Spanking Theatre

Spanking stories for the Theatre between your ears

“On the whole human beings want to be good, but not too good, and not quite all the time.” — George Orwell


Alice wore her reins, every day.

She wore them to work under her elegant business suit. She wore them around the house under her jeans. She wore them whenever she went out, hidden beneath her pretty summer dress as she casually chatted with friends. She even wore her reins when she went to the gym, they were clearly visible whenever she undressed, yet no-one ever noticed. It was her kinky secret, hidden in plain sight, beyond the perception of all around her, as they busied themselves with towels, leotards, sprays and all the other paraphernalia of fitness.

Only He could see her reins, only He knew how to take them. He could control her with just one skillful hand. He could tug her, slowly increasing the force she felt, quickly silencing her bratty mouth until she was as still as a statue. He could tease her, slowly releasing his hold, feeling her squirm and longing for more, arching her back expectantly… until another firm tug brought a moan, and a reminder of who was really in charge.

That familiar soreness between her legs had been the sensation of discipline for as long as she could remember. It had begun with the appointment of Ms McGiven, an old-fashioned governess who’d brought with her some very old-fashioned methods of dealing with naughty girls. Goodness, it must have been fifteen years now since the first time.

We are the sum of our stories. And Alice could remember one particular story like yesterday. She thought of it often, retrieving it from her memory like a treasured relic, replaying it when drifting off to sleep with her fingers between her thighs, that one beautiful summer when Penny came to stay.

* * 1 * *

Alice tiptoed over the gravel path cursing its ostentatious crunchiness with every step. Ahead of her was Firecrest Manor, a Georgian-period country house, slightly less grand than its name suggested. Home was a modest cream-stone edifice with three Palladian columns, set amongst beautifully verdant grounds that had exploded into flamboyant bloom with the arrival of summer. How strange that the house seemed so huge when she was young. Once, it had seemed like her very own castle, epic expansive hallways, towering ceilings, always so many more hidden rooms to explore. But the manor had seemed to shrink as Alice had grown bigger, now it paled in comparison with the grand stately homes seen in TV period dramas, with all their wings, ballrooms and servants’ quarters. Nevertheless, Firecrest Manor was still home.

Alongside Alice was her best friend Penny, who’d escaped the suffocating smoggy heat of London to come to stay for a couple of weeks. Penny’s arrival had transformed what had threatened to become a tedious summer holiday alone into a series of shared adventures, secret games and incorrigible hijinks.

The two teens were partners in crime, exploring all the places they’d been told not to go, taking horses from the stables and galloping off like outlaws of old into the surrounding countryside. Together they didn’t just push the boundaries of what they were allowed to do, they improvised rungs and climbed over them, straying far and wide, having a glorious time. As a result, Alice’s governess was becoming increasingly tetchy, stern warnings were being issued, ominous ultimatums: Alice, you know what happens to naughty girls…

A governess! Who had a governess these days? thought Penny when she’d first met Ms McGiven. Penny’s pleased-to-meet-you smiles had gone unreciprocated by the dour older woman who’d been tasked with looking after Alice, and the manor, whilst her parents’ attended to business abroad. Instead of a warm welcome, Penny had received an unexpected talking-to: warning her against misbehaviour, and it was made very clear that just because she was a guest, didn’t mean she wouldn’t be disciplined.

“Disciplined…?”, Penny had asked Alice, as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Oh, that tends to mean spanking”, explained Alice matter-of-factly.

Penny’s mouth had gaped open in surprise.

“Best be good…” Alice added with smirk.

Today though had involved a lot of wilful misbehaviour. It had been a gloriously hot day, far too good to be stuck around the house, but with permission to go swimming unlikely, a conspiracy was hatched.

Misdemeanour One was raiding the pantry to compile a picnic.

Two was taking the horses without permission and riding off to the lake, which her governess had deemed out of bounds.

Three was going skinny dipping.

Four was skipping dinner to eat the various treats in their picnic.

Five was staying out well past dinner time.

And Six was That Thing: an episode of quite delicious naughtiness, a secret they’d be keeping between themselves, no matter what.

All of which meant they approached the weather-beaten front door of the manor with considerable trepidation. Alice had a key, but they didn’t have much of a plan to explain away their absence. Perhaps if they were lucky, they could still sneak in unnoticed. They should have been home hours ago, and they certainly shouldn’t have been anywhere near the lake. The door creaked open unobligingly.

They’d only advanced a couple of footsteps down the hall when Ms McGiven floated into view like a malign spirit.

"And just where have you girls been?"

With their hair still wet and a picnic basket between them, it didn’t need a detective of Sherlock Holmes’ calibre to deduce the case against them. Explaining away such damning evidence was beyond even Alice’s considerable powers of argument, it seemed safer to just keep her mouth shut. An awkward silence filled Firecrest Manor.

“Upstairs!”, shouted the governess.

Two pairs of sullen eyes stared at the lady’s pointing finger.

“To your rooms! Both of you! You may wait at the bottom of your beds. I’ll be up to deal with you both shortly!”

Being dealt with - that sounded ominous, thought Penny, as the girls slouched upstairs in silence. Alice accompanied Penny to her room, one of the guest bedrooms just opposite her own, she recognised the Now What? look on her friend’s face.

"We’re going to be spanked and put to bed", Alice announced abruptly.

Penny did the open-mouth thing again, “WE?”

"’fraid so"

There was another awkward silence as the implications of their fate percolated through their minds.

"Pen, we need to get ready, before The Wicked Witch comes upstairs. Wash and clean teeth, and go to the loo."

“For real?” Penny mumbled, her mind still processing the bit about the spanking.

There wasn’t time to explain, so Alice just tugged her friend towards the bathroom. Penny trailed along reluctantly, dazed by this sudden turn of events.

Ten minutes and several ablutions later, they were back in Penny’s room. Alice was no stranger to spankings, but she suspected Penny hadn’t been disciplined much. But no need to make it into a big deal, thought Alice, what was going to happen was just like one of the spanking games they sometimes played together, except someone else would be doing the smacking. And it would probably hurt more.

It was a good mindset, thought Alice, every trial and tribulation could be re-imagined as a game if you tried. Just stay playful, and you never know, Penny might even enjoy it. A tiny smile appeared on Alice’s face.

“Penelope Templeton!” said Alice theatrically, doing her best to channel the spirit of their strict headmistress, “you’ve been a very naughty girl!”

Momentarily startled, Penny looked back at Alice - seeing her standing with her hands on her hips, nose indignantly in the air. She quickly recognised her friend’s mannerisms, from Their Game.

“Yes Miss…”, replied Penny meekly, playing along.

“And what happens to naughty girls?”, inquired Alice.

Penny could feel herself blushing as she contemplated her reply. “They get spanked, Miss… on their bare bottoms…”

“That’s right, Penelope, bare bum is best for a good hard spanking. Now, get undressed, young lady.”

Penny obeyed readily, lifting her summer dress over her head and then her vest top, folding the discarded garments neatly on her dressing table. Her bra followed, until she stood before her friend wearing only her skimpy panties. Her fingers hovered over the elastic of the waistband dramatically, although Alice wasn’t quite sure if she was just milking the moment, or waiting to be commanded. She gave the order anyway.

“Pull down your panties…” she said sternly.

Penny’s panties stretched and slipped over her hips. There was one last sensation, a fleeting tingling as her gusset clung to her moist lips, then slowly pulled away with all the reluctance of parting lovers. Then there was the long shameful descent down her thighs, until gravity did the rest and they dropped around her feet - from where they were quickly consigned to the laundry basket to conceal her sticky little secret. And then Penny was standing naked in front of Alice. Not for the first time today.

The guest bedroom was dominated by an antique Victorian bedstead. Its frame was an elegant medley of sturdy iron and elaborate brass flourishes. From the bottom of the bed, it looked like an intricately decorated garden gate, with a lattice of horizontal black-painted iron rails running between the two corner posts, each topped by a round shiny brass knob.

Whilst Penny stood contritely with her head bowed, Alice fetched one of the bed’s pillows, and folded it over the uppermost rail at the foot of the bed.

“Stand on the bottom rail, young lady… and bend over the pillow!”

Penny did as she was told, the upper rail was almost as high as her waist, stretching her legs as her toes balanced on the bed’s narrow bottom rail. She had to put her hands down on mattress for support.

“Now, legs apart…”

Alice nudged Penny’s feet to the side, until each foot was almost touching the corner post. This splayed her legs apart, parting her buttocks and revealing her most intimate parts, a smudge of darker skin around her puckered hole and oyster-shell-shaped lips that were already bright pink and puffy.

Alice fondled her friend’s delightfully soft round buttocks, prompting Penny to gasp and wiggle alluringly. She desperately wished she could spank them herself, but knew her governess would not be best pleased if she arrived to find someone else had usurped her responsibilities and Penny’s bum was already pink.

“Pen…”, she whispered, “I have to go and bend over my own bed now. Her Ladyship will be up soon to spank us. Don’t worry, it’ll be just like our little game.”

“We have been rather naughty today…”, admitted Penny.

As a parting gift, Alice slowly ran two fingers from the small of Penny’s back, down between her bottom cheeks. She felt her fingers skirt the dimple of her bottom hole before encountering her soft moist folds, which she massaged until she could feel her sticky wetness between her fingertips. She wondered if Penny knew The Secret: that being aroused during a spanking not only made it hurt less, but much more enjoyable too.

Her fingers glanced around Penny’s hot little pearl, as she leant over the bed to kiss her on the cheek, and they whispered their goodnights.

Alice hurried across the hallway to her own room and undressed quickly. Just as she’d done for Penny, she retrieved a pillow and folded it over the brass rail at the bottom of her own bed. A nervous glance at her open door: no one there yet. Her fingers darted between her legs, rubbing urgently, but she was careful not to push herself too close to the edge. Experience had taught her that suitably aroused, spankings were tolerable, sometimes even strangely enjoyable. But climaxing would rob her of the pleasurable aftershocks of each whack, making her skin so sensitive and tender she’d feel each smack as an excruciating sting.

She lingered between her labia as long as she dared, before reluctantly stepping onto the bottom rail of her bedstead and bending over the pillow. She adjusted her stance, sliding her feet wide until her legs were spread apart, and she could feel the cool air teasing her dewy lips.

And waited…


* * 2 * *

 

We are the sum of our stories.

And a new chapter of Alice’s life was just beginning.

She’d left school. She’d travelled. She’d gone on adventures. She’d earned a degree. She’d found a great job, doing what she loved. And now, she’d met someone.

A great day was turning into a great evening. Dinner and wine al fresco on the restaurant patio, with the high summer sun seemingly frozen above the horizon, as if it was reluctant to bring the day to an end.

Sitting opposite Alice was Patrick. Quiet Patrick. Thoughtful Patrick. Inscrutable Patrick.

She’d first encountered him on another patio during a friend’s party, amid a group earnestly discussing the modern-day frustrations of life and work. Physically, he was unremarkable, she only started to pay attention to him because he was the only one not talking. Whilst his companions whined and bellyached, empathising with each others’ vexations in an escalating game of oh-you-think-that’s-bad one-upmanship, he just listened silently, as if pondering the solution to a perplexing conundrum.

Her first words to him: “You don’t say much”.

His first words to her: “I don’t like to complain”.

Then they’d introduced themselves, and had kept chatting even after all the others had wandered away, cathartically unburdened of their various first-world miseries. Patrick turned out to be very easy to talk to, not at all as shy or aloof as her initial impressions had suggested. He spoke quietly and deliberately, as if she was a library, and he was picking books off her shelves, thumbing through her pages, gleaning her plot.

He was more abstruse. Within fifteen minutes of meeting most men, Alice had usually been told his occupation, a recent glorious achievement and an anecdote that alluded to his exotic, adventurous lifestyle. But conversations between friends were different, free from the need to boast, impress or solicit praise. Talking to Patrick was refreshingly natural, their dialogue flowed naturally, surging enthusiastically downstream, spawning a delta of new subjects, themes and possibilities. They made each other laugh and smile, and resolved to meet again.

And soon, they had become more intimate than friends.

They had spent today in the hills walking up an appetite. Not just a hunger, but that yearning to see the other undressed again. Now, with dinner beginning to sate their hunger, it was the other appetite that began to influence their conversation, and with Alice now pleasantly tipsy, their exchanges were becoming entertainingly flirtatious.

The conversation was segueing from nature to naturism.

“You like the wilderness” he’d observed.

“Yeah! When I was a girl, I loved exploring the countryside. My favourite place was the little blue lake…”, a smirk was followed by a conspiratorial whisper, “… I loved skinny dipping.”

He picked up on the hints of illicitness she’d dropped, like a sparrow following breadcrumbs. “Really? And did your parents approve?”

“Oh, they never knew! I used to sneak out there when the days were hot. It was my governess I had to evade. She often caught me.”

“And did she punish you?”

Alice looked down coyly, “… of course…”

“How?”

She leant across the table, whispering salaciously, “She spanked me. Long… hard spankings on my bare bottom. With a little leather paddle. Can you imagine? And then…”

She bit off the rest of the sentence, suddenly aware that her runaway enthusiasm might have revealed too much.

“And then…”, he prompted.

Alice sat back in her seat, blushing deeply, refusing to elaborate further.

Patrick liked to make her blush. He lamented how blushing had become synonymous with embarrassment and loss of face. To him, blushing was delightful. A real man should strive to make a lady blush, because the radiance of her skin was the shine of her life force. When a lady blushes, her heart thumps, her skin tingles and her mind races. What a beautiful gift to give.

To Patrick, Alice’s half-revelation was like wandering freely around a house, and then discovering a locked door. He knew something intriguing lay behind it - and if the owner of the house wouldn’t open it, he would just have to pick the lock.

Intrigued, Patrick began to ask Alice about her governess. Alice talked about her affectionately, she seemed to have a genuine respect for her former guardian, even if she’d occasionally found it necessary to spank her charge’s bare bottom. But Alice recalled her spankings with a smirk, as if they were just part of some flirty power struggle.

Then without saying a word, Alice pushed her seat back and left for the Ladies. In her absence, Patrick pondered what she’d said, replaying her comments. Her governess did seem to have controlled Alice’s natural impetuousness - through a method Alice was in no hurry to reveal.

Eventually, Alice returned, walking past her empty seat to stand beside him, subtly dropping something into his lap. She bowed slightly to whisper into her companion’s ear: “I’ll be at the car”.

He examined the item on his lap. A pair of panties.

Still warm.

Disgracefully damp.

He caught the eye of the maître d’, writing in the air - a universal mime.


* * *


During the drive home, the hem of Alice’s floaty dress migrated from just above her knee to just below her hip. It seemed to be a fraction higher every time Patrick took his eyes off the road to look down at her lap. So by the time the car whooshed up his driveway, he was already painfully hard, his tight jeans forming a tormenting vice. Now he could just about see her bare mound peeping out from underneath the hem, and the hint of her groove disappearing into the shadows between her thighs.

Patrick hopped out of the car almost as soon as it had stopped, without even turning off its headlights, which spot-lit the garden’s small ornamental fountain. He strode purposefully to the passenger door, opening it courteously, offering her his hand like a gentleman should, helping her rise from her seat. Alice accepted the honour, only to find he kept hold of her hand, and was leading her somewhere. She teetered a couple of footsteps behind him, as he dashed towards the fountain, a pool of light amid the dusky shadow.  

At the fountain, he stopped abruptly.

“Tonight, you’ve been a very naughty girl.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing…” she reposted, flirtatiously.

Alice felt her hem being lifted above her waist, exposing her naughtiness, the warm evening air making her moist lips tingle. Her dress continued its ascent, over her breasts and up over her head. She raised her arms instinctively, Alice hadn’t been undressed like this for years, her governess used to do this to her, before she put her to bed. Just the memory made her tummy flutter.

Moments later, Patrick had dropped her dress on the ground, and unclipped her bra. He planted his left foot on its low stone wall, hauling Alice over his raised knee. She rose to her tip-toes, bending over without resistance, her palms plunging into the cool water of the fountain pool.

Head down, Alice’s blonde hair tumbled across her face. Just as it always did when she bent over the bottom of her bedstead.

A hard slap brought her back to the present, stinging her bottom.

Alice gasped, first at the impact, then at the realisation she was being spanked naked in the open air. Only one other house overlooked Patrick’s front garden, but Alice had no idea who lived there, or even if they were home right now. She moaned as another series of loud smacks landed. If the neighbours were home, they’d surely be peering curiously out of their windows now. Would they be shocked - or intrigued by what they saw? A smartly dressed man by the fountain, illuminated by his own car’s headlights, with a naked lady over his knee, being soundly spanked.

Alice’s hair was dipping into the trickling water, which glowed and sparkled in the limelight. With enough light to see the blurry reflection of her own face, she stared in fascination at how her mouth gaped with every smack. Patrick spanked with unexpected expertise. Her pussy was soon as wet as her hands.


The incident at the fountain was merely the overture to an evening-long performance of teasing, pleasing and bottom smacking.

Patrick was determined to extricate Alice’s secret: what was her governess’s special punishment? Alice refused to say. He tried spanking the secret from her, with a variety of implements, in a variety of humiliating positions. But it was like hammering on a castle gate, its defenders merely added more bars, and Alice’s mouth remained resolutely sealed.

Perhaps there was an alternative way past her defences. He fetched some cuffs, tying her down, so her hands and feet were apart. Then he slipped a finger inside her, and slowly beckoned her towards the edge. And just as Alice felt she was about to burst. He stopped.

Alice bucked and writhed against her bonds, aching for that extra touch.

He asked again.

Again, Alice just smirked in silence.

He took her to the edge several times, it was a delightful torment, but his question continued to go unanswered. Alice seemed to enjoy this particular plight too much. It was almost as if she didn’t need to come, and she was quite content to be pleasured like this all night.

Patrick pondered. What did she need? She didn’t need the spankings to stop, and she didn’t need to climax. A verse of a poem he’d learned at school swam through his thoughts.

“Our gates were strong, our walls were thick,

So smooth and high, no man could win

A foothold there, no clever trick

could take us in…”

His eyes scanned the bedroom, looking for leverage, before running through a mental inventory of the rooms nearby. He thought of the bathroom, there was a small pot of Vicks in the cabinet, he could lube his fingers and slowly push them deep into her bottom. The sensation would be akin to sitting on an icicle, it would certainly make her squirm - but he doubted it would make her talk.

Alice broke the silence of his contemplation.

“I need to pee.”

Ah… thought Patrick with a smile, there was something she needed. How did that poem go?

“There was a little private gate,

A little wicked wicket gate

The wizened warder let them through”

Patrick smiled, there was always another way in.

He unclipped her cuffs from the bed, helping her up onto her wobbly legs. Then to Alice’s surprise he clipped her wrist cuffs together again, behind her back. She was even more surprised when he fetched her panties from his jacket pocket and made her step into them. Patrick noticed her knees tremble as he slowly pulled her panties up her legs to her slick puffy slit. Alice gave a little moan as he tugged them up tight. It was a very familiar sensation. Had he guessed? How could he have known?

Patrick escorted her to the loo. With her hands bound behind her, Alice felt like a prisoner being taken to her cell. Nevertheless, Alice had expected some privacy, she hadn’t expected him to follow her in.

“Sit down.”

She did as she was told, feeling the cold seat soothe the warm soreness of her spanked bottom. Sitting with hands bound behind her on loo turned out to be quite exciting, and for a while she sat with her eyes closed, just appreciating the sensations, before the pressure down below served a reminder of what had brought her here.

“Aren’t you going to pull down my panties?”, she asked.

“What was your governess’s special punishment?”, he countered.

Alice remained tight-lipped; but he noticed her smirk had gone, and wondered if perhaps the lock was yielding. A few more tweaks perhaps. He knelt beside her, reaching behind the toilet pedestal to fasten her ankle cuffs together, splaying her knees apart, and revealing the conspicuous damp patch in the crotch of her silky ivory-hue panties.

She sat on the loo, bound and immobile, half aroused by her predicament, half humiliated by it.

“I know a naughty girl with a spanked bum who’s going to pee her panties”, he teased.

In reply, she stuck her tongue out. But it was an act of bratty bravado she knew would be difficult to maintain. By now, she was desperate to go. She couldn’t remember ever wetting herself, the last time would have been in that distant hinterland of childhood, in that time before memories really start. And now, she was going to pee in her panties. Her lovely silk panties. She wouldn’t even be able to conceal her shame by closing her thighs, she was going to humiliate herself in one long mortifying gush in front of the man that she adored.

Her eyes looked at him pleadingly.  

And then he knew; yes, shame and not pain was her little wicket gate, the lever to her soul.

He repeated his question, offering to uncuff her ankles and pull down her panties in exchange for her answer.

In her heart, Alice knew she’d have to concede, that even if she humiliated herself now and held her silence, the night was long, and his devious mind would eventually find a way through. By now an ache was spreading from her waist, and she was having to squeeze to hold it back, the faintest tickle would set her off.

He repeated his question, his voice curious, not pestering.

“She called them Punishment Panties…” she whispered.

He nodded, reaching down to release her ankles. She jumped to her feet immediately, crossing her thighs, her eyes imploring him to tug down her panties. Patrick being Patrick, he couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease her one last time, and took his time slowly sliding her knickers down to her ankles. Finally, Alice got to plunge back down to the toilet seat and close her legs. She relieved herself with a massive sigh, which despite her audience and having her hands tied behind her, was the still best pee she could ever remember.

We are the sum of our stories, and later, in the bedroom, as his skillful fingers caressed the length and breadth of her body, she recounted one of hers. It was one she’d never told anyone before: the night she and her best friend were put into punishment panties. And as he explored her every nook, fold and wrinkle, she revealed the secret of her reins.

 


* * 3 * *

 

Alice and Penny had waited, and waited.

Audrey McGiven had been in no hurry to punish her charges, and had left them to wait, exposed in their disgrace and simmering in their apprehension. Ultimately the girls felt the governess’s footsteps before they heard them; beginning as almost intangible tremors, somehow amplified by the hollow tubes of each bedstead and their hypersensitive imaginations. They felt her approach as a tiny tremble, first in their toes, then in their thighs, and then their tummies. Soon they could hear her narrow-heel shoes clip-clopping up the old wooden stair-boards.

Ms McGiven’s stern, almost old-fashioned disposition might give those who’d encountered her the impression she was much older than she actually was. Despite her governess title, she was no dowager battleaxe, but a physically attractive woman in her early thirties, with an innate confidence that demanded obedience. For as long as she could remember, she had been spanking bottoms; not just naughty girls and boys, but when the occasion presented itself: naughty men and women too.

With an image of a disciplinarian to project, Audrey liked to dress the part, often wearing dark-coloured full-length skirts matched with a plain white blouse. She also collected Edwardian corset dresses, for when she really wanted to make an impression. Her black hair was short, styled in a bob, with a straight fringe and jaw-length bangs that perfectly framed her you’ll-do-what-I-say frowns.

On reaching the hallway between their rooms, the governess looked into Penny’s room first, and was happy to find her bent over the foot of her bed - naked and exposed, as expected. She left without comment, and entered Alice’s room, finding her in an identical position.

“I’m very disappointed in you, Alice.”

In this position, bent over the bedframe, Alice’s head was bowed so close to her mattress that her shoulder length blond hair fell over her face, a shroud for her blushes. From behind it, her voice mustered a mumbled apology.

Alice’s curtain of hair also meant she didn’t see her governess pull some short black straps from her pocket. Ms M knelt on one knee by the foot of the bed, and looped a strap around each of Alice’s ankles and the neighbouring strut of the bedstead. The velcro fastening crackled as she sealed it, tying Alice in position, ensuring her legs would remain spread open for the duration of her punishment.

From one knee, she looked up between Alice’s open legs. The naughty minx was soaking wet.

“No doubt you were the ringleader of today’s sorry escapade, so you can listen to Penny being punished first”, she announced, rising to her feet.

“Yes Ma’am”, replied Alice meekly.

Alice heard her footsteps recede, and moments later from across the hallway, the familiar crackle of velcro straps.

 

“I’m very disappointed, Penny”, she began, “I’d hoped you’d be a calming influence on Alice’s impetuousness, not a partner in crime.”

“Sorry, Miss”, peeped Penny, her head bowed just above her mattress.

“As I thought I’d made quite clear when you arrived, in this house, naughty girls go to bed with sore bottoms. Have you been spanked before, Penny?”

Given her last spanking was over Alice’s knee, Penny felt it was best to curtail that particular line of questioning.

“No Miss!”

The governess surveyed the glistening gap between the Penny’s legs.

“I see you find the prospect of a sore bum quite exciting, nonetheless…”

This was good, she liked to see girls wet before she spanked them, it demonstrated their thoughts were fully occupied by their predicament. Penny gasped as the older lady’s fingers began to glide between her legs, brushing through her thin fuzz of intimate hair. Delicate fingers explored her folds, finding them already slick with her arousal. She moaned as she felt the hood of her clit being tugged back, unaware it was a classic governess test of old, one to tell if a girl had recently fiddled herself to a climax. It seemed she hadn’t. The fingers reappeared beside her bottom hole, stretching the surrounding skin, checking its cleanliness. Her inspector seemed to be satisfied.

A firm hand pushed down on the small of Penny’s back. Moments later, Ms M’s open palm slapped across her bottom. Almost instinctively, Penny bucked against her bonds, but the hand on her back helped suppress her wriggling. More loud slaps followed, Audrey was spanking Penny slowly, deliberately: letting her appreciate the sensation of each smack. How the sting spread, how the sting turned to heat - and how it slowly radiated away before a new hot spot suddenly appeared somewhere on her other cheek.

The slow smacking continued for several minutes, getting louder and sorer. From the neighbouring room it sounded like a small, bored and particularly restive audience. Until suddenly, it stopped.

“Now Penny, I’m going to deal with Alice. You can stand there and feel your bottom glow. But don’t think your punishment is over, young lady.“

More? Penny sighed inwardly, but held her tongue.


* * *

 

Ms M marched purposefully into Alice’s room. Bent over and facing her mattress, Alice never saw her governess lift the hem of her midnight blue ankle-length skirt, and so continued to be unaware that underneath, tucked into a garter along the inside of her thigh, was where Ms M kept her leather paddle. It was her totem, the source of some very fond memories, and Audrey liked to keep it close, occasionally it rubbed her leg when she moved, like some kinky witch’s cat. The first Alice knew of it was when she felt its cool smooth surface gliding across her bottom, which by now was a quite familiar sensation. It was also her cue to be a good girl, to apologise and ask for her punishment.

"I’m sorry for being such a naughty girl, Ma’am", Alice said earnestly, pushing her bum out slightly, "Please may I have a very hard spanking on my bare bottom?"

Her request was granted immediately, Alice felt the older lady’s hand pressing on the small of her back, which was followed by a series of stinging whacks to the lower insides of her buttocks.

Her governess spanked expertly: slowly and accurately, almost professionally. Did people spank professionally? Alice did wonder about the background of her mysterious disciplinarian, she seemed to know her parents very well, she hadn’t just turned up at their doorstep like some modern day Mary Poppins. And her parents trusted Ms M completely, not only with their daughter, but with their household.

The latest smacks were hard enough to leave Alice gasping, but were delivered infrequently enough to allow her to regain her composure. Audrey felt she put effort into each spank, and felt the recipient should savour it, from its hot fiery impact to its lingering stinging aftermath. For her part, Alice knew it was only polite to demonstrate some appreciation of her discipline.

Sometimes she’d whimper a “Ahh. Thank you, Ma’am.”

Or a “Ooo. I’ve been so very naughty.”

Sometimes even a “Oww. Please spank me harder.”

Her expressions of contriteness were no charade, Alice did mean what she said. She had misbehaved wilfully, and understood she deserved a sore bum as the consequence. She was a big girl now, and big girls took responsibility for their actions.

Eyes closed and senses heightened, Alice could feel each whack reverberating through her, they emanated from her bum, rippling out through her thighs and crotch, the echoes of each strike making her clit quiver in harmony with the faint trembles in the hollow bedstead frame she was bending over.

A drop of dew seeped from Alice’s hole, trickling down between the folds of her lips.

A bead of sweat trickled down Audrey’s temple, meandering down her cheek.

And across the hall, Penny ground herself against her pillow in time to the nearby muffled slaps.


Eventually, there was a much longer pause between spanks. Alice braced herself, but the next smack never came. Instead her governess walked to nearby chest of drawers, out of which she took out a pair of plain white panties. The drawer had once been full of such panties, fresh smelling and neatly folded. One was removed for use each time Alice was naughty; now the drawer was almost empty.

It was an unremarkable garment, snow white, conservative in appearance, with no lacework or frills, predominantly cotton with some stretchy synthetics to give it a tighter fit. A pair of everyday knickers, of the kind found under schoolgirls’ skirts across the globe. It had been fashioned to hide rather than show, with a high waist to ensure all of a young lady’s pubic bush would be discreetly covered, and a gusset wide enough to enclose all of her fleshy secrets, no matter how wide she might spread her legs. The fabric was cut slightly shorter at the hip, its sole concession to comfort over modesty.

"Time for your punishment panties, young lady."

Alice resisted the considerable temptation to complain, to argue the case that she’d been punished enough. She knew the rules, bit her lip and acquiesced, “Yes, Ma’am.”

Ms M knelt by the foot of the bed and untied the straps that had kept Alice’s legs spread apart. From here, she could see at close quarters the pink blush she’d applied to Alice’s bottom, the rounded edge of her favourite paddle had left no red marks, giving her a buzz of satisfaction on a job well done. Between her pink globes, a thin patch of paler skin, divided by the ridge of her swollen lips, and hints of the moist pink crevice between. The girl’s arousal was both obvious and expected, so she let it pass without comment, and helped a wobbly-legged Alice stand down from the bed.

Audrey knelt again, holding the panties just above the floor. Alice stepped into them daintily, then stood still as her governess began to slowly pull them upwards. The garment glided past her calves, over her knees, slipping along her thighs, up over her tender pink bottom to her waist, before Audrey finally tugged them firmly upward to ensure they were snug around Alice’s crotch. Audrey delighted in how humiliating this simple manoeuvre could be, how it could make a naughty girl or boy feel so infantile, so humbled.   

Satisfied, she turned Alice around to face her bed, who took the hint and stepped up onto the bottom rail of the bedframe, bending over the pillow once more. Alice felt her governess grip the waistband of her panties, just below the small of her back, and tug her forward, pulling Alice’s panties further into her bottom crevice.

The ensuing burning sensation, a hot line of pain running from her mound all the way to the gap between her bum, would have been familiar to anyone who’d ever experienced a playground wedgie. But this was no quick pull-and-run, this was a sustained, carefully crafted agony, one that would be combined with bottom-smacking to create a deliciously painful torment.

With her other hand, Audrey picked up her paddle and began spanking again. A veteran of this mode of punishment by now, Alice knew the more she struggled and wiggled, the further her panties would creep between her legs. So she tried to remain still, taking her spanking like a good girl should. Nevertheless, bit by bit, the white cotton covering her bum slipped away, bunching between her cheeks, revealing more and more of her sore pink mounds to her disciplinarian’s paddle.

Occasionally, Audrey would pause her paddling, and tell Alice to reach behind her and pull her stinging cheeks apart. This allowed the governess to make tiny adjustments to the gusset of Alice’s punishment panties, ensuring they remained appropriately positioned: tightly running over her clit, down between her puffy inner lips, so Alice would felt the material rubbing against her vagina’s opening. From there the garment - now narrowed to almost the width of a thong - would run across her perineum, over her bottom hole, and up the crack between her buttocks.

Soon, Audrey was satisfied that Alice’s panties were tight enough, and her bottom sore enough - and guided Alice off the bedframe and back down to stand on the floor. Alice’s bum smoldered painfully from her spanking, but she mastered her urge to rub and kept her hands by her waist.

“Pyjamas on, please”, Audrey ordered.

Alice longed to reach between her legs and release herself from the painfully tight grip of her underwear. But with her governess watching she had no choice but to step into her powder blue pyjama bottoms and reluctantly pull them up over her punishment panties. Once she’d pulled the pyjama top over Alice’s head, the governess reached underneath, tucking it in, ensuring the waistband of her panties - by now flapping loosely at the small of her back - remained outside.

And it was no accident that she’d chosen pyjama bottoms with a drawstring waist, it enabled Audrey to tug them up high above the curve of Alice’s hips, and tie them with a special knot to ensure Alice wouldn’t be able to pull them down again.

“Tiptoes please…”

This was Alice’s cue to stand with her back to the bedstead and stretch on her tiptoes, making herself as tall she could. Whereupon her governess took a short length of cord from her pocket, and passed it around and through the elongated waist of Alice’s stretched panties. Then she looped the cord around the top rail of the bedstead, which was only just a bit higher, and pulled the cord tight, pulling the waist of Alice’s panties up until it was beginning to wrap around the rail, and Alice herself was forced up onto the very tips of her toes.

Finally Audrey took the straps off the bed that had previously secured Alice’s ankles, and fastened them around each of Alice’s wrists, moving each of Alice’s hands beside her waist and tying them to the underside of the nearest rail of the bedframe. Her meticulous bondage was deliberate, ensuring Alice would not be able to reach back and support her weight with her arms; she would have to bear it all on her tiptoes instead, pointing like a ballerina.   

The governess reviewed her work with a sense of professional pride. Dressed in her pale blue pyjamas, and with her hands flattened to her sides, Alice looked as if she had just climbed out of her bedroom window, and was now tiptoeing around a perilously narrow ledge. Head bowed, Alice’s eyes were hidden by her blond fringe, but Audrey could see enough of Alice’s face to recognise a grimace.

“Not so clever now, young lady?”

“No Ma’am. Sorry Ma’am”, Alice murmured.

“Now, you can hang there by your panties and listen to Penny having her bum whacked. And you can think about how her sore bottom is all your fault.”

Alice wanted to plead for leniency on Penny’s behalf, but knew her friend’s imminent suffering was an integral part of her own punishment. That she’d got them both into trouble, and now she would have to take responsibility for the consequences.

Alice had felt bad enough listening to Penny’s earlier spanking. Feelings of guilt amplified by the fact she’d found it so arousing too. As she laid bent over her bed, she’d daydreamed about escaping from her bonds like a master thief, then climbing down from her bed and creeping stealthily across the hallway. She’d be as good as invisible as she peeped around the bedroom door, able to stare in rapt fascination as her governess painted Penny’s pretty bum pink, whilst watching her wet slit swell and gape.

Now, from across the hallway Alice heard the thuddy slap of her governess’s paddle on Penny’s bottom, accompanied by startled gasps. Ms M was spanking hard, it sounded like a proper naughty girl whacking, with cries and ows and muffled sniffles. Sorry Pen, she thought, wincing in sympathy with every subsequent smack.

Alice’s attention was soon recaptured by her own discomfort. She was standing on the very tips of her toes, if she sank lower - even by a fraction - her panties would be pulled up even further between her legs. The tender skin between her intimate holes already felt as if it was burning, and another hot spot was developing within her bottom crack, just below her tail bone. Alice doubted she’d be wanting to ride her horse for a few days.

And Alice’s feet were tiring. The less of her own weight she could bear on her toes, the greater the force pulling her panties upwards and into her most sensitive areas. Alice could feel her clit, swollen and hard, gripped tight by the material bunched between her crotch.

I deserve this, thought Alice. Her aching feet sank lower, pulling her gusset deeper inside her. Guilt and punishment panties were a powerful combination, every gasp and squeal coming from Penny’s room seemed to weaken Alice’s defiance, eroding her stance into a guilty slouch.

Sorry, Penny, she whispered to herself, moaning as her panties pulled even tighter, feeling them beginning to push against her vagina and tug back the hood protecting her little pearl.

She relaxed the muscles of her legs, increasing the burning sensation at her crotch. Alice wished her governess could see her now, so accepting of her fate, submitting so completely to her punishment. The thought of being punished so her friend might be spared was weirdly cathartic. Alice the Martyr buzzed with a righteousness that was inexplicably erotic.

And then there was silence.

 

* * *


Penny’s eyes were watering. She wasn’t crying - of course! - she wasn’t a child any more. It must just have been the effect of repeatedly clenching her eyelids shut as that woman’s cruel paddle had whacked her poor bottom. Yes, that must be it. She mentally congratulated herself on bearing her ordeal so stoically.

The smacking seemed to have stopped, from behind her there was a crackle of velcro, and she felt the ties around her ankles being released. This allowed Penny to finally step down from the bed and give her poor stinging bum a rapid, furtive rub whilst her tormentor wandered over to the chest of drawers. Her bum felt like she’d accidentally sat on an Aga hotplate.

Ms McGiven returned carrying some pale pink pyjamas and a pair of plain white panties, which she held up in front of Penny’s face. A seductive smell filled her nostrils: cotton dried on a windblown washing line.

“Now, Penny, these are your punishment panties. Once I’ve put them on you and pulled them up tight, you’re not to fiddle with them, and you will wear them all night. Is that clear?”

Penny nodded solemnly, keen to regain some of her modesty.

The governess knelt, holding the knickers open just above the floor, and Penny obediently stepped into the leg holes. Having her panties pulled up made her blush vividly, and her hands fly up to hide her face. It was unbelievably humiliating, far worse than standing naked in front of a woman she barely knew. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had pulled up her panties, it had almost certainly been her mummy whilst she was potty training - in that unremembered limbo before her earliest memories.

The panties passed over the bump of Penny’s knees and drifted upwards, unimpeded until her thighs became as wide as the leg holes. Thereafter the white cotton fabric began to cling and stretch, teasing her most sensitive skin on its climb towards her groin. Even worse, the governess seemed to take special delight meticulously adjusting the gusset, ensuring all the material went between her embarrassingly wet puffy lips. Then she tugged Penny’s panties slowly up over her hips, the tight clingy material dragging across her bum’s sore pinkness, making every patch sting and ache, before disappearing between her bottom cheeks.

Once her panties had been pulled up snuggly, Penny was escorted backwards until she stood against her bedframe.

"On your tiptoes, as high as you can please."

Penny did what she was told without fuss. Then from behind her, there was fiddling and a faint tinging noise, like a small bell being rung, as the cord was tied, pulling her panties tight around the hollow brass bed rail.

What’s this all about? wondered Penny, as her wrists were tied by her sides. It was only when she tried to take some of her weight off her tiptoes, and felt her panties being pulled painfully upwards, that she understood.

Ah - this must be why she called them Punishment Panties, thought Penny; who’d always been a quick learner. After her quite traditional spanking this particular predicament did seem rather surreal, like a form of discipline that belonged to England’s strictest ballet school. She bit her lip, fast discovering the gnawing cramp of standing on her tiptoes was preferable to the burning discomfort in her most intimate places if she didn’t.

Audrey surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction, and left Penny to hang whilst she revisited Alice. By now Alice’s heels had almost sunk to the floor, which had stretched and pulled her panties deep within her. At the front her pubis was as pink as her smacked bottom behind her. It looked appropriately painful.

“Have you learnt your lesson, young lady?”

“Yes, Ma’am” was the meek reply.

“And what have you learnt?”

“Obedience, Ma’am. I’m sorry I disobeyed you. It was very naughty. I deserved to be punished.”

Audrey thought her use of the past tense presumptuously optimistic, but let it pass as she untied Alice’s wrists, and then her panties, allowing Alice to sink to the floor with a grateful sigh.

Then she took Alice’s hand and led her across the hall. Poor Penny was hanging from her bed frame, just as Alice had been, a scowl of discomfort and concentration on her face as she tried to remain balanced on her tiptoes.

“I’m sorry Penny, for getting you into trouble.”

Penny flashed her if-you’re-not-living-on-the-edge-you’re-taking-up-too-much-room smile. It was an expression she often used when they were plotting their various schemes and hijinks. It immediately made Alice feel so much better, that despite all the pain, Penny still loved her, and still wanted to rattle the world with her.

After exchanging goodnights, Alice was led back to her room and put to bed like a naughty girl: tucked in before the light was put out.

Alice lay on her back in the gloom, as the achy sting of her spanked bottom and the hot pain of her tight panties burned underneath her. She still felt a lingering guilt about getting her friend into trouble, all this added to the shameful torment of sexual frustration she was unable to remedy. Her pyjama bottoms had been specially tied and could not be pulled down, and her tender clit was now shrouded by the bunched gusset of her panties, like some cruel fabric chastity belt.

From across the hallway she could hear Penny being put to bed too.

The fiery throbbing between her legs contrived to keep her awake. She lay in the dark, simmering in a crucible of shame and neediness, contrition and desperation, pain and arousal. The same words floated through her mind like hallucinations: naughty girl, very disappointed, punishment, hung by the panties, disobedient, partners in crime.

Eventually tiredness overwhelmed her, sweeping her into vivid dreams of precarious predicaments and devious jeopardies.

 

* * *

 

You’re galloping through scenery that is unmistakably Western. A dream-like pastiche of all the cowboy films Alice had ever seen, dusty canyons, bone-dry deserts, towers of prickly cacti and seemingly endless prairies.

You’re riding your favourite horse, Sugarlump, a tan coloured colt with a small white patch on his forehead. Beside you is Penny riding Chestnut, her own beautiful maroon colt, his coal black mane flowing in the wind.

You are wearing handkerchiefs over your faces, partly to keep the dust from your noses, but also to conceal your identities. You are outlaws. They call you The Bad Girls: Bad Alice and Bad Penny. You’ve become the most notorious lady outlaws in living memory, infamous for your high-speed hijinks: robberies of moving trains, lightning bank raids and audacious bullion wagon hijacks. The more daring the better. You do try not to hurt anyone, well, not seriously anyway.

Both of you are wearing pale yellow dropseat pyjamas. A rather bizarre attire for outlaws. But you had been hiding out in a remote deserted ranch when you’d heard the posse approach, and you’d had to flee from your beds straight to your steeds without being able to dress. Now you’re riding for your lives along a trail in a dense broadleaf wood, trying to outrun your pursuers. But your horses are tiring. Behind you, the thundering of hooves is growing louder.

Suddenly you catch sight of a rider just behind you. This track is so narrow, thick with trees on all sides, preventing you from veering to evade him. You spur Sugarlump onward, desperately hoping for a burst of speed. You hear something whoosh towards you, and a lasso drops over you, pulling tight around your chest a moment later, pinning your arms to your sides.

Beside you, Penny sees what’s happened and slows her horse to a trot, trying to free you. But a lasso entangles her too. Moments later, the posse has surrounded you. As the men see your pyjamas, whoops, laughter and ribald comments fill the air.

You have been captured.

Several pairs of busy hands appear around you, removing the handkerchief covering your face, and helping you down from your ride. Once on the ground, your hands are bound in front of you. But they leave the lasso around your chest and upper arms, looping it around several times, so it rubs your nipples through your thin pyjamas every time you breathe.

A clatter of buckles follows as the saddles and bridles are removed from your horses. The men push you towards a nearby tree stump, encouraging you to step up and remount your horses. Without the saddle, you can feel your horse’s sizzling heat between your legs.

The Sheriff appears in the throng around you, easily distinguished by his large silver star. He acknowledges you by touching the brim of his black stetson hat. Immobile, you roll your eyes in return.

He tells you will hang for your crimes.

You shrug your head nonchalantly. Of course, you have both escaped the gallows once already. You can remember what was to have been your final night, peering out the barred cell window in the town jail of Broken Arrow, Oklahoma. Beyond, in the gloom, in the middle of the dusty town square, two nooses dangled in the twilight. Tomorrow would be the last ever public appearance of the Bad Girls, a very large crowd was expected.

Despite your manacles, you’d found it easy to undress yourself, and once naked, seducing your jailer was easier still. You’d left him unconscious in your cell as you and Penny had galloped away from town unnoticed. And the jailer’s subsequent yarn of how you’d overpowered him had only added to your infamy.

A troop of riders chaperones you down the track. Ahead, a giant White Oak looms out of a clearing, its mighty branches thicker than barn beams. From one high sturdy branch, two nooses dangle ominously in front of your eyes.

The posse nudges your horses underneath the ropes. You notice the trailing end of each rope has been wound around the branch overhead several times and now dangles freely just behind the slipknot. You wriggle in protest as the dropseat of your pyjamas is unexpectedly unbuttoned behind you, and the free end of the rope is pulled up through the waist of panties and tied tight.

Now the noose is pulled towards your face. You try to avoid it by ducking down, but a hand behind you roughly grabs a bunch of your hair, pulling your head back. You are powerless to prevent the scratchy rope necklace being tightened around your throat. When you try to protest, someone pulls your bandana down from your forehead and over your mouth, retying it tight, gagging you.

You look across at Penny, exchanging a steely stare as if to say: we’ll get out of this, partner. Penny’s predicament mirrors your own, gagged, the noose around her neck, with the other end tied to her underwear. Neither end of the rope appears to have much slack.

You know how this ends. A spank to your horse’s rump, making him bolt forward, leaving you behind to dance away your final breath. How appropriate to go out with a spanking.

The Sheriff rides in front of you, tipping the brim of his hat in a gesture of farewell. He takes a small canvas sack of fodder from his saddlebag and begins to trot away, spilling the fodder on the ground until there are two broken lines of hay, oats and maize scattered in front of both your horses.

You feel Sugarlump lurch forward he lowers his mouth to the ground and begins to eagerly tuck into the spilt food. But the rope tied to your panties pulls you back, tugging you towards your horse’s rear. You try to talk, demanding to know if this is to be an execution or a dastardly torment, but the gag silences you; and you fear the answer may be both.

You watch the jeering posse depart, their whoops and catcalls growing fainter as the forest muffles them. And then you and Penny are all alone, left to your fate.

With no stirrups or reins, you try to keep Sugarlump still by clenching your thighs. But he is lured ever further by the tempting trail of corn, quite unaware of his passenger’s predicament. Your jeopardy increases your breathing, causing the lasso tightened around your chest to rub your tender nipples with increasing frequency.

Sugarlump whinnies contentedly, lurching forward for another mouthful, and again the rope behind tugs you backwards, pulling your panties tighter, dragging you ever closer to the drop. There’s a burning pain between your legs now. You dismiss it as the least of your worries.

The tightening of your panties makes you suddenly aware of the pressure building in your bladder. A shocking realisation hits you: soon you will have to pee, and the hot stream on your horse’s back will cause him to bolt forward. Leaving you behind, dancing.

You realise your drop is inevitable, unavoidable, inescapable.

Yet you find the inevitability of your predicament intensely arousing.

Your nipples are being rubbed and rolled between the rope around your chest. Your clit is swollen and hard, becoming increasingly tender as your panties ride higher and tighter. You’re trying to keep still, but can’t help but squirm as adrenaline surges through you, tingling your skin. You feel yourself building to a climax quite unlike any you’ve experienced before.

You hear yourself thinking: I’m going to come, and then I’m going to hang.

A clip-clop of hooves distracts you; Penny’s horse is trotting forward, eating hungrily. She moans from behind her gag as her panties drag her backwards until she’s perching precariously on her horse’s hindquarters.

A montage of memories fills your mind. All the times you were naughty. All the subsequent punishments. Bending over for the switch in the rickety old schoolhouse, waiting for the strap in the woodshed, over Daddy’s lap as he opened the dropseat of your pyjamas for the hairbrush. You remember each long-ago episode with startling clarity. Each has been replayed again and again in your mind’s eye, repeatedly remembered, curated like a relic, so you can preserve every possible detail.

How many times have you recalled that afternoon in the schoolhouse, your dress lifted and your bloomers parted as your classmates tittered behind you. There was the cool wetness of the damp rods against your skin, then the hot stripes. You clung to the back of the desk like a shipwrecked sailor, but never cried. Back home, you had traced the hot weals with your fingertips, as your other hand stroked and rubbed.

You hear yourself thinking: such a naughty girl.

Suddenly, there’s a flash of pleasure between your open legs. Involuntarily, your thighs squeeze tight, your legs gripping your horse’s flanks. Startled, he jolts forward. You feel the rope behind you pulling you back, tugging you backwards by your panties. You feel the nobbly undulations of your horse’s spine sliding underneath your throbbing crotch.

Suddenly you’re lurching, falling backwards, a fiery pain between your legs.

You feel yourself swinging, dangling in the air, your feet kicking helplessly, searching for the ground far beyond your toes. Across your back, the rope behind you is pulled taut, suspending you.

But the noose around your throat is mercifully slack.

An astonishingly intense climax overwhelms you.

You come with utter abandon, dancing a jig in the air as a sublime wave of gratification washes over your entire body.

Alas, all too soon your fug of ecstasy fades, swamped by the reemergence of the fiery pain between your legs. The nagging scratch of the slipknot underneath your ear focuses your mind on the urgency of your predicament.

You try to wriggle free from your bonds, but your arms are tightly bound to your sides, and they’ve tied your wrists in front of you too well. Your urgent struggles are curtailed by the sound of tearing.

You hear your panties ripping, and with horror realise what will happen when they split.

You try to cry out to Penny. You want to say sorry. To say how much you love her.

Suddenly your tummy sinks.

A momentary sensation of weightlessness.

You feel yourself falling…

 

* * *

 

Alice awoke with a start, her pyjamas drenched with sweat.

Alarmingly, there was a wetness between her legs too, she reached down, checking her bedsheets hurriedly, hoping she hadn’t wet her bed.

False alarm.

The wetness was inside, not outside, her panties. She smiled to herself, filthy girl.

Alice’s sigh of relief almost immediately became a grimace of discomfort. She needed to pee, but cruelly, couldn’t. Her governess had tied her pyjama bottoms above her hips with the knot behind her, so even if Alice had been able to undo the tight mysterious knot, there was no way she’d be able to retie it the same way. Come the morning, when Ms M came to inspect her, she’d be rumbled for sure, and her disobedience would mean another day in her punishment panties. Alice had to wait until dawn, when her governess would wake her, and release her.

Once put to bed, Alice knew she wasn’t allowed out of her room. Ms M routinely wedged a coin between the door and jamb to reveal if Alice had attempted any nocturnal adventures. Which meant if Alice really really needed to go, her only option was to use the potty. She knew it was there, lurking underneath her bed, like some creepy childhood monster.

Once, one terrible humiliating time, she hadn’t been able to wait until morning. She’d had to scrabble under the bed in the dark, urgently searching for the wretched potty. Then she’d had to sit on it, desperately trying to untie the knot that held up her pyjama bottoms before the pressure became too great to bear. But the knot had been intended to foil her, and she had failed, and begun to wet herself - just a small trickle at first, initially absorbed by the tight gusset of her punishment panties, like a little improvised nappy.

But it was only a momentary reprieve, the hot wet band gripping her crotch seemed to sap her remaining self-control. The flow restarted, the trickle became an unstoppable flow, seeping and dripping into the potty below. Now soaking wet, returning to bed was out of the question, so Alice had been forced to stay seated on her potty, squirming as her punishment panties slowly cooled, until they felt like a clammy hand groping between her legs.

It wasn’t until after dawn that her torment finally ended, when her governess came to undo her pyjamas. She’d fetched a towel, tied it around Alice’s waist and led her to the bathroom, before standing her in the bath and stripping her naked. A short spanking with the back of the wooden bath-brush followed, especially stingy on her still damp buttocks. Then she was bathed, with Ms M paying cleaning between Alice’s legs meticulously, soaping and sponging every nook and cranny, before shaving her bare.

Afterwards, to emphasise Alice’s childish lack of self-control, she’d been dressed by her governess like a little girl for the day - in a frilly pink polka-dot dress and training panties. For the rest of the day, each time Alice had needed the toilet, she’d had to ask her governess to escort her there, and pull down her training panties, and then wipe her afterwards.

Alice had found the whole experience mortifying, and as a result, her behaviour afterwards had been exceptional. This did not go unnoticed by her governess, and so ever since, a day of dressing up had always followed every night spent in punishment panties.

Alice turned over in her bed, trying to think of something else. But her thoughts were dominated by the sensations between her legs, the cruel tight panties, her swollen clit rubbing on the taut material but concealed too well for her to satisfy herself. Beneath, her bum was still tender and achey from last night’s spankings.

For Alice peeing had long had some mysterious connection with pleasure. It had begun when she’d started to explore the alluring groove of her own front bottom. In private of course. The skin down there felt different, softer, smoother, nice to touch and stroke. After bathing she’d often sit cross-legged on the bathroom floor, with a curved magnifying mirror propped between her legs, holding herself open, tracing her folds with her fingertips.

Exploration soon became stroking. She soon developed a method of rubbing herself in long slow circles, like a minute hand sweeping around a clock face. Each time her finger reached the hour there was a pleasurable tingle as she touched her little button, an enjoyable little buzz that began to fade just after 1 o’clock. At 3 and 9 o’clock she could feel her finger tug her outer lips apart, and in between, at 6 o’clock, her finger slipped over her delightfully sensitive hollow. All too soon another minute had passed, and she was rubbing her little pearl again.

Initially, Alice tried to keep time with the minute hand on the bathroom clock. One sweep around her front bottom for every minute passing. But all too soon, she was breaking time. Rubbing quicker and quicker, eager to feel the delicious sensations at the top and bottom of her traverse.

You’re a very naughty girl, Alice, she’d told herself, imagining the consequences were her governess to burst in. A long hard bare bottom spanking, at the very least. Or being pulled by the hand, still naked, through the house to the living room to be caned. Mummy and Daddy had guests, and she imagined having to apologise and explain the interruption to everyone.

“… I was caught fiddling with my wendy, so now I need to be caned on my bare bottom…”

She would mount the big leather sofa, standing on its cushions and bending over the back. Her governess would spread her legs apart, the audience murmuring as they recognised the glistening evidence of her naughtiness. Then the cane would tap against her bum.

But imagining all that simply made her rub faster.

Suddenly, Alice felt as if she was going to pee herself.

She stopped rubbing abruptly, overwhelmed by the fear of gushing across the bathroom floor.

It had happened several times now; each time, a long delightful session of rubbing, culminating in an intense impulse to pee. Even when she’d deliberately emptied her bladder beforehand.

For ages, it was a barrier she feared to cross. Would her pee spray out uncontrollably, soaking all around her? Was she in danger of rupturing something? Was she hurting herself? How would she ever explain that to a nurse?

But the barrier began to obsess her, and eventually Alice plucked up the courage to see what was beyond it. One afternoon when no one else was home she locked herself in the loo and got undressed. She had a pee - just to be safe, flushed, and then sat cross-legged on the bathroom floor in front of the bathroom clock, and began her delightful minute-long sweeps. Soon, she was stroking faster and faster, until she could feel herself wanting to wee.

But this time Alice did not stop, she hopped up from the floor and sat on the toilet seat, which felt so cool under her hot sweaty thighs. She resumed her rubbing, quickening until she began to gasp, until she felt she could never stop. Then urge to pee appeared, but this time Alice didn’t  try to hold herself  back. It was her final leap of faith. Suddenly she was wracked by the most astonishingly pleasurable body-quake, which left her shivering, tingling and shaking for several minutes afterwards.

When Alice emerged from her daze she examined the region between her legs. Her slit was wet, but it was a strange sticky-wet. She smelt her fingers, musky, earthy, but not smelling of pee at all. And there was no colour in the bowl below. Whatever it was, it wasn’t peeing.

Later that night Alice plucked up the courage to do the same in bed. The jeopardy of potentially wetting herself was thrillingly exciting. Again, she circled herself slowly, quickening until she was throbbing. Arching her back as the sensations intensified, as she felt the familiar need to pee. Just then, a vivid image flashed through Alice’s mind: her bedroom door opening, her governess bursting in, pulling the quilt from her bed, just in time to see Alice with both hands between her legs, trying in vain to hold back what was seeping between her fingers.

Alice pushed her fingers deep, trying to hold back what was about to flood forth, only to come in several delirious bouncing spasms.

When she opened her eyes again, her bedroom door was still closed, her sheets were still dry,  and an incredible new delight had been discovered.

How Alice longed to do that now. To play, fondle, impale and come. But her panties had been pulled tight to enforce denial as well as discomfort. Alice sighed frustratedly, staring at the closed door in the halflight, wondering if across the hallway Penny was also awake and suffering in the grip of her own punishment panties.

Eventually tiredness conquered her, and Alice fell back into her vivid dreams.

 

* * 4 * *

 

Dawn was heralded by sparrows and blackbirds, a chorus of cheery chirping and flutey whistling, Nature’s very own orchestra tuning up before the overture commenced.

Audrey McGiven was a lark, in bed when night fell to rise with the sun. This morning she’d risen with particular excitement, with some very special duties to perform. She dressed more casually for the occasion, a shawl wrap dressing gown of dark blue silk with matching slippers, no need for underwear underneath, it just would have got wet anyway. She walked eagerly down the hall to the girls’ rooms, deciding she’d deal with Penny first.

The first task was to check both doors, and she found both coins exactly where she’d wedged them. Good. No nocturnal wanderings. She opened the door to find Penny already awake, squirming under her covers. It could be difficult getting some teenagers out of bed, but Penny practically leapt out of bed, standing with her hands on her head as instructed.

Audrey knelt beside her and untied her pyjama bottoms, letting them fall to the floor, and began to examine her panties, which had become a thin white band stretched tight between her slit. Then she slipped her fingers into the waistband - now high above Penny’s hips - and began to pull Penny’s panties slowly downwards. She liked to take her time during an undressing, particularly enjoying the delicious moment when the tension of the panties was suddenly released. Suddenly, Penny gasped and wobbled. Ah, there, Audrey smiled.

The governess slid the girl’s panties down further, watching how the fabric slowly detached itself from Penny’s wet swollen lips, revealing a creamy smear inside. Once she’d slipped the panties off Penny’s feet, she pulled her pyjama top over her head, so Penny stood naked in front of her once again.

“Now, time for your bottom inspection, young lady.”

Penny swayed on her feet slightly, uncertain what this actually meant. The governess noticed some clarification was necessary, and nudged Penny towards her bed.

“Kneel on your bed girl, knees wide apart. That’s good. Now bend over… Yes…. Now reach behind with both hands and spread your bottom cheeks apart.”

Penny hesitated, but after a few quick spanks of encouragement, did as she was told.

The stripe caused by Penny’s punishment panties was clear to see now. Audrey began to trace it with a fingertip, it started just above the bump of her tailbone as a narrow purple bruise, which lightened to a rosy pink as it ran between the crack of her bottom. Audrey could feel Penny flinch as her finger followed the tender track along her flesh.

She let her fingertip linger at Penny’s bottom hole, circling, teasing, just as the punishment panties had done. They’d rubbed against her hole every time she’d squirmed, threatening to push deeper, hour after hour, until Penny began to long for the intrusion. During the night Penny had even tried pushing her own finger between her bottom cheeks, only to find the material that was tormenting her was now a barrier, frustrating her clumsy attempts to gain relief.


When Penny eventually did fall asleep she dreamt of walking naked through the gardens of a stately home. At the end of one long gravel promenade she discovered a marble statue of a naked man, carved so it looked as if he was sitting by the fountain, his toes dangling just above the water. The man’s head was bowed, looking between his legs as if scrutinising his own reflection in the glistening water below. Penny found the statue astoundingly attractive, a beautiful thoughtful face, and a virile, perfectly muscled body. A single word had been engraved beneath in angular Roman quadrata lettering: NARCISSVS

She yearned to dip her sore tender feet into the cool fountain pool, but the low wall surrounding the pool was crowned by a prickle of razor sharp flints, leaving nowhere to sit. Then a flash of inspiration. She began to climb the statue, standing on his feet, intending to sit on his lap and dangle her legs between his own. It was when she was lowering herself to sit that she felt something hard poke against her bumhole.

She gasped in surprise, looking down at the statue’s lap to see an erect stone phallus pointing back. How had she failed to see that? She chided herself, she could be so naive sometimes. Perched on the statue’s feet she surveyed her options, but there really was no other place to sit. If she wanted to cool her poor aching toes, she’d have to sit on the statue’s lap.

She tried to sit again, and again the phallus poked her bottom hole. She pushed against it, hoping to somehow push it out of the way, but instead it was her who yielded, allowing the phallus to slip a bit inside. Penny could feel herself getting frustrated now, she pushed back again, feeling the stone protrusion deeper still. This was making her bottom hurt, but she had stubbornly decided she wouldn’t be beaten by this stupid statue. She was hot and tired and her feet were sore, and she wanted to soothe them in the seductive sparkling water. She tried lowering herself as slowly and gently as she could manage, at least this diminished the pain in her bottom to a tolerable ache.

She was sitting upon the statue’s lap. From her new vantage point she could see a sundial, it had taken almost an hour to fully impale herself. She could feel the phallus deep inside her, making her bottom throb with a fiery pang. Her nakedness and high exposed position made her feel very naughty, that she shouldn’t be here, that she shouldn’t have this thing in her bum.

But at last she was ready to plunge her feet into the invitingly blue pool below. She stretched her legs and dipped her toes. The water was icy cold, unexpectedly cold for such a hot summer day, painfully cold in fact. She withdrew her toes quickly, as a chill raced over her uncovered skin. She was shivering now, this wasn’t very comfortable at all, she didn’t want to sit here any more.

She tried to stand up, to lift herself off this awful cock. But she couldn’t move, the chill had become an intense fatigue, numbing every one of her muscles. She tried crying out for help, only to find her jaw wouldn’t move. She felt cold, the heat of the sun began to vanish from her skin, as if she was turning into stone.

One by one her senses failed, the smell of the gardens, the burbling of the fountain, all began to fade, leaving her sitting in perfect silence. Her sight dimmed last, eventually shrouding her in utter darkness. Soon, only one sensation remained, and with horror she realised it would be her sole companion for eternity: a constant burning throbbing ache in her bottom hole.  

Penny had awoken with a gasp, urgently flexing her limbs, still half-fearful that she’d been paralysed. The pain in her bottom was real enough though, and was just as uncomfortable as she’d dreamt it.

 

Now it was Audrey gently pushing her finger against Penny’s poor bum hole, she noticed how easily her fingertip sank into Penny’s most intimate hollow. Penny tensed her thighs; just moments away from giving into the urge to push back onto the older lady’s finger - but then… the finger withdrew, and the opportunity was lost. Penny bent further forward, pushing her face into her mattress, hoping that at least would stifle her sighs and conceal the blush burning across her cheeks.

Audrey’s finger resumed its journey, following the short purple line between Penny’s holes. From experience Audrey knew the time spent on tiptoes suspended from the bedframe could be particularly cruel on the tender flesh of a girl’s perineum. This bruise would be the last to fade, aching whenever the girl crossed her legs, a lasting reminder of her naughtiness.

The bruise ended at the entrance to her vagina, here her panties had parted her inner lips, which were now puffy and sticky wet. Audrey ran her finger between the labia tracing the tender regions where the panties had pressed. At the top, her little nub was conspicuously swollen in size, peeping out from its sheath as if demanding her attention. The governess pulled Penny’s hood back, gently massaging the little bulb underneath, checking Penny’s need to come. Her back arched in response. Very much in need it seemed. That was too bad.

Above Penny’s hood the faint pink line faded away as it reached the summit of the charming little bump of her mound. It was a classic punishment panty stripe, enough to make Audrey’s own parts tingle. Her only regret was that she couldn’t kneel between Penny’s splayed legs right now and trace the line with her tongue. From experience, she reckoned it would only take three round trips. If she started licking where the pink line began on her mound and slowly followed its path between her lips, then around and across her bottom hole until its terminus in her bottom crack - she was sure it would only take three round trips to bring Penny to climax. Four, at the very most.

But such behaviour might be construed as improper.

Which was a tremendous shame.

For them both.

Instead Audrey encouraged Penny to her feet and escorted her to the bathroom. Whilst Penny used the loo, Audrey rolled up her sleeves and ran a bath. The hot foamy water made Penny feel like a little girl again, an impression reinforced when she was made to lie back in the diaper position, with her legs lifted to her shoulders. Audrey then applied a slippy aloe gel between Penny’s legs, and carefully shaved her bare. Without her fuzz the purple line between her legs was even more conspicuous, like she’d sat astride a dirty fence.

Afterwards, Audrey washed and rinsed Penny’s hair before starting to clean every inch of her, from head to toe, with a soapy sponge. She washed behind her ears, around her neck, under her armpits, around her breasts, all down her back, before a particularly thorough cleaning between her legs that masturbated Penny to the brink… only for Audrey to whisk the sponge away just in time, leaving Penny lying on her elbows with her legs splayed wide, moaning in frustration as the sponge slid down her thighs to attend to behind her knees instead.

After the sponge had finished caressing the soles of her feet and visited between each of her toes, Penny was told to kneel on all fours, and raise her bum up high. She complied speedily, surprising herself, and moments later could feel the cool flat back of a long-handled wooden bathbrush tapping against her dripping cheeks. She arched her back submissively in response.

“Now Penny, I think naughty girls need a reminder to be good. Don’t you?”

“Yes Miss!”, blurted Penny compliantly.

“And what do you think would be an appropriate reminder?”

Penny didn’t have to think too hard about her answer.

“A sore bum, Miss.”

“Ask like a good girl…”

“Please spank my bare bum Miss, to remind me to be a good girl.”

The logical side of Penny’s mind could barely believe she’d just said that. But her more primal side knew exactly what she wanted.

During yesterday’s games at the lake, Penny had discovered how much louder - and more painful - a spanking on a wet bum could be. As the first smack landed, Penny recoiled forward in the bath, making the water slosh around her turbulently. Then without needing to be told, she raised her bum high again for the next stroke. Audrey murmured her approval, dipping the brush in the warm bathwater, before rubbing and wetting Penny’s cheeks to ensure the next whack would be just as sore and stingy.

Audrey noticed that after the sixth smack Penny’s gasps had turned to moans, experience had given her an ear for such details. She’d also noticed how Penny’s hands were sliding up her thighs after every whack, trying to sneak a touch between her legs before she raised her bum again. The signs were unmistakable; Penny was getting close.

Audrey knelt by the side of the bath, and whispered in Penny’s ear.

“Do you want to?”, was all she needed to ask.

“Oh please Miss, I’ll be so good”, moaned Penny.

Audrey reached over, putting her left hand underneath Penny, sliding over the smooth, freshly exposed skin of her mound until she reached the soft ridge of her lips, swollen and hot to the touch. She splayed her hand open, simultaneously stretching Penny’s labia apart, and wedging her clit between two fingers. In her other hand, the long-handled bathbrush tapped ominously against the girl’s proffered bottom.

“Oh please…”, begged Penny, rocking forward on all fours with a gentle slosh.

The brush began whacking again, causing Penny to buck forward, grinding herself against the older lady’s hand with every smack, thrashing in the water like a struggling fish.

“Harder please… Miss…” she pleaded.

The governess was happy to oblige: spanking forcefully, wetting the back of the brush to maximise its impact. Penny was now soaking wet - and not just with bathwater - sliding over Audrey’s hand easily after every spank. The harder the whack, the further down she pushed, and the longer her clit spent wedged in the cleft between Audrey’s fingers.

“Spank me harder Miss!”, she gasped, “On my bare bum!”

Penny didn’t care about the fiery pain in her backside now, or the ache between her legs where the panties had been pulled tight. She’d spent too long being foiled and frustrated.

In the gap between two breaths her mind lept elsewhere. Back to yesterday, at the lake.

Emerging from the water naked, dripping.

Lying beside Alice, face-down, drying in the sun.

Being spanked, playfully at first, getting harder.

One of Alice’s fingers stroking. Slipping inside.

Feeling so good. So naughty.

Spank me harder, Alice. I’m so naughty.

Your finger. So deep now. Oh so good.

Please don’t stop…

A stinging whack brought Penny back to the present and tumbling over the edge. It was a climax quite unlike any she’d ever experienced. Just as the intensity of her bliss seemed to be fading, another whack stung her bottom, sending another wave of pleasure surging through her. Audrey continued spanking until Penny stopped grinding against her palm, and slumped exhausted to the side of the bath.

“Now, I hope you’ll be a good girl for me” said the governess, running her fingers through the younger girl’s hair, with one of her rarely seen smiles. Penny seemed to have been rendered temporarily mute by her experience, and so merely mewed appreciatively in response.

Audrey had learned it was best to bring girls to climax after a night of frustration in punishment panties. Denial just made girls sulky and tetchy rather than relieved and grateful - and that encouraged duplicitousness. An unsatisfied girl would spend the day scheming, planning how to sneak off to fiddle with herself. Far better for her release to come through a thorough spanking, with the girl earnestly begging for every whack.

The sponge returned between her legs, gently cleansing the stickiness from her tender tingling lips, whilst Audrey explained what happened next.

“You behaved very childishly yesterday, Penny. So you’ll be spending today dressed as a little girl, and being treated like one too.”

Penny’s mouth gaped in an expression of stifled surprise that mimicked the appearance of her swollen slit below.

Her first experience of her little girl treatment was being shrouded in an oversized fluffy towel whilst the governess’s busy hands skittered across her, rubbing through her hair and then over the rest of her body. Of course, Ms M was careful to only dab the girl’s bottom dry, she didn’t want to soothe away her naughty glow.

Then it was back to the bedroom to be dressed. First, arms up to have a skinny vest pulled down over her head, no need for a bra today. Penny winced when she saw the fresh pair of white punishment panties in the governess’s hands, but stepped into them obediently.

“These are to remind you to be a good girl”, Ms M explained, “Any misbehaviour and it’ll be straight back here to have your bottom warmed, followed by an hour dangling in your panties.”

“Of course not, Miss!” Penny replied, intending to be behave angelically.

Audrey pulled the panties up slightly, just enough to expose the pink blush of Penny’s spanked buttocks, and for her to feel the fabric tightening across her newly shaven slit. Just enough to say: you know what happens to naughty girls.

The governess selected a bright yellow dress from the wardrobe, it was a girly juvenile garment, the kind that only parents would buy, that no self-respecting young girl would ever choose for herself. But Penny resisted the urge to stick her tongue out, and cooperated as the dress was pulled over her head.

She turned to look at herself in the dressing table mirror.

“What do you think of your new dress?”

In the mirror, Penny could see herself blush. The short, ruffled sleeves barely covered her upper arms, whilst the wide boat neck exposed the top of her shoulders. The frilly sunshine-yellow cotton hugged her chest before widening below a decorative bow at her midriff into a loose bell that barely touched her hips and ended at mid-thigh. The floaty hem seemed almost tailor made for panty inspections and impromptu bottom smacking.

“It’s… beautiful”, lied Penny.

The sarcasm in her reply was far too obvious, making her wince almost as soon as the words had flown her lips. It prompted Audrey to pick up an ebony hairbrush from the dressing table, and flip up her skirt, the first smacks landing before Penny even had time to apologise. Audrey then gripped the waist of the girl’s panties, pulling them upwards, holding her in place so she had to dance on the spot to the hairbrush’s beat.

“I will not tolerate cheekiness, young lady”, the governess scolded.

“Aah! Ooo! Sorry, Miss”, squeaked Penny, hopping from foot to foot.

When it had finished warming Penny’s bottom, Audrey put the hairbrush to more conventional use, tugging it through the girl’s hair. She parted and straightened it, before gathering it into bunches, which she tied with yellow ribbons just behind each ear. When Audrey had finished, Penny looked into the mirror. It was eerie: staring back was a long-lost version of herself. It was as if she’d fallen back through time, and was now destined to relive her childhood again. Except this time, there’d be spankings. Lots of spankings. Bare bottom spankings.

Once Audrey had fetched a pair of sandals from the wardrobe, Penny’s outfit was complete. She led the girl by the hand into the hallway, and positioned her facing the wall, in sight of the bathroom door.

“Now, you can stay here Penny, where I can see you, whilst I deal with Alice.”

She lifted the back of Penny’s dress again, tucking it into the waist. Her panties had been tugged up, so the fabric that usually covered her buttocks was now between them, exposing the rosy pink consequences of her recent spankings.

“When little girls get spanked, they have to stand in disgrace, don’t they?”

“Yes, Miss”, Penny admitted reluctantly.

And then it was Alice’s turn.


* * *


Generously, the governess had left Alice’s door open during her bottom inspection, allowing Penny to follow and imagine every gasp, probing and moan. So by the time Alice was escorted to the bathroom, Penny was hot and horny again.

Behind her, at the end of the hall, Penny could hear the splashing of water and wet bottom slaps. How she wished she could turn around and watch, it was like the torment of Orpheus. Beyond the open doorway, each smack of the bathbrush was accompanied by a gasp, each getting progressively louder as Alice sought relief on her governess’s fingers. Soon, Alice was begging to be spanked harder, desperate for those last few whacks that would release a whole night-time of frustration.

In front of her, hopefully hidden from view, Penny’s right hand had already sneaked under the hem of her skirt. Just listening to Alice’s spanking had been very arousing, but the gusset of her panties had been pulled too tight to wiggle a finger into her vagina. So she entered her underwear from the top instead, sliding down the exquisitely sensitive patch of freshly shaved skin, rubbing her mound as much her tight panties would permit. Alice had kept herself bare for years, and Penny was now beginning to understand why.

Behind her the smacks were quickening. Penny fretted, was she being watched? Or was the governess too busy spanking Alice? At any moment she feared the smacking might stop, there’d be footsteps thundering behind her, and the whacking would resume on her own poor little bottom. But once Penny’s fingertips glanced her hood she knew couldn’t stop, that now she’d have to rub herself all the way.

Penny silently echoed Alice’s moans, her hips moving forward in time with each smack, pushing her hood beneath her fingertips. Behind her, she could feel her exposed cheeks tingle. She knew exactly what Alice was feeling, on her knees, her legs wide open, grinding against her governess’s hand as she tried to escape the bathbrush’s fiery stings. Penny opened her fingers, pushing them either side of the narrow band of her gusset, allowing her to push her hand further down. She gasped as the little bump of her clit nestled between her fingers, and began to rub vigorously. Alice’s cries and the whacks that accompanied them were approaching a crescendo. They were both so close.

Alice came first, in a long series of emphatic, staccato gasps; an irresistible song that pushed Penny over the edge like an avalanche. The two girls came together, Alice’s cries and the slaps on her bum conveniently drowning out Penny’s furtive moans. But what are friends for?


Later, at the breakfast table, Alice and Penny finally got to say good morning to each other, sitting down gingerly on their tender bottoms with little gasps. Alice was dressed in a white and pink polkadot dress, with her blonde hair bunched with long white ribbons. When they looked at each other, both could see the girl with whom they’d first made friends, all those years ago in primary school. The realisation made them giggle together and smile.

The rules of today’s regime had already been explained to them both: politeness and good manners at all times, with permission required should they want to leave their governess’s presence. And when they needed the loo, governess would accompany them to pull down their punishment panties, and - more importantly - pull them up again afterwards, nice and tight.

Audrey loved the improvement in a girl’s behaviour that a good spanking and a childish costume could bring. A girl who’d only yesterday been sulky, cheeky and wilful would today be smiling, chirpy and eager to please. Girls in punishment panties were especially obedient and attentive, delightfully submissive, as if they were wearing invisible reins.

Alice’s parents would have to be informed of their daughter’s misbehaviour, of course. The rules of the house were quite clear: Alice’s naughtiness was, fundamentally, a failure of parenting. So each time Alice was spanked, Ms McGiven would have to administer a caning. She would wait until Alice was away, and then inform her mummy and daddy of her misdemeanours, describing in meticulous detail the punishment she’d endured. Then the governess would instruct them both to undress and bend over the living room’s grand old leather sofa. And Firecrest Manor would echo to the sound of whacking once more.

It was going to be a fine summer, Audrey thought.



* * 5 * *



We are the sum of our stories.

We guard some stories zealously, because they define us, they explain us.

We hide them away, like a rusty old treasure chest buried deep on a paradise beach.

We hope to store our secrets safe from view, so no one ever has a clue of what we dream when all alone.

But Alice had led him to her treasure chest, and given him the key to open it. Her secret was not betrayed by weakness, on the contrary, Alice had needed to summon all her courage to reveal it. Because in revealing her story, she had ceded him her reins.

Alice was headstrong young woman, with an inner self-confidence some mistook for aloofness. But she loved how he could stand up to her. Giving up control allowed her to relax, when she submitted, it was like taking off a mask, or finally shedding a pair of showy but uncomfortable heels. It was like her whirring mind had dropped into a lower gear. With him, she’d rediscovered the simple joy of once more doing what she was told, it was almost meditative.

He had a glance, not quite a stare, just a look that silently said: “That’s quite enough, young lady”. It was a look that never failed to make Alice go gooey inside.

Patrick wielded his authority subtly. An inexperienced disciplinarian might be quick to pull down a young lady’s panties, eager to control her through her shame. But Patrick knew better, that panties left on were an even more effective means of control - one that could be tugged, tweaked and pulled until she was begging to obey.

Alice especially enjoyed provoking him, tickling the dragon’s tail. Testing how far she could go, how long she could balance on the edge, before the inevitable repercussions.

If they were alone together, he might move behind her, lowering his head to kiss the back of her neck. She’d feel the warmth of his breath, nips from his lips raising the little hairs on her nape, and his fingers sliding down the small of her back, lifting her skirt, or entering her jeans.

And then she’d feel her panties tighten, feel them part her moistening lips, and the beginning of that cruel burning between her bottom cheeks.

Being in public would bring no reprieve either. He would pull her panties when necessary whenever they were out together, reining her in like a feisty filly. The backs of dresses could be unzipped or unbuttoned just enough give access to his nimble fingers. Alice knew that if she ever complained he’d make her take her knickers off completely, there and then, and put them in his jacket’s breast pocket, where they’d peep out like a handkerchief. It was remarkable how no-one ever seemed to notice their erotic games, and surprising how much you could get away with if you believed you weren’t doing anything wrong.

Even if they were far apart, Alice would still be disciplined.

Sometimes she’d hear his voice on the phone.

”Stand up.”

"Reach behind you."

"Pull up your panties."

"Up tight.”

“Between your bottom.”

“Between your slit.”

His calm voice, so matter-of-fact, soothing yet compelling; as if he were dictating directions to a secret beauty spot, a destination he knew she couldn’t wait to reach. If she was in public she’d have to pull up her panties as discreetly as she could manage. If she was lucky she might be able to nip into the loo or dart behind a tree. But she always obeyed, she knew there could be no excuses when she deserved her punishment panties.

She knew his commands off by heart now, they were like a mantra. Sometimes he’d be with her, and would tell her to pull up her own panties as a test of her submission. He’d look deeply into her eyes, and recite his instructions like love poetry, and she would prove how much she loved him, regardless of who might be watching.

Sometimes he’d send his instructions by text, or email them. Once he’d even had them printed on the little card that accompanied a beautiful bouquet of pink carnations. Her colleagues in her office had cooed at the romance, little knowing the bloom’s devious secret raison d’etre. They’d pass her desk smiling, congratulating her on her catch, whilst Alice squirmed in her seat, her panties now pulled tight beneath her, her face turning as pink as the carnations in her vase.

When she got the order to pull up her panties, she always complied, wherever she was, whatever she was doing. It was the rules. And she would keep her panties pulled up until she received permission to pull them down, which often meant a whole afternoon sitting squirming, feeling the fiery line along her crotch smouldering, and the hot ache of sexual frustration building.

At other times he had instructed her to tie her panties to the bed and wait for him to get home. They’d even bought an iron bedstead especially, just like the one in her family home, so she could be disciplined the classic way. She’d stand on her tiptoes and reach back to tie her panties to the rail just above her waist, often sending him a picture of herself in her precarious predicament, with a message imploring him to hurry home.

When he did finally arrive he rarely released her immediately. If she’d been bratty, he’d employ one of his favourite torments: tickling her feet, which made her prance from toe to toe, working the cruel panties ever deeper inside her with every hop. Or perhaps he’d untie her from the bed and put her over his knee. One hand to rub and spank her bottom, the other hand pulling her forward by her panties to control her struggles.

Eventually, he would peel down her panties, out from between her sore sticky lips. An intimate inspection often followed, conducted with the tip of his tongue, tracing the thin purple stripe running from her bottom crack to her mound. Their favourite finale was a slow sensual spanking followed by a fantastic, almost feral fucking that made Alice blissfully glad she’d found this man, and had the courage to share with him the secret of her reins.

 

* * *

 

Through the years, Penny and Alice had remained the closest of friends, rock solid, inseparable. But, Alice had once wistfully mused, didn’t they once think that about the continents? So seemingly permanent, so immutable, yet actually at the mercy of powerful forces, so subtle they were barely perceptible. No matter how earnest their promises, the forces of love, career and ambition were pushing them, drifting them slowly apart.

Even though they now lived in different cities, both still tried to remain close, visiting each other regularly, often staying over. Tonight, Penny was staying with Alice; although her host was out this evening at prior commitments, that wasn’t a problem, Penny was in town for a few days, she’d just have a quiet night in.

Perhaps it was something about being left alone, but Penny was in an unaccountably horny mood, the kind a boyfriend loves. But tonight he was miles away, so her thoughts turned to making her own amusement. She particularly liked to fuel her imagination with naughty stories, especially spanking stories. She had a few favourites, stories that described her own fantasies so perfectly they could almost have been written for her. She returned to those stories repeatedly, it was like revisiting an old friend (with benefits).

If only she’d brought back her laptop. She’d left it on her desk in her company’s office, but not to worry, there was Alice’s Macbook sitting idle on the coffee table. Penny often borrowed it. Private browsing windows had practically been invented for this purpose.

Penny dabbed the trackpad, dragging the cursor up and to the right, towards the browser’s search field at the corner of the screen. She slowly and deliberately typed her favourite search term: spanking. It was her own little ritual. She could still remember that very first time she’d plucked up the courage to tell her computer her little secret.

She’d been a curious teen, an occasional player of spanking games with Alice and a few other close friends, but even she could barely believe what her virgin spanking search had revealed. It was like walking through a magic wardrobe, into a whole new world that was bigger, more colourful and more thrilling than anything she could have imagined.

That first time she’d browsed eagerly through the endless stream of search results, stumbling across journals and stories, pictures and videos. It was like a crash course in bottom smacking, every click making her eyes wider and her panties wetter. She eventually came whilst witnessing her very first caning.

It was all so real! It was as if her laptop was a magic window, which had opened unseen at the back of a headmaster’s study, hidden amongst the wood-panels and bookcases. A pretty young lady in an immaculate school uniform entered, she had been naughty, and her sentence was swiftly pronounced: “You will be caned on your bare bottom”. Justice was dispensed quickly in this school it seemed.

Penny could barely breathe when he told the girl to lift her skirt and bend over. The girl obeyed without complaint, lifting her hem from knee to waist, as if she couldn’t wait to display her bottom’s beautiful curves, which filled her white panties, stretching them tight.

The headmaster took a cane from the wall (he had a collection!) and - unbelievably! - pulled the girl’s knickers down to her ankles. Penny was shaking, realising she was just moments away from witnessing a real bare-bottom caning. The cane tapped threateningly against her bum exacerbating the tension - then a blur, a swoosh, and a whack. The girl rocked forward on her toes, stifling a cry, a pink stripe now visible on her enviable cheeks. Then another. And another.

This was mind-blowing! Penny unzipped her jeans, allowing her fingers into her own panties. By now, she was soaked. She watched, mouth agape, as the headmaster continued the whacking, quite matter-of-factly, and the girl moaned and mewed with every new stripe. Suddenly, Penny was hit by a flash of understanding: being caned hurt, but this girl was enjoying it. It was a game, just like the ones she played with Alice - and this scene showed how exotic the games could be, they were almost theatrical.

The final stroke fell, and the schoolgirl was sent to stand in the corner to display her new stripes. As she reached back to soothe her sore cheeks, her rubbing pulled her cheeks apart, revealing glimpses of her wet puffy slit in between. It was gone in a blink of an eye, but Penny knew immediately what she’d seen: a spanked girl who got as wet as herself. Moments later she plunged her fingers deep inside, and came in a quivering heap.

Ever since, just searching for the term ‘spanking’ gave Penny a special thrill. But this time she hadn’t entered the word into the browser’s search field, but absent-mindedly entered it into the laptop’s Spotlight search instead. Inadvertently, she had just asked the laptop to show her all the files on its hard drive containing the word ‘spanking’.

And as it turned out, there were lots of them.

It took Penny a moment to realise what had happened. O. M. G.

How did laptops come to know us so well? Our magic silvery slabs, our constant mute companions, accompanying us everywhere like witches’ familiars. An oracle to answer virtually any question, an enchanted window to see anywhere in the world without moving. Though sometimes what we want to see… well, let’s just keep that our little secret. Our faithful glowing windows witness a side of us few others will ever know.

But now Penny had stumbled upon Alice’s chamber of secrets, and found the door unlocked. It felt kind of awkward, a bit like overhearing a flatmate fucking, and not quietly leaving for a long walk, but staying to listen to the moans.

The lure of Alice’s treasure trove proved equally impossible to resist. Penny began browsing through what her friend had collected. There were plenty of pictures, all with the word spanking in their filenames, Penny began to click.

This one had three naked girls bent over the side of a bed, bottoms raised, not spanked yet, but surely about to be. Oh yes, she could remember that game.

The next featured a girl in dropseat pyjamas lying across a man’s lap. She was facing away from him, her hands on the floor, her legs either side of his hips. The flap of her pyjamas was open, revealing her bright pink cheeks, which the man was in the process of prising apart. A bottom inspection was surely imminent. Mmmm.

Next, a view from behind a girl with her blond hair in bunches. Her school skirt had been flipped up and her white panties pulled down to mid-thigh, revealing a delightfully pink bottom and a view between her legs that left nothing to the imagination. The colours of this one were glorious, a thin sand-coloured cane hovering above fifty shades of pink.

Then a series of moody monochromes, a nude woman lying over the lap of a man in an expensively tailored suit. He cradles her chin in one hand, whilst the other spanks her gorgeous arse. Her eyes are closed, her expression suggesting a moment of transcendence. Arty.

Next, a governess, looking knee-tremblingly authoritative in a sumptuous Edwardian velvet corset dress. In the foreground, just the lower back and buttocks of a naked young lady, lying across some kind of padded bench. There’s a leather paddle in the governess’s hand, and in the background, barely in focus, an old-fashioned glass jar with a long rubber enema tube. Kinky.

The pictures were titillating, but what really interested Penny was the written word, so she filtered the search results so only text files remained. But disappointingly, there didn’t seem to be any stories. There was, however, a file that seemed to be a transcript from a chat session between two people, one of whom was almost certainly Alice.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she started reading.



AliceWonderland @ 17:57: Miss you

Stricture @ 17:58: I know

AliceWonderland @ 17:58: Wish you were coming home tonight

Stricture @ 17:59: Back in a few days. Amsterdam is cool, you’d love it

AliceWonderland @ 18:00: Gah. You know how impatient I am. I was so so horny today, I had to relieve myself in the loo at work

Stricture @ 18:01: Naughty girl! You need a lesson in self-control. When you get home I’m going to teach you what loos are really for

AliceWonderland @ 18:02: yes Sir ;)

(Penny’s eyes widened at the illicitness of what she was reading, scanning over their smalltalk until the conversation resumed a few hours later)

AliceWonderland @ 20:11: Sir, I’ve been a very naughty girl and have escaped punishment for too long, but I need to be taught a lesson. I’ll need the loo soon, so if it’s convenient for you, please will you discipline me?

Stricture @20:12: You have indeed been a very naughty girl, and you deserve a good spanking on your bare bottom. Go to your room and get undressed

AliceWonderland @20:12: yes Sir

AliceWonderland @20:15: done

Stricture @20:16: Now you can kneel on your bed, and start rubbing your bum with the back of your hairbrush. With your other hand, massage your silky smooth mound for a minute

AliceWonderland @20:18: ooo. done

Stricture @20:19: Keep rubbing with the hairbrush, and pull your hood back for a minute. Then describe yourself

AliceWonderland @20:21: I wish I could play more… I’m so wet and *so* achy

Stricture @20:22: Now put in your butt plug

AliceWonderland @20:22: Oh! okay

Stricture @20:23: 3 minutes spanking with the hairbrush on your bare bottom, young lady.

AliceWonderland @20:27: done. ouch.. my bottom’s already stingy.. with a small, light pink blush on each cheek

Stricture @20:28: Now put your phone beside you and use memo to record a 4 minute spanking with your hairbrush. I hope it’ll be a good whacking for being such a naughty girl. Then send me what you’ve recorded

AliceWonderland @20:33: done. ow Sir. my bum is hot and pink. I could feel every smack through my plug. I’ll send what I recorded now..

Stricture @20:35: Good. Now put on a pair of your plain white panties and pull them right up into your slit, so your bottom is bared

AliceWonderland @20:41: Ooo. my punishment panties are on. they’re pulled right up so that they push the plug deep into my bottom and rub uncomfortably against my clit when I move…

Stricture @20:43: Now go and stand in the corner for 5 minutes, hands on head with your naughty spanked bum on display. You can contemplate your sore arse and the pressure on your pee hole, whilst I listen to your bottom being whacked

AliceWonderland @20:50: I’m back. I hope you liked my spanking Sir. My panties are stretched so tight across my clit, I can feel it so clearly through the soaked material - so hard and swollen I can feel its exact outline

Stricture @20:51: Your spanking sounded hard and sore, very good. Do you need to pee?

AliceWonderland @20:52: yes please

Stricture @20:53: Take your phone to the toilet with you. Sit on the seat, but don’t pull down your panties. Describe yourself

AliceWonderland @20:56: I’m on the loo. I really need to go. When I clench I feel myself squeeze the butt plug, which makes me want to go even more

Stricture @20:57: Start rubbing your slit through your panties

AliceWonderland @21:00: this is so so naughty but feels incredible

Stricture @21:01: Keep rubbing. The heat of your spanked bottom on the cold seat must be exciting

AliceWonderland @21:03: god yes. I’m soaked. may I please pull down my panties Sir?

Stricture @21:04: No you may not. Keep rubbing your clit

AliceWonderland @21:06: ooo! I’m going to come or pee or both!

Stricture @21:07: Keep rubbing, young lady

AliceWonderland @21:09: please can’t hold it in

Stricture @21:10: You must be squeezing your plug so hard…

(Penny stopped and gasped, barely believing what she was reading. She looked at the timestamps, there were no messages for almost twenty minutes, then came Alice’s final response…)

AliceWonderland @21:29: Wow! That was incredible :D

I rubbed like you told me, trying to hold myself back, then suddenly I felt a hot wet patch within my punishment panties. I think I peed a tiny bit, it felt simultaneously so so embarrassing but amazing. I tried to stop and clench, but I wanted to come so badly. At that point I put my phone down and put both hands between my legs, one rubbing, one cupping my crotch trying to hold back the inevitable.

Then I came I think and the dam burst. I felt a hot flow flood my tight panties, gushing out between my ineffective fingers. Suddenly the thin tight strip of material between my legs was burning hot. I was so ashamed! I was a naughty little girl with a spanked bum peeing her panties. But it felt so so so good. I’ve cleaned myself up now, but my legs are still quivering! Thank you for my discipline Sir :)

 


Penny gulped. She could feel her heart hammering inside her chest.

Did she really just read that?

Her friend spanking herself with a hairbrush at his command, then wanking on the loo until she wet herself. She re-read it.

Oh. My. Goodness, she thought. That is twisted. But very arousing.

She wondered who Alice’s correspondent was; given the dates, almost certainly Patrick. Quiet types, always the kinkiest.

Penny’s mind was racing, imagining what it must have been like to submit to such humiliations. Certainly unsettling, definitely arousing, maybe even exhilarating. A wistful fantasy crept into her mind, if only her own boyfriend would stumble across something like this, if only she had a magic spell that would unleash his inner kinkiness. She smiled at the thought. She was a smart girl, she’d just been given a stack of incredible new ideas, she’d contrive something.

Almost without thinking Penny reached behind herself, entering the gap between her shirt and jeans to finger the waist of her panties. She began to tug them upwards. What a naughty girl I’ve been, she thought, spying on my best friend’s most private activities - and getting so turned on. She continued to tug up her panties, feeling the familiar slide as they slipped between her slit.

Ever since that extraordinary night at Firecrest Manor she’d reserved her punishment panties for times when she’d felt the naughtiest. She’d strip to her knickers, pulling them up until they were painfully tight, then kneel on her bed and spank her bum with the slipper she hid under the bed.

Afterwards, if she was alone, she’d sometimes keep her panties on, still pulled up as tight as possible, as she went to sleep. Her reward would be to wake, insatiably horny, as dawn’s early light seeped through her curtains. But what a treat it was to pull down her punishment panties, to feel them slip out from between her exquisitely tender swollen lips - and then to ride her fingers or her toys to a series of astonishing climaxes. Then afterwards, she’d tumble into deep slumber of ambrosian satisfaction.

Another favourite activity was to go to the first floor landing, stand on her tiptoes with her back to the bannister and tie her panties to it. Sometimes she’d use the bannisters on the stairs, suddenly dropping one step downwards, suspending herself in exquisite agony as her toes searched urgently for the floor.

She’d often fantasised about getting caught, imagining her boyfriend unexpectedly returning home, hearing his key scraping in the lock, a surge of panic, urgently trying to untie herself - but failing, the door swinging open, and his expression as he looked up the stairs to see her virtually naked, suspended by her underwear…

She grimaced, men did have a propensity to over-react, maybe something more subtle.

She’d never yet had the courage to reveal her own secret. Clearly Alice had though - and she seemed to be having outrageous fun. Perhaps, she mused, she really should get herself caught.

So many ways to get discovered. A few bottles of wine and two truths and a lie. A few filthy browser windows accidentally left open. Maybe a well-spanked bottom, pink and sore… a revealing selfie… a misplaced email…

But first, she would have to be punished for her snooping.

“I’m such a naughty girl”, she whispered.

She tugged her panties higher, feeling them heat the base of her crotch.

“A very naughty girl”, she repeated, louder this time.

She pulled her panties tighter still, feeling them deep between her moistening lips.

“I deserve to be put in punishment panties…”

She jumped to her feet, yanking her waistband higher, moaning as the narrow band dug deeper, scraping into her bottom hole.

“… and a good hard spanking…”

She dashed to Alice’s room, and its glorious antique brass bedstead, her trembling fingers urgently unbuttoning her jeans.

“… on my bare bottom…”

And out of the corner of her eye, she spied a hairbrush.






- - - - -

@spankingtheatre 2013 (spankingtheatre AT gmail dot com) 

Dedicated to the memory of Iain Banks (1954-2013), a master storyteller of family secrets. Greatly missed.

Originally published at spankingtheatre.tumblr.com. You’re welcome to share.



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