Woody Woodpecker #070
4 hours ago
“The trouble with me punishing you, Caitlin” Anne-Marie opined, “is that you have become immune to it!”
Anne-Marie was in lecture mode; I hate it when she is like that! I have to admit that she was right, to some extent. Yes, the spanking were painful, the belt and the cane so much more so than her hand, yet after a while the pain wore off and was replaced by the most pleasant of glows. It was a glow that I had come to love, one that stoked fires and spread life to nerves that should have been out of play. It was almost worth wile copping a punishment to have that pressure start to build and a fiery orgasm build.
I was standing in front of her desk, with the back of my skirt pinned up, and my panties down around my ankles. Yet, even standing in front of her like that in what should have been a humiliating way, I felt no embarrassment, just irritation at her lecturing. She had seen me in so many compromising positions during all sorts of activities that one sees when sharing a home: being spanked, being loved, sitting in a bath, or masturbating to climax; this was hardly an eye opener.
She put down the cane which she had been flexing between her fingers; long, strong fingers, I noted, which were beautifully manicured. I had visions of her holding a musical instrument with them, perhaps tapping rhythmically on the keys of a flute, or delicately grasping the bow of a cello. Instead, she picked up her pen and drew a notepad towards her. She eyed me contemplatively, and then wrote out a short note in her flowery script, signing it with a flourish.
“Here, take this,” she instructed me, handing the folded note to me over the desk. “When you bring it back signed, I will punish you. Perhaps this will bring the embarrassment of punishment back into your life.”
“Get it signed? By whom? What is the note?”
“Get is signed by anyone, Caitlin; I don’t care who.”
She dropped her eyes and returned to the work on her desk, dismissing me, shutting me out of her mind. I hated being ignored, being shut out like that; it was the worst kind of punishment. Dejected and confused, I left the room, clutching the note in my hand.
Without knowing what I had to get signed, I knew I had to do it; Anne-Marie would just shut me out until I did, and I simply couldn’t live with that. Anything I had to put up with would be preferable to be being cut off behind the invisible walls she erected.
The stationery was Anne-Marie all-over: elegant and tasteful, no expense had been spared. Her signature monogram, an inter-twined “A” and “M” in gold-edged navy blue, graced the top left of the note card, a delicate bouquet of meadow flowers was hand painted in pastel shades on the top right.
Her script was flowing and feminine: “Caitlin is going to be spanked with a cane. She may want to tell you about it.”
The blood drained from my face as I read these words.
The second and final sentence on the notelette caused my heart to thump.
“Please sign below to indicate that she has told you all you wish to know.”
That was it!
The evil genius of this tactic put me into a spin. Who on earth could I get to sign this note? I certainly couldn’t go to my friends or family; I could picture the paroxysms of laughter and ridicule that something like this would invoke. My co-workers, my doctor, my hairdresser, the librarian, the barista...
I spun the list through my mind, frantically searching for a person who I could go to. I drank a cup of coffee alone; I was banished from Anne-Marie’s presence until this issue was resolved. Should I go onto The Net and put a request on one of the forums, or perhaps a CraigsList encounter? Every option seemed to be too dangerous or too personal.
Tucking the note into my purse, I headed out onto the street and down into the subway; I was desperate for inspiration.
"Miss Crawfurd, I am most displeased. Please understand that - most displeased at the flaunting of my definite instructions." Thus Miss Henrietta Abbott on her return from Bournemouth.The Principal has come to her senses at last. I do hope the ink wasn't the permanent kind.
"How so, Ma'am?"
"I strictly forbade the use of the birch."
"But the birch is not in use, Miss Abbott. Your instructions have been obeyed to the letter."
"It is not the letter of my instructions to which I refer, but the spirit. In my absence you have instituted a regime of physical punishment to which I am quite opposed!"
"But did I not understand you to say you approved, if only as a last resort?"
"I-I may have said something to that effect, yes."
"Then I have done no more than carry out your instructions."
Miss Abbott fanned herself and continued in embarrassment.
"But I am told that girls have been beaten on their..on their.."
"In the maternal manner," said Miss Crawfurd.
"By 'maternal manner' you mean..."
"On the bare skin," said Miss Crawfurd coolly."With my own hand. That is perfectly correct, ma'am. I judged the situation demanded it. Which is why I ordered these mild punishments."
"Indeed so, ma'am. All smackings have been carried out in private - that is, in the presence of only Miss Newton and myself."
"I did not know that," said Miss Abbott. "I understood that some at least had been inflicted in the school."
"I have held that sanction back as yet, ma'am," said Miss Crawfurd,"though it may yet become necessary."
"Not while I am Principal!", said Miss Abbott with unusual vehemence."Such punishments are so...indelicate!"
"Indeed they are," replied Miss Crawfurd. "That is their value."
"Hmmmpphh!" said Miss Abbott. "I consider, Miss Crawfurd, that you have defied me in this matter and I am severely displeased."
"I am sorry that you feel that way, ma'am," said Miss Crawfurd, sweetly playing her trump. "Especially since the number of pupils has increased by four in your absence."
"What's that?" said the old lady, startled despite her annoyance.
"We have four new girls: Miss Heloise Farrar, Miss Daphne Carstairs, and the Misses Penelope and Patricia Wellingford. Thir parents applied for admission, and in your absence I took it upon myself to accept. Miss Farrar has been a pupil for three weeks, Miss Carstairs joined us last Tuesday week and the Wellingford sisters last week. All have happily settled in."
"Paid in advance, ma'am. I have all the receipts from the bank."
"Oh," said Miss Abbott faintly.
There was a minute's silence in Miss Abbott's study.
"It seems, ma'am, that Miss Christabel de Vere wrote home to her parents, complaining about a punishment that I had awarded and which Miss Newton, on my instructions and in my presence, administered," said Miss Crawfurd.
"There! You see?" began Miss Abbott.
"From a letter I received shortly afterwards from Mr Wellingford, who I understand is a close friend of Mr. De Vere, it was this very knowledge that persuaded Mr Wellingford to withdraw his daughters from their old school and place them with us." continued the younger woman smoothly.
"Oh!" said Miss Abbott again and began to wipe her spectacles.
"I shall have to think about this a little more, Miss Crawfurd," she said, after a moment. "In the meantime, please understand, I wish you to carry out no more physical punishments."
"Thank you, Miss Crawfurd."
And that might have been the end of this particular story had it not been that Fate - a female of course - stepped in and played a vital part.
We were speaking of Miss Daphne Carstairs, one of the new girls. Daphne was sixteen, a red-headed, green-eyed girl with wild, almost feline, good looks, high intelligence and a no less high opinion of herself. She had of course initially been told of the kinds of punishment that awaited her were she to transgress, but had so far seen no evidence of them, and after her first week or so of treading carefully, had grown a little scornful. She had begun to misbehave and, as this deterioration in her conduct had coincided with the return of the Principal from Bournemouth and the new injunction against corporal punishment, she had begun to fancy that she had been spun a tissue of lies, and her scorn had turned to contempt, while her behaviour, already poor, had become markedly worse.
She had revealed herself as something of a bully, and due within weeks to attain the status of Great Girl, had begun to throw her weight about in the Lower Class. In the opinion of both Miss Newton and Miss Crawfurd, she sadly needed taking down a peg or two, but in obedience to their employer's instructions, they had stayed their hands, to see what might transpire. In the meantime, the rest of the Lower Class had seen Daphne get away with murder again and again, and as a result general discipline, hard won in the three months of Miss Abbott's absence, was already beginning to crack.
Miss Carstairs was a Bad Influence; but Fate had marked her down.
Her comeuppance happened like this.
It was a Friday morning, and the occasion of Miss Henrietta Abbott's weekly class in Scripture for the benefit of the whole school of twenty-one pupils. As usual, her lesson, delivered in a barely audible voice, was boring in the extreme; and Daphne Carstairs, not entirely without reason, had begun to fidget and show off to younger girls by making faces.
Miss Abbott droned on, and - unseen by her - Daphne's behaviour deteriorated. At the back of the class, Miss Newton's fingers clenched and unclenched at the spectacle of this unchecked little chit mocking the headmistress, but on receipt of a warning frown from her ally, Miss Crawfurd, said and did nothing.
Miss Carstairs' behaviour grew steadily worse; she had begun to throw pieces of wadded paper at one of the girls in front of her.
Still Miss Abbott did not notice.
Then Miss Carstairs went truly beyond the bounds of mere naughtiness. She dipped a wad of paper in her inkwell and threw that.
Enter Fate, wearing a Gioconda smile.
Miss Carstairs really should have been more careful, but as luck would have it, she did not properly withdraw the paper from the inkwell before casting it; with the result that the inkwell - of the loose-socket fitting type - came free at the same time, so that when the inky paper was thrown, so was the vessel containing the liquid in which it had been dipped.
The wad of paper hit its target, causing a splatter of ink on the back of the junior's neck, and a squeal from the target; but more to the point the inkwell itself sailed through the air and struck Miss Abbott on the very crown of her head.
"Oh!" said the old lady, tottering back, her spectacles slipping down her nose. The inkwell stuck in her coiffure and the dark fluid cascaded down her face and all over her dress.
Before anyone could make a move, even before the collective gasp of outrage from the class had diminished - for the old lady was popular with the children and an assault upon her person was no way to win friends - Miss Crawfurd was striding down the aisle with purposeful intent. She reached the desk at which Miss Daphne Carstairs was sitting, the girl aghast at this turn of events, and without speaking, hauled the naughty girl to her feet by the scruff of her dress at the neck, and frog-marched her to the front of the class.
"With your permission, ma'am," said Miss Crawfurd, calmly, and pulled out a chair.
Miss Abbott sat down weakly in her own chair. She was the Principal; she had the power to forbid the event about to take place, but the ink had run down her face and there was a gleam of anger in her watery old eyes that no one could ever remember seeing before. At all events she nodded to Miss Crawfurd, as if to say "Continue!"
Miss Crawfurd pinned the furiously struggling girl down with her powerful left hand, and with her right proceeded to turn back her green frock, and, after that, the white petticoats. Miss Carstairs' drawers thus came into public view.
There was a buzz of rabid excitement from the class, many of whom were standing up to get a better view. Neither Miss Crawfurd or Miss Newton saw fit to curb their enthusiasm.
Miss Crawfurd had now unbuttoned the flaps at the rear of the lacy pantalettes. With a swift movement she hauled this vital garment down to Miss Carstairs' knees.
Miss Carstairs squealed in mortification and rage and kicked furiously. It availed her nothing.
Miss Crawfurd now began to spank her, with great crackling blows from her wide palm. Within a trice Miss Carstairs' tender fundament had turned bright pink. By the sixth mighty slap it had become a brilliant scarlet. By the twelfth it was the colour of a well-aged claret - but by this time Miss Carstairs' furious yells of rage had turned into wild howls of pain. And by the thirtieth mighty smack, she had even ceased to wriggle and was sobbing broken-heartedly.
The watching faces revealed prurience, curiosity and other emotions; but not one face displayed sympathy. In her short time at the Abbott School, Daphne Carstairs had made too many enemies. The girl she had splashed with ink was wide-eyed with excitement.
This was the first physical punishment inflicted in public in the history of the Abbott School.
Miss Crawfurd stood the weeping criminal on her feet and shook her.
"Miss Daphne Carstairs," she said, and you may believe it was NOT in a tone of loving kindness. "Your behaviour has been an outrage. For the rest of the lesson you will stand in the corner, bare as you are, your hands on your head, speaking to no-one. For the remainder of the school week you will wear no frock, merely a single short petticoat, and you will also wear a placard around your neck, which you will prepare yourself, saying 'UNGOVERNABLE'. You will sleep by yourself in the sanatorium. You will write one thousand lines of Cicero in your best handwriting.
"If during the course of that week you attempt to speak to anyone save myself, Miss Newton, Mrs. Sumner or the Headmistress, you will be severely whipped in front of the whole school with a birch rod you have prepared yourself."
She fixed the rest of the pale and awe-struck Lower Class with a flaming eye.
"-And if any girl attempts to speak to Miss Carstairs during the week to come, she will be caned. Is that understood?"
A frightened mumble from the class.
"Is that understood?"
"Y-Yes , ma'am!"
"Miss Abbott, by your leave," said Miss Crawfurd, turning to her ink-stained employer - who had made no effort whatever to intervene during the impressive but well-earned punishment which had just taken place, and indeed sat with an expression very close to malevolent satisfaction on her face - "By your leave, ma'am, you should withdraw and attend..."
"Yes, yes, of course, Miss Crawfurd," said Miss Abbott, rising to her feet. "I will withdraw. And may I say that your actions have my complete approval. My complete approval!"
Real life spankophile, Ronnie Soul, shares with us some of the things she and her husband get up to in the privacy of their own home, or in a hotel, on board a boat... you name it. Here are extracts from her now not-so-secret diary, each piece focusing on a specific occasion, utilising hand, canes, paddles, rulers, or anything else that happens to be handy that can be used to spank a naughty female bottom. And Ronnie does get spanked - often! Sometimes because she's messed up or been jealous or cheeky, sometimes because spanking is a great form of stress relief, and sometimes simply for the hell of it as she and her partner enjoy it as a fundamental part of their domestic discipline marriage. And then of course there are the delicious after-effects of such spankings to be savoured... where the sex is as sizzling as her well-spanked bottom.