From the Top Shelf - In a Mist, Chapter 8

 

The story so far:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7

You are in for a real treat today. Mr. Lennox does not hold back, and Elizabeth endures not one but two bare-bottom canings. Ouch!

IN A MIST - Chapter 8 - In which Elizabeth experiences bare bottom caning

Throughout the remainder of that week, Lennox fought against the dishonourable side of his nature, taking scrupulous pains to behave with unimpeachable moral rectitude towards his pretty young pupil.

True, he caned Elizabeth twice again. True, on both times he caned her on her bare behind, just as he warned her he would. But on neither occasion did he allow his hand to touch her bottom, let alone her private parts. He administered the punishments with an air of grim, tight-lipped propriety, keeping all traces of sensual delight firmly locked away - though at night in the safety of his room he freely gave rein to his masturbatory urges.

Elizabeth's first bare-bottom caning occurred halfway through Thursday morning during a lesson on French verbs, when Lennox was busily explaining the 'perfect' tense on the blackboard. She got into a dreadful muddle with the verbs conjugated using 'avoir', and the so-called 'unlucky thirteen' verbs conjugated with 'etre', and ended up relying on guesswork for the answers to the exercises he had set.

She frowned in perplexity at the dozen or so French sentences he had chalked up with a bold, calligraphic hand on the board. It was her own fault, she knew, for not paying sufficient attention to her tutor's explanatory lecture.

In a last ditch attempt to get the exercises right, Elizabeth crossed out nearly all her original answers and substituted 'avoir' for 'etre' and vice-versa. Her tummy began to churn in nervous anticipation as she sensed the approach of yet another painful and humiliating punishment.

Lennox was reading at his desk. After the allotted time for her to complete the work had elapsed he closed his book and simply said, "Come, Elizabeth," holding out his hand to receive the fruits of her labour.

She rose awkwardly from the tiny pupil's desk, taking care not to snag her black stockings. Holding her exercise book in trembling fingers she walked slowly towards him.

He took it silently, indicating that she stand by his chair while he corrected her work. She moved with reluctance into position until the hem of her skirt was practically touching his trousered thigh. Her head was downcast, hidden in the waist-length dark blonde hair. She didn't really want to see the horrid bit that was about to happen next.

With snorts of derision and mounting irritation he put big red crosses against all but one of the answers. Then he slammed down his pen and sat back in the chair, wringing his hands in exasperation. "Oh dear me, Elizabeth," he sighed, "we don't seem to have grasped the concept of the perfect tense, do we!"

"Would you like me to have another try at it, sir?" Elizabeth said hopefully, trying to hide her growing agitation.

"No, that is not what I have in mind," he said, rising from his chair. "it is plain we will have to begin again from the beginning. Since I have conspicuously failed to drum the rules governing the perfect tense into your idle brain, Elizabeth,perhaps this second time I shall have more success if I drum them into you from the other end!"

He went quickly to fetch the cane, trying to conceal his delight that yet another good reason for punishing her had just presented itself. Elizabeth just stood there biting her lip miserably. How she dreaded that cane!

This time Lennox made her adopt a different posture from before. He wanted to see her in the classic schoolboy position, bending over and touching her toes with her knickers down around her ankles. The view of Elizabeth's naked rear thus afforded him would be, to say the least, interesting....

"Stand in the centre of the room with your back to me. Pull up your skirt, lower your knickers, then bend right over until you are touching your toes," he commanded, cane in hand, revelling in his power over her.

No modest, well brought-up young lady would react equably to being told by a man to bare her bottom and bend over before him.

Elizabeth was no exception. Her face turned crimson. Why, she thought, shaking with embarrassed terror, he'll surely see everything there is of me!

"Come along, Elizabeth, I don't like to be kept waiting," he urged her, fingering the long yellow cane.

Her cheeks burning with mortification she put her hands up inside the tiny pleated skirt and fumbled self-consciously. There was a muffled 'ping' of elastic as she peeled her knickers down below her knees then let them slip softly to the floor. She felt immensely humbled, for it seemed an act of irrevocable surrender to him.

"Now the skirt," he reminded her, not daring to trust his own hands to perform that delicate office.

She looked pleadingly at him for a second before lifting the hem of the little garment well clear of the intended path of the cane. Lennox stared and stared, spellbound at his very first sight of Elizabeth's naked bottom. How he'd yearned and lusted for this magical moment! His prick stirred into life. Her right buttock, particularly, still bore striking reminders of Tuesday's first caning.

Then, graceful as a dancer, she obediently jack-knifed into position until she was touching the tips of her shiny black low-heeled shoes with her extended fingers. As she gazed down through the dark-blonde screen of her hair at the carpeted floor beneath, Elizabeth could see her little white cotton knickers lying crumpled around her ankles. Her outraged modesty and dread of the white-hot pain shortly to be visited upon her bare bottom made her long for the snug comfort of their protection.

From where he was standing behind her, all Lennox could now see of Elizabeth were her black, stockinged legs, long and straight, and the fleshy white target of her beautiful buttocks, swaying erotically as she rocked slightly on her heels, doing her best to maintain the uncomfortable, undignified posture.

His prick rose in his trousers and throbbed unbearably as he studied the pert dainty perfection of her out-thrust bottom cheeks, noting the dark, unexplored little vale between them. The wispy blonde hair guarding the sacred mystery of her virgin sex.

He flexed the long whippy cane in both hands, then measured it against the width of her bottom with the keen eye of a practised disciplinarian.

Elizabeth screwed up her face and tensed up, waiting for the first stroke to fall. She heard the awful whirring sound as it sped through the air, and she bit her lip to stop herself from screaming.

This time he caned her rapidly. Six searing cuts that followed one another so fast she hardly had time to in between each stroke to draw breath and yell out her distress. She tried pluckily to remain in position touching her toes, but by the fifth and sixthth strokes she was tottering perilously.

The cane seemed to bite really viciously into her bare flesh, much more so than when it landed on her knickers. After the sixth stroke fell, so cruelly and so quickly,her bottom felt as though it had been branded with red-hot wires.

For a while she was speechless with agony. Then she let out a low mortified wail. "It feels on fire!" she gasped, rubbing herself frantically.

And while the effects of the caning were so freshly imprinted on her crimson-striped rear, Lennox led her by the ear to the blackboard where he impassively proceeded to go over again the rules governing the perfect tense.

This time, frantically gulping back her tears, Elizabeth listened intently to every word he uttered.

Finally, by way of illustration, he commanded her to write on the blackboard, "J'ai recu la fessee" which was the nearest equivalent he could think of to "I have been whipped."

The following morning when Elizabeth was hurrying to complete an English composition, she accidentally knocked over the inkpot, staining her skirt and ruining the exercise book she was writing in.

Lennox had no compunction about giving her eight whistling strokes on her bare bottom, despite the presence of the six raised weals from the previous day's caning.

She tried so hard to be brave but the final stroke landed so viciously low upon the baby-soft undercurve of her buttocks that her shrill screams rang throughout the house, startling the servants.

Thus it was that by the end of the week Elizabeth's once unblemished bottom was marred by ugly yellowish-black bruises, although the skin was nowhere near broken.

Strange as it might seem, Elizabeth's devotion to her tutor increased in leaps and bounds each time he caned her. If she had been allowed any say in the matter she would have opted for spankings instead, for she derived no pleasure at all from the cane's appalling smart. But by now she had travelled some considerable way along the path of acceptance and she knew he was only caning her for her own good. The fact that he cared enough about her to do it was, for Elizabeth, more than ample compensation for the pain.

I can't say I am a fan of the "touch the toes" position, because I can't touch anything below my knees, but it does make for a delightful mental image.