She rolled wildly onto her back, both palms cupping her reddened bum.

  After rubbing her tender flesh for a few moments, she recovered herself and peaked curiously over at her man. He was still holding the tawse and was looking down at her impassively.

  'It hurts,' Ryka said in a plaintive little voice.

  'Of course it hurts. It's punishment,' her beloved answered.

  'But it's our wedding night. We should have... we should have pleasure,' Ryka cut in.

  'And the pleasure will be all the more strong due to this bum-based stimulus,' Thomas replied knowingly. He touched her in her most intimate place till she almost swooned with yearning. Desperate once more to please him she rolled back onto her tummy, presenting him with her hot red arse.

  Her husband fondled that same arse for a moan-making moment whilst she forced herself to grip onto the bed's wooden headboard. Then he picked up the tawse and brought it down across her tenderised underswell. Before Ryka could cry out, he'd raised the punisher again and whacked it further up her jerking bottom. Then he placed the final stroke nearer the top of her heated bum.

  'Aaah!' Ryka gasped out. Her hands flew back to massage her rump cheeks, but her husband caught her wrists and held them away.

  'No, no,
my dear. I want you to contemplate how vulnerable your bum is after it's felt the lash. You mustn't protect it.'

  'Couldn't I just hold it for a second, sir?' Ryka whispered throatily.

  'No, but you can come and look at it in the mirror before it receives its whipping,' Thomas said.

  Curious, Ryka started to rise up from the bed, obediently keeping her hands away from her bare buttocks. As she moved, her skirt and petticoats started to fall down. Helpfully Thomas took hold of the hems and put it between her nervous fingers. 'Keep them up above your waist, sweetheart. We want to be able to see the bottom that we're still chastising,' he said.

  'Yes, sir,' Ryka murmured hesitantly. Part of her wanted to see how crimson her virgin haunches were, to admire her own courage. The other part felt flustered and ashamed.

  With Thomas's hand on her upper arm, she marched towards the full length mirror. There she turned so that her bare bottom faced the glass. Then Ryka took a deep breath and peeked over her shoulder at the chastened orbs.

  'They're really red, aren't they?' she whispered, feeling a sense of pride and self discovery as she surveyed both scarlet hemispheres.

  'These little cheeks are about to get even redder,' Thomas said.

  He walked over to where the whip lay coiled on the floor. Its clean dark lines looked sleek and almost pretty. 'Would you like to kiss it, my dear?'

  Ryka nodded and pressed her lips slackly against the slender braid. 'Shall I hold onto the bed rail again?' she muttered huskily.

  'I think so. But we'll put a pillow under your tummy first to make your bottom a more obvious target,' her husband said.

  Ryka held her breath as he pushed a pillow in place. It tilted her body slightly so that her bum felt even more vulnerable. 'Let's see how this works out,' Thomas said.

  The Russian girl felt the bed move and the air currents change and knew that the first whip stroke was imminent. She wondered how it would feel on already sensitized buttock flesh. A moment later she knew that it felt incisively sore! She yelled and rubbed at her cheeks and shoved her belly into the bolster.

  'Oh dear. You touched your sore bum without permission. Now I'll have to use another pillow,' Thomas told her, voice holding a frown. Again the mattress moved, then the girl felt a second pillow being added to the first, raising her globes still further. A moment later she felt the whip connect with her tenderised rump again.

  'Aah! How many more?' she gasped out plaintively.

  'You mean "How many more, sir?"' Thomas corrected. 'Respect goes so quickly from a marriage nowadays!'

  As if in answer, he applied the whip for the third sore time. Ryka howled and drummed her feet against the bed and puckered up main muscles in her bottom. 'Untense that bare arse! I like to whip a nice smooth canvas,' her husband said.

  Pleasing him would ultimately mean more pleasure for herself so, with difficulty, Ryka obeyed him. She forced her bum to lie still, if not exactly relaxed. God, it was hot! She wanted to smooth cool body lotion into her twin rotundities. She wanted her man to kiss the pain away.

  But the kisses would come after the olde worlde Russian whipping. Ryka reminded herself that she'd agreed to this chastisement for their marriage's greater good.

  'Please use the whip on my haunches again, sir,' she said raggedly.

  'Haunches is too coy a word for a married woman,' Thomas said.

  Ryka twisted her head back to look at him. 'I don't understand. What words do you... which words are proper?'

  'Say "I've been a disobedient young wench, sir, and I deserve to get a red hot arse for causing trouble",' Thomas bade.

  Eyes downcast, Ryka repeated the words. They set up a fluttering in the secret core below her belly. She so wanted the initiation into womanhood to begin! 'Yes, you're a naughty girl who won't escape whipping,' Thomas continued, raising the riding crop. He flicked it against the crease where bum meets thigh. 'Where do you think you should get the next lash?' he continued in a conversational voice.

  'Anywhere but there, sir!' Ryka replied fervently, still feeling the newest line of erotic anguish. Obligingly, Thomas applied the lash further up.

  At last he set down the whip and fondled her glowing small buttocks. 'What should I use on you,' he whispered, 'the next time that you fail to please?'

  Ryka thought of the implements they'd bought so far and imagined their effect on her bare bottom. 'The wooden spoon which doubles as a paddle, sir,' she said excitedly.

  'And how will you be displayed for your punishment?' Thomas continued.

  'With a...' Ryka writhed about on her tummy, still loathe to say the words, 'with a completely bare arse.'

  She felt Thomas's lips brush her hair. 'That's not what I meant,' he said. 'I meant will you lie on the bed or bend over the dressing table or...?'

  Ryka envisaged various punitive options which all involved pulling down her pants. 'Over the kitchen stool, sir,' she said raggedly, remembering the whipping stools that they'd seen in the adult shop.

  'And will you count each swish of the paddle out loud after you've received it?' her man continued.

  'Yes sir, and I'll ask nicely for the next!' Ryka said.

  'Good girl,' Thomas murmured. He turned her over and took her into his arms, his fingers caressing. And Ryka knew that she wouldn't have to ask for anything else.

  Raising Awareness

  Was she ever going to grab Gordon Wesley's attention? Jo-Anne simmered with frustration as she crossed the Petroleum Refining Plant. Once again she'd flirted with her employer. Once again she'd been subtly rebuffed. She knew that she was alluring and alert, with a reasonably curvaceous figure. Had heard that he was single but had dated other employees in the past. Yet the most intense dialogue she'd extracted from the man was 'Memorised the Fire Hazards Manual yet, Ms Kern?' and 'Don't forget to wear your safety hat.'

  He was obviously a stickler for protocol, Jo-Anne mused - and suddenly a dare-devil thought raced through her. She could arouse his wrath then burst into tears when reprimanded and seek solace in his arms...

  Ten minutes later the twenty-two year old deliberately hopped over the ground-painted red line. It signalled an area where all staff were supposed to wear goggles. Gordon walked past at his usual time, then stopped and stared.

  'Ms Kern - you're infringing the rules. Put those protective glasses on this minute.'

  'What if I don't?' Jo-Anne parried, with a please-make-me smile.

  'You'll get a black mark on your record.'

  Her belly tingled as she envisaged a red mark on her bum. What on earth had made her think of such a flagrant image? It wasn't as if she'd ever been spanked...

  The next morning the trainee manager flagrantly crossed a blue line without donning her ear muffs.

  'Good grief, woman - have you taken leave of your senses?' Gordon Wesley asked.

  'My senses are sound - they can handle 90 decibels,' Jo-Anne replied.

  Angrily, the forty year old man shook his head. 'You're demonstrating unsafe working practices to our newer staff, and you could get us into all sorts of trouble with our insurance.' He told her to follow him through the Control Room into his adjoining office space.

  'I'm going to have to make an example of you, Ms Kern,' he said coolly, picking up the Employee Records book.

  'Oh no! Surely you aren't going to spank me, sir?' the twenty-two year old said.

  There was an eerily long silence after the words 'spank me, sir' had faded away. Jo-Anne closed her eyes and wished that she'd kept her mouth shut likewise. What on earth had made her issue such a provocative dare? Would he ignore her challenge or stroll over and aim a few slaps at her fully-clothed backside?

  'A sound thrashing does indeed seem called for,' the older man said pensively before marching her across to the long low couch.

  He sat down then hauled Jo-Anne imperiously over his lap. His knees supported her tummy. The twenty-two year old wriggled about like a caught fish then reached both hands forward to steady herself. As she did so, Gordon
caught and imprisoned her wrists in one of his hands and held them in front of her. 'As you seem incapable of obeying instructions, I won't ask you to keep your palms away from your reddening backside.'

  Without further ado, he began to whack hard at her boiler suited bum. The padding absorbed virtually all of the impact. At least he was touching her, Jo-Anne exulted, and it didn't hurt a bit! Deep down she felt just a little disappointed; she'd wondered what a genuine adult spanking would be like.

  Seconds later she realised she was about to find out.

  'This boiler suit will have to come off,' her employer instructed, lifting her up and depositing her gently on her steel-capped safety shoes. 'Unbutton it now,' he continued, 'and push it down to your knees.'

  Telling herself that hugs and kisses would soon follow, Jo-Anne tremulously obeyed him. The yellow material bulked at her ankles and she took off her footwear and kicked the suit out of the way. Now the only garments which clung to her five foot five frame were a plain white cotton T-shirt and white cotton pants.

  'Good girl. Now get those girlish globes over my knee again,' the dark-haired man said impersonally.

  Her loins turned to warm syrup at his words. Nevertheless, she had to use up most of her courage to bend over his lap, especially now that she knew he'd be contemplating her knicker-clad bottom. Would he lust after her audaciously oval-shaped cheeks? Jo-Anne was glad that she'd worn her newest and most buttock-hugging panties as she arched her small rump over Gordon Wesley's knee.

  'A girl who's been disobedient doesn't get to keep her panties on,' the man explained. Jo-Anne tensed as she felt him drag the cotton down her soft pale buttocks.

  'You can't pull my pants off!' she whispered, both excited and afraid.

  'I prefer to spank bare bottoms,' Gordon Wesley replied, immediately letting go of her knicker elastic, 'but if you'd rather return to work...?'

  If she returned to work he'd return to being distant, and she really and truly fancied him.

  'I give you permission to bare my buttocks, sir,' Jo-Anne whispered, hoping that the chastisement would lead to affection and at least one date. At the moment he simply saw her as a trainee manager who organised the lube oil unloading. After this, he would appreciate her own inner oil...