Friday's Scream Queen
4 hours ago
A word of advice for all female would be contributors to CP magazines - when you send in your submission never hint at any of your own desires. Just send your piece, SAE enclosed, and nothing else!
You see, I made the mistake of admitting, in one letter to a magazine, that I'd never been birched, tawsed or, at that time, caned and was thus writing only from limited experience.
An immediate reply, so immediate it burned up the postal service to reach me, offered immediate 'remedy' if I cared to visit the editorial offices. What was so special about this letter? Well for a start it was from the assistant editor, not some guy in the mailing room. He had a name, a personality and talked to me through the letter as if he understood.
Even so, I thought I better clarify things a bit, you know, find out what he had in mind so I'd know what to expect. The following are just a few of the comments he sent back, comments which sent quivers and quavers through my quim.
"Twelve good strokes of the cane would be a good start - and maybe a good finish too!"
"You might find yourself across my knees for a bare bottom spanking, followed by six or eight with the cane, bent over my desk, and finally a dozen or so with the birch!"
"How about I give you one stroke of the cane for each misplaced comma and apostrophe?"
I got permission from my husband, who was less than enthusiastic but agreed because the whole prospect turned me on, and I went. In fact we all went as a family, the three of us on a London coach, but we split up at the Underground where I hopped on a tube train to the CP magazine offices and hubbie went off to sample the joys of the Thames with young child in tow.
Quaking with trepidation,I found the worst bit was actually going into the office. Halfway up the last flight of stairs I stopped and stared at the door. All I needed was to turn and run but, as most submissives will tell you, the urge to turn and run is always there but we never do.
I took a deep breath, settled my bag a little more firmly on my shoulder, and walked through the door before my resolve could weaken. I stopped and looked at the two men in the room. They both said "hello" and one came over to greet me.
"You made it then."
"Yes I did," I grinned and wondered if he knew how close I was to running away.
"Come and sit down."
With a cup of coffee and people to talk to, I felt better. The typesetter came in, someone dropped by with some pictures, discussions went on about the cover - did the marks on the model's bottom show clearly enough? Everyone was so nice and I could even forget why I was there, for a while, if I didn't look around me!
I was surprisingly hungry despite the butterflies which fluttered around in my stomach when I made the mistake of looking around the room. It wasn't the girlie calendars or the half pasted up pictures that bothered me. It was the 'black corner' full of ghastly looking canes, whips and birches. I tried not to think about it.
Lunch was a good opportunity to talk and the conversation flowed freely, considering we had only just met. The chemistry seemed right, or at least he smiled in a friendly fashion!
Back in the office we were suddenly alone, the understanding colleague had diplomatically disappeared and my new 'friend' locked the door and pulled the curtains to as I watched nervously from the comfort of a large swivel chair.
"Come on." It was time. "Where do you want to go?"
"Are you asking me?" I stood in the centre of the room, uncertain.
"Yes," he said, looking surprised. "I always ask."
"Then don't. Not with me. Just tell me what you want."
"Right, then bend over the desk!"
My insides had turned to jelly. Completely. Cold anticipation, hot tingling quim. Not even sure what I was doing, feeling sexy yet scared. Doing as I was told without question...well, almost. Firm hands pushed me down and I folded my arms to rest my head on them. Funny how a desk is just the right height for a caning, isn't it? The manufacturers must have known.
"Look," he said, and the cane appeared through the crook of my arm.
"I don't want to look!" I was trying not to think about it. He had obviously decided what I was about to get, although I still didn't know. He turned back my clothes, slowly, savouring it, no doubt, while my knees trembled. My new black tights were lowered and then my pale green panties.
"Oh, very nice!"
"Really?" It made me feel good, restored a little of my confidence, though it didn't stop the butterflies. The moment of pain came ever nearer.
A hand slid softly over my bottom cheeks, feeling their softness. Appreciating their unblemished whiteness, maybe? I don't know. All I know is, it felt nice.
"Now we'll see if you mark, shall we?"
A very hard slap made me yelp. It was much harder than I anticipated and it glowed!
"A complete handprint," he said "My, you do mark easily, don't you!"
Then he placed another one right on top! I could feel my bottom protesting, hurting, but one-sided; one cool cheek, one hot. I pressed against the edge of the desk, vainly trying to escape what was to come.
"We'll do something about this side now," he said , and started spanking me all over. From the top of my bottom near the spine where the skin is pulled tight, to the undercurve which is particularly tender, he spanked me and I cried out as the pain increased. I let myself flop onto the desk and let the spanking carry on as if it was nothing to do with me. Only the sound penetrated my conscious thought, my subconscious absorbed the spanking and wondered why I never thought it would hurt this much!
"That looks fine," he said and, before I could even begin to anticipate it, the cane was gone from under the crook of my arm, was whistling through the air, and was landing with devastating effect on my tender skin. It caught me almost by surprise and I yelled out. It burned like nothing else I had experienced and I gripped the far side of the desk, determined to take it. Then came another stroke, further down this time and I almost stood up in panic but I held on by sheer willpower. Would it be six? He still hadn't said. The third stroke cut across the tender join of bottom and thighs, the tip caught my thigh and brought me to the brink of tears, and the fourth one, which was agony, was definitely all I could take.
I stood up clutching my bottom and begging "No more, I can't take any more" and he lowered the cane. "I'm just not used to it," I apologised, which was true.
"I do cane rather hard," he agreed, putting it away in the corner much to my relief.
I rushed off to the Ladies where, with the aid of a small hand mirror, I tried to inspect the weals. They looked horrific! They were already turning black and blue and they seemed to be everywhere, not the neat pink lines I had anticipated.
Back in the office, with the stripes still hurting, I sat on a soft cushion and let the pain settle to a glow. When the editor came back and asked to see the results, I lowered my knickers and showed him the lines, which left him tut tutting.
"Not one of your better efforts!" he scolded my 'friend' and I wondered why?
With knickers back in place, and a feeling of warm satisfaction spreading to all known parts of my body, I waved goodbye promising to be back one day. I rejoined my husband and child and went home on the coach, trying hard not to wriggle.
It's a good job my friend didn't carry out any of the promises made in the letters - I wouldn't have been able to take them, that's for sure! I was fortunate because an editor's decision is always final and a contributor had little to say in the matter.
I'm glad the other editors I work for are not all into CP or life could become extremely painful, methinks, but interesting all the same!
At that moment someone banged hard with a gavel and the two girls turned to see that a man was calling for silence.
"Your attention please, ladies," he said. "It's time for proceedings to begin. First you will see a short demonstration of what the Whipcord Society stands for. That will be followed by a short intermission, at which time you may leave if you wish. Those who wish to see more can stay for a further presentation about the Society. Now, if you'd like to follow me, I'll take you through to our little auditorium."
He led the way through a pair of double doors. The women followed, some still looking rather nervous. Jo stayed with her new companion, grateful for the company in this rather overwhelming place. They were shown into a small theatre, the seats raised in semi-circular tiers, looking down onto a small stage. The curtains were closed, and across their red velvet surface was embroidered the whipcord motif in gold thread. The two girls took their places about halfway back, near the centre.
"What do you think they're going to do?" whispered Diana in Jo's ear.
"Well I don't think it's going to be Cinderella, and that's for sure!" replied Jo wryly.
As they watched the curtains opened, revealing a wooden frame in the centre of the stage, from which hung gleaming silver chains. A man was standing beside it, dressed in black shirt and pants, and he stepped forward to the front of the stage.
"Good evening, ladies," he said. "My name is Lucian, and I am to be your host for the evening. I trust you have been well cared for so far?"
There was a general nodding of heads and another giggle from the pair Jo had noticed earlier. They were now sitting in front of her, occasionally whispering to one another.
"The first part of the evening will be a little demonstration," continued Lucian. "We find that this is the best way to sort out those of you who are really serious about the Society from those who have merely come along out of curiosity. After the first part, you are all free to depart and no further attempt will be made to contact you. Now without further ado, we will being out our miscreant for this evening, Carla."
At that moment a curtain to his right swung open and three people entered. Two of them were men, both dressed in tight trousers and long boots, their chests bare apart from leather straps that crossed in the middle. Between them was a blonde girl. She was about twenty years old, Jo reckoned. She wore a dirty, ragged dress that came down to just below her crotch. There were great rents in the material through which her pale young skin could be seen. She was tall, with large breasts and a slim waist that was shown off by the tightness of the dress. About her neck was a collar... On her wrists and ankles she wore the same leather bands. Her hands were secured behind her, and the men were dragging her forward with the use of chains attached to her collar. She seemed reluctant to come out onto the stage, and the men used considerable force to get her into the centre. Here they pushed her down onto her knees in front of Lucian. He looked her over briefly, then turned to the hushed onlookers.
"This is naughty Carla," he said dryly. "She has committed an offence against the Society in arriving half an hour late for an encounter with some of the Society's senior members."
Jo wondered what he meant by the term 'encounter'. She was certain that it was no ordinary meeting that had been planned.
"As a consequence," went on Lucian, " She is to be punished by the administration of six strokes. Some offences run to ten, twenty or even thirty strokes, and there are many other ways to inflict pain. But for tonight the six will be sufficient to show that we are serious in what we do, and that we expect you to take it seriously too."
Another giggle from the seats in front told Jo that at least two of the audience were doing nothing of the kind.
"Stand up!" ordered Lucian.
The girl rose slowly to her feet. Jo could see that her face was pale, and that the fear in her eyes was genuine. There was something else about her demeanour, though... There was an air of excitement about this youngster that was undeniable and Jo felt similar stirrings inside herself. At the same time Diana took hold of her hand and squeezed it hard.
"She's turned on by all this isn't she?" she whispered.
Jo nodded. "Yes," she said quickly and returned the squeeze.
The two warders came forward and picked up Carla's leads once more. She resisted slightly as they turned her to face the wooden frame, but there was an air of resignation about her as she allowed herself to be led forward.
There was a bar across the front of the frame running horizontally about three feet above the ground. The girl was made to stand in front of it while its height was adjusted. Then one of the men undid her wrists and pulled her forward, bending her almost double over the bar. At the same time his companion grasped her wrists and attached the bands to catches set in the floor of the stage. Next her legs were forced about three feet apart and similarly shackled.
The men pulled the chains tight, forcing the girl down onto the bar, her backside raised high, the dress riding up her legs until a large expanse of her thighs was uncovered. Jo was breathing heavily now, and she could feel the sweat on the palm of her companion. Even the pair in front had stopped talking, their eyes fixed on the stage.
One of the warders went briefly into the wings, and returned with a thin bamboo cane. He took it straight to Lucian who bent it back and forth in his hands. It was extraordinarily flexible and, as he took some practice strokes in the air, Jo saw the weapon bend with the air resistance. Lucian nodded, apparently satisfied with it, and walked downstage to where the girl was tethered.
He held the cane out in front of the girl's face, which was hidden from the view of the audience.
"Kiss the instrument of your correction," he ordered.
Jo could barely discern the motion of the girl's head as she obeyed him.
Lucian turned back to face the crowd and held out the cane to the warder, who took it from him. Then Lucian reached down and took hold of the hem of the girls dress.
There was an intake of breath about the room as he slowly and carefully lifted the material, uncovering Carla's buttocks. Jo leant forward in her seat, craning for a good view of the scene. Lucian had raised the material to the girl's waist, revealing that she wore no underwear, the white flesh stretched tight. So wide were her legs spread that her sex was blatantly exposed, and Jo contemplated how vulnerable and humiliated she must feel.
Lucian stepped back, and the warder with the cane came forward. He was a young man with a broad, hairy chest and bulging biceps. He wielded the cane in his strong hands, making a loud whooshing noise as he whipped it back and forth through the air. He positioned himself to the side of the girl and tapped the cane against her exposed bottom. As he did so, Jo felt Diana's hand tighten on hers once more.
If any onlookers had expected some kind of simulated punishment, the first stroke told them they were witnessing the real thing. The cane came down with deadly accuracy, planting a single stripe across the pale white of Carla's buttocks, a stripe that immediately darkened to a blood-red colour. The tethered girl gave a shout of pain that echoed around the auditorium.
The second blow landed about an inch above the first, the stripe lying almost exactly parallel. Jo watched as its colour deepened, once again unaccountably excited by the sight she was witnessing.
Next time the cane laid down a diagonal line, running from the underside of the left buttock to the top of the right, bringing another agonised squeal from the helpless captive. Jo turned to look at the girl next to her. Diana was leaning forward, an expression of deep concentration in her eyes...
Carla's cries were getting louder now, her body writhing about within the small confines she was allowed and, as with Patsy, Jo was struck by the way her hips thrust forward in an overtly sexual way as another dark weal decorated her pretty backside...
The final stroke came down hard on the girl's bottom, bringing forth a piercing scream....The men released the shackles that held Carla's hands and feet and she was helped to straighten up and face the audience.
Jo could see that the tears were coursing down her face,and she knew the girl's pain was genuine. Yet she could see, too, the arousal in the girl's face... Lucian made Carla turn away from the audience once again and raise her skirt to the waist. He traced the bright red marks that now covered her behind.
"This is the badge of membership to the Whipcord Society," he said to the audience.
Then the girl was led from the stage, and the lights came up.
Many of your letters talk about the humiliation involved in corporal punishment. It is the embarrassment and total humiliation that has always been, for me, the most exciting part, particularly with regard to undressing in front of men.True or not, it makes an exciting story.
I was educated in the West Country at a private school which was one of the strictest in the county. All parents were told before they agreed to send their daughters to the school that corporal punishment was used, unsparingly, on the girls as well as the boys.
Whilst I always dreaded the thought of an actual caning, the idea of bending over and having to display my knickers for a master or mistress to cane was deeply sexually exciting...
Midway through my sixth year a rather weak master left the school and was replaced by a much stricter man who literally exuded authority. During the previous six months we had taken advantage of our former teacher's weak discipline and had got used to turning up late, talking in class and so on. The new master immediately set about stopping this by saying that he would use the cane on anyone who continued to misbehave. To reinforce his threat, he said the first person to fall foul of the new regime would be caned in front of the whole class.
I found the thought just too much. My heart began to pound and I felt both very frightened and very excited. I started to convince myself to misbehave so I would be the first person to be publicly caned.
At the next lesson I turned up late, chewed gum, paid little attention to him and chucked paper pellets across the room. He warned me twice and I nearly chickened out. However one more paper pellet was enough and he was down the classroom in seconds to grab me by my hair and haul me to the front.
He said he was amazed after all his warnings that I had carried on like this and even more astonished that the first candidate for his cane was a girl. He told the class that this made no difference and that he was a man of his word. He also said he was sure I would regret my actions and hoped that caning me in front of the whole class would be an object lesson to everyone else.
He then went to the cupboard and took out a long, thin cane which he hung on the blackboard. He pushed his table back towards the front wall and told me to bend over it, reaching right across it to hold on to the far side, which meant that my bottom was thrust up facing the class.
I didn't know then which emotion was more powerful, my fear of the cane, or my excitement at displaying my bottom in front of a mixed class of about thirty pupils.
However, worse was to come, because he gripped the hem of my skirt to raise it and found it was too tight. I was then told to stand up again and take it off - in front of the class including a bunch of goggle-eyed boys. I only had thin knickers on and I thought this was going too far. But I had asked for this and now it was too late to regret my actions. I unzipped my skirt, pushed it down my legs and stepped out of it. I then had to bend right over again with my wafer thin knickers barely covering my bottom. Because I was leaning over so far my legs were slightly apart and I was tremendously excited about showing nearly everything to the whole class.
He then told the class I was to receive six strokes. The first stroke seemed ages in coming and certainly knocked the wind out of me and made me wonder why I had got myself into this. Each stroke produced a frightening noise as the cane cracked into my thin knickers and the pain soon killed all my excitement, but sometimes I recall the experience now and it still makes me very excited.
I was always a difficult child and soon became known as a troublemaker who regularly misbehaved and once I was caught playing truant when in the sixth form. I was sent to the Headmaster, the first time I had experienced being sent to his study, and while I stood trembling in front of him, he telephoned my father and they had a long conversation. I could hear my father's voice at the other end and he sounded so furious, I was frightened of going home. At the end of the conversation, the Head looked at me and told me my father had agreed that a severe dose of the cane would certainly be in order. He paused, looked hard at me, and then told me that my father had told him not to hesitate if he believed that a bare bottom caning was in order.
I must have turned bright scarlet as the Headmaster told me to take off my skirt, tights and knickers but, unexpectedly I had a rush of sexual excitement at being told to take off my knickers in front of a man.
I took my skirt off first, making sure that my striptease was not too quick. I took off my tights next, peeling them slowly down each leg as he watched, and walked across his study to put them on his visitors' chair. Then I deliberately faced him and took down my knickers, stepped out of them and again walked to his chair. This was the first time any man had seen me without any knickers on and I felt myself becoming embarrassingly wet down there...
He ordered me to bend over the back of the high leather visitors' chair and grip the wooden front legs, which I proceeded to do. The leather felt cold and I bent over as far as I could, which meant my bottom was as high in the air as it could be, and I felt extremely vulnerable. However the thought of my Headmaster looking at my bare bottom and everything else I was showing was simply fantastic!
During all this he had remained seated at his desk but he then stood up, fetched his cane and stood to one side of me. I was asked to relax my bottom slightly by pushing my legs a little further back so they were less upright.
He told me I was to get six very hard strokes, as my father had insisted, and I heard the whistle of the cane before it struck the centre of my bottom, very hard. The pain was almost intolerable but after the second or third stroke it became bearable as I was aware of other exciting reactions happening to my body. After the sixth stroke he told me to stand up and face his desk.
He then gave me a long lecture about my behaviour and that he was always prepared to repeat the caning should I need it. During this lecture I was standing directly in front of him with just a blouse on and my pubic hair on show. I again started to feel very sexually aroused because of the humiliating posture and despite - or perhaps partly because of - the surging, burning pain across the whole area of my bottom.
I was then told to dress which I did slowly, giving him a full view of my bottom and my pussy whenever I could.
The embarrassment of being caned at school, and all the exciting sensations that went with it, remains a wonderful sexual stimulus for me. Whenever I make love to my husband, the thoughts of those school canings always make my sexual responses even more satisfying.