From the Top Shelf - A Girl's First Whipping

Today's little tale is one I salvaged from the late Alex Birch's blog. It was written by Penny Birch (no relation!) and is from the book Tight White Cotton published by Nexus. Doesn't that title give you a shiver? This extract comes at the beginning of the book and explains how the narrator, Patricia Laurdale, daughter of the Headmaster no less, discovers the joys of corporal punishment at the hands of a boy three years her junior after she follows him one day during a school free period.

I didn't want anyone to see us together, so I followed a little way behind, keeping out of sight. He walked really slowly, making it easy to follow him, but he kept going, out of the school grounds and on to the rough track that led to the open moor. When he got to the woods at the head of the valley he slowed down even more as if searching for something. We were well away from the school so I decided to approach him and managed to sneak up really close before he saw me. When he did he gave a start and for a moment looked really guilty, as if I had caught him up to no good.

"Hello, Percy. What are you up to?" I greeted him, and I'm certain he blushed.

"Just going for a walk," he answered quickly. "It's a beautiful day, don't you think?"

"Yes, beautiful," I agreed. "May I walk with you?"

He looked uncomfortable but agreed and we set off together. I had it all planned; how I would tell him I knew about Elaine and threaten to tell my father if he didn't give me the full story. In practice it wasn't so easy, and I was still trying to pluck up the courage for it when we reached the old quarry at the head of the track. It was a lonely place with rusting machinery, two old cars and quite a few old beer cans and cigarette stubs lying around. I realised why Percy had looked so guilty when I caught up with him.

"Were you coming here to drink or smoke?" I demanded, trying to look really shocked.

Both were caning offences, with expulsion for persistent offenders, and from the colour of Percy's face I knew at once that I had found him out.

"Neither," he stammered, but his face was red, just like a drawing I had seen of Billy Bunter caught raiding another boy's tuck box.

"Don't lie to me!" I snapped. "I'll tell my father if you don't tell the truth."

"And if I do?"

"I won't. I promise."

He hesitated, obviously not trusting me, but he really didn't have much of a choice. Then he gave a shrug and reached inside his jacket to pull out a little bottle. Drinking was as forbidden to me as it was to the boys, Daddy being strictly teetotal, and just the sight of that dark bottle sent a wonderfully illicit thrill through me.

"What is it?" I demanded.

"Wine," he said sullenly.

"Let's drink it then." I answered.

He brightened immediately and smiled, then nodded towards the old sheds at the back of the quarry. I followed him, feeling guilty and excited. The entrance to the shed he chose was choked with brambles, but he held them aside for me and let them swing back behind us, sealing us off. The inside was big and almost empty, with a great block of concrete that must have once had some machinery on it. A long window gave us a view out over the woods and the track, another faced the the rock face of the quarry. It was perfect for illicit goings on, except that if anyone did come there was no obvious way out.

"If we see anybody we go out the back window and up a little gully in the cliff." Percy told me as if reading my mind. "It's a bit tricky but if I can do it you should be able to."

"Open the wine then!"

He took the bottle from his pocket, then a corkscrew. I watched, feeling nervous, guilty and wonderfully conspiratorial, as he carefully drew the cork. It popped open, and to my surprise he drew a small glass from another pocket, filled it half full, sniffed the wine and then passed it to me.

"It's a 'forty five'," he informed me. "A good year, but a bit young. Still it should be all right in a half."

I took a sip, then a swallow, finding a strange, earthy taste, then a hot feeling in the back of my throat. Nodding in what I hoped was a knowledgeable way I passed the glass back to Percy, who took a sip, frowned at the glass, then took another.

"Not bad," he stated. "Still, who'd believe me if I said I'd drunk it with the Headmaster's daughter!"

I giggled, still thinking of Billy Bunter, but of an altogether more wicked Bunter if Elaine McKeown was to be believed.

"You'd get the cane if we were caught," I said "You know that, don't you?"

"It's absurd," he answered. "I'm eighteen. I bought this in a little shop in Harrogate quite legally. The school has no right to stop me."

"You'd still get caned."

"Not if they don't catch me."

"You're very brave. Doesn't the cane hurt terribly?"

Percy didn't answer immediately, but took a sip of his wine, then passed the glass back to me and sat down on the concrete block.

"Yes it does," he admitted "but it's soon over."

"But isn't it dreadfully shameful?," I persisted "I mean you have to take your trousers down don't you?"

"And our underpants! You just have to think about something else."

"I couldn't stand it! I know I'd cry and everything."

"It's worse if you make an exhibition of yourself - then you get teased. Anyway you girls are lucky. You don't get beaten, do you?"

"NOOO. That would be awful, not to mention indecent!"

"Why? I mean why more so than for a boy?"

"Well it's not the same! I mean they couldn't - not to a girl!"

"Why not? They used to, knickers down and everything! They still do in some schools!"

I was blushing furiously and took a swallow of my wine to hide my confusion. Just the way he'd mentioned the girls having their knickers pulled down had set my stomach fluttering; it was just too much, too awful to think about. I mean a girl, having to pull her knickers down and display her bare bottom!

"I'm sure that's not true." I said, trying to sound haughty.

Percy shrugged and took the glass back from me to refill it, then held it up to the bright sunlight to admire the colour, apparently indifferent to my blushes. He didn't seem bothered, but I desperately wanted to carry on talking about being beaten, even though it was doing strange things to me.

"It's worse for a girl," I said defensively.

"I disagree," he replied. "You have bottoms, just like us boys, only better padded."

"But..but.." I managed and then stopped. I desperately wanted to explain that it was far ruder for a girl to show herself bare than for a boy, which I thought everybody understood. Apparently Percy didn't.

"What does it feel like?" I asked, keen to keep talking - but NOT about girls getting it!

"Let me do it to you and you'll find out." He laughed.

"NO! You couldn't" I exclaimed, horrified by the proposal.

Suddenly he wasn't the safe, silly Billy Bunter any more, but a wicked devil who liked the idea of a girl getting smacked across her bare bottom.

"I know about you and Elaine McKeown, you know,' I said quickly. "You'd better not try anything funny!"

Do you really?" he grinned "And you dared to come up here with me alone?"

I couldn't answer him, because I really didn't know - but whatever it was, it was obviously pretty dirty, far worse than I had ever imagined, and suddenly I was scared. Percy might have been fat, jolly and soft but he was still a man and much bigger than me too.

"Don't worry!" He laughed. "I've never made Elaine do anything she didn't want to, and I wouldn't to you either."

"Do you...cane her? I asked hesitantly trying to stop my jaw trembling.

"No," he answered. "You really don't know, do you. I'm sure she wouldn't tell you."

"You tell me then."

"No it wouldn't be fair. You might tell someone else."

"I wouldn't, I swear!"

"How do I know? We haven't got a secret so how could I be sure of you?"

"We do have a secret. We're drinking and we shouldn't be."

"Haaa, that won't do! I'd still get the worst of it if we were found out. Let me cane you and I'll tell."

"Oh you PIG!"

"There's no need for temper. The way you've been going on about it, you are obviously dying for it!"

"I am NOT!"

"Then I won't tell you about Elaine. I don't mind."

I didn't answer because I couldn't. The horrible pig wanted to see my bare bottom, and then beat me. Now I knew what Elaine meant about him being dirty. I guessed he had caught her out, just like he had caught me out. The difference was, I wasn't going to do it, even though my tummy was fluttering like mad and part me wanted nothing more than what he was suggesting.

"Tell you what," he said suddenly. "Let me see your knickers and I'll tell you about Elaine."

I just stood there with my mouth open, appalled by just how dirty he was, but fascinated by the whole thing, by the thought of showing off my bottom, by the thought of him making me do rude things. Most of all I was excited by the thought of the caning he had suggested I wanted.

"Come on," he insisted. "Just a peep."

"You are a dirty pig, Ottershaw, and I ought to tell my father," I answered but I was already pulling up my dress.

"No," he stopped me. "Don't. I want to do that."

"Oh all right," I snapped.

"Turn around then," he said cheerfully, " and stick it out for me."

I stamped my foot as I turned and pushed out my bottom, utterly furious but unable to stop what I was doing. His hands went to the hem of my dress and he started to lift, slowly, revealing my legs, then my stocking tops and lastly the seat of my knickers. He didn't just take his peep but kept my skirt up - I could feel his eyes on my bottom, which felt very big and very prominent inside my knickers. I was just glad I'd put on plain white ones that morning.

"You're beautiful, Patty," he whispered softly then kissed my bottom through the seat of my knickers.

A shiver ran through me, a lovely feeling, so that even though it felt indecent and improper, it didn't feel wrong.

"I'm going to take your knickers down, Patty," he went on. "They need to come down so you can show that lovely bottom, all bare and beautiful."

I could have stopped him but I didn't want to. He kissed my bottom again and then, ever so slowly, he began to pull down my knickers. I felt every inch of it as my waistband slid down, revealing what I was supposed to keep secret, exposing me with his face just inches from my flesh. He took them right down, settling them upside down around my lower thighs, then kissed me again, this time on the crease of my bare bottom.

"Patty, I want to cane you," he said softly. "Please? You have such a pretty bottom and I want to."

I said he could, though I could hardly believe they were my words. Percy disappeared immediately and I waited, bending over with my dress tucked up, my knickers down and my bare bottom fully presented. Soon he was back, swishing an old car aerial from side to side and grinning from ear to ear. I hung my head in shame at what I was doing.

"I'm going to give you six," he said, "just like we get. Then you'll know how it feels. And when it's over you will thank me for it, because it's good for you, because it increases your sense of humility before God...at least that's what your father always says!"

I gave a sob as I stuck my bottom out for it, looking back and waiting for the pain. He gave the aerial one last swish and then smacked me with it, right across the centre of my bottom. I jumped and squealed as a fiery pain shot through my bottom, really stinging, like nettles only worse.

"No, no, stop!" I begged and covered my poor smarting bottom with my hands.

"Come on, Patty, push it out again," he said, quite kindly, "It's what we have to do when your father canes us, so you must take it the same way."

"But I don't get caned!" I wailed "And I haven't done anything!"

"You've been drinking," he answered. "I'd get caned for that. So why shouldn't you? Now be a good girl and stick that pretty bottom out!"

I sobbed again but refused to take my hands away from my bottom. Maybe he was right - maybe I did deserve to be punished - but it hurt so much! The first cut had begun to throb and my whole bottom felt warm, also heavy in my hands, the cheeks soft and sensitive, with the cane welt a fiery line of raised flesh running across both of them.

"Take your hands away, Patty!" he ordered, gently but firmly, " and put them on your head. That's what we have to do for rubbing, so it's only right you do the same."

If he hadn't put that first stripe across my bottom I don't think I would have done it, but I did, despite knowing how painful it really was. With my hands on top of my head I pushed my bottom out and and shut my eyes tight, waiting for the stroke with my whole body shaking. It came hard, making me cry out again and jump up and down, clutching my bottom.

"Hands back on head!" Percy said firmly. "We get extra if we take them away and so should you, so now it's going to be seven."

I could feel the tears starting from my eyes but I put my hands back on my head and stuck my bottom out again, simply unable to disobey him. My whole bottom was now throbbing and there was a big lump in my throat but there was another feeling too, in my pussy, strangely moist down between my thighs.

He gave me the third stroke, and I jumped and squealed again, yet managed to keep my hands on my head. I was shaking really hard, and the tears were threatening to spill from my eyes, but I pushed my bottom out again, beaten and obedient and needing more or the hot feeling that was building up between my legs. The fourth cut hit my bottom low and I really yelled and my knees buckled, making my bottom open up before I quickly got back in position.

I swallowed hard, choking back my tears of humiliation. He had seen my fanny from behind and my bottom hole too, which was even worse. The fifth stroke came as I was till thinking about the shame of a boy seeing what was between my bottom cheeks and I jumped and cried out like before. As I closed my legs I felt the wetness. I was sure he would see and know I was excited, which made the shame so much worse.

"You see, it's no different for girls." he said. "You act just the same, shaking your head to dull the pain, swallowing to check your tears. A beating is a beating, boy or girl!"

I didn't answer, because it wasn't the pain that was making me shake my head but the dreadful realisation that the caning was getting me excited. In fact the fifth stroke had hardly seemed to hurt at all and my bottom just felt as if it was glowing. I pushed it out again, not too far at first, then all the way because I couldn't stop myself any more. I wanted him to see my fanny...and my bottom hole. I wanted him to see it all!

"Oh Patty, you are so pretty" he whispered and then the tears really started to come.

The sixth stroke bit into my bottom and I cried aloud but quickly got back into my lewd pose, waiting for punishment with my bottom cheeks wide open and my little hole showing.

"Just one more, darling." he said and the seventh stroke came down hard across the fullest part of my cheeks, right over my bottom hole.

I jerked and squealed again but relief was flooding through me, a great, wonderful wave of it. Percy was holding his arms out to me as I turned and went to him. He had beaten me and should have been the last person I wanted comfort from, but it wasn't like that. It was because he had beaten me and controlled me, that I wanted to hold him, and hold him with my knickers still down, the evidence of my punishment showing clearly behind me. I was sobbing and shaking as he held me close, crying freely into his neck as he stroked my hair and patted my inflamed bottom. I wanted to ask him to touch me, to feel my wet pussy, but I couldn't get the words out, then he was taking my hand and was guiding it gently downwards.

"Oh God!" was all I managed, as he placed my hand on the huge bulge at the front of his trousers.

"I want you to do me with your hand, Patty," he whispered. "Come on, I'm going to take it out!"

Once can only suppose that the bell rang just then and Percy had to sprint awkwardly back to school for his next class.

From the Top Shelf - The Flogging of Annette

Today's extract comes from the classic novel Frank and I published in 1902 by Grove Press of New York which, you are probably aware, is about a spankophile who takes in a young 'boy' who turns out not to be!! This scene takes place after our trusty narrator has realised that 'Frank' is in fact 'Frances' and becomes sexually involved with her. They go on a visit to Paris as lovers, and on returning from a stroll to their hotel, they catch the chambermaid, Annette, stealing from their belongings.

When she saw us suddenly enter the room, she jumped up, turned very pale, and stood looking at us, utterly taken aback and trembling all over. She was a tall, slim, good looking girl about twenty one years old; with a trim figure, black hair and eyes, red lips and white teeth, and a saucy little nez retrousse. She had a clear olive complexion, and she was dressed in a well fitting black frock, with white apron, collar and cuffs, and her luxuriant hair was covered by a white frilled cap with scarlet ribbons.

Frances at once went to the toilet table, on which she had left her purse, but it was gone. When she informed me of the fact, I locked the door and put the key in my pocket.

Then I went to the trembling girl and searched her capacious pocket, finding in it the purse, half a dozen lace handkerchieves, the same number of pairs of gloves, and also a number of small articles she had taken out of the trunk. Had we not happened to return unexpectedly, and thus catch the thief red handed, we should never have known who had stolen the things.

Frances could not speak French, so I acted as spokesman, saying to the girl, "We have caught you nicely, Annette. You are a thief. What have you got to say for yourself before I send for the manager of the hotel and ask him to hand you over to the police?" I had no intention of doing any such thing, as the whole thing would have been a major bore, but I wanted to give the girl a fright.

She burst into floods of tears, wringing her hands, and exclaiming in a tone of entreaty " Oh, sir! Oh, sir! Don't give me to the police. I am an honest girl but I was suddenly tempted to do wrong when I saw the purse and the keys on the table. Oh do not have me arrested! Forgive me! Oh, please forgive me, I have an old mother to support. Oh please forgive me!"

She was in an awful funk and it suddenly struck me that there might be some fun to be had. I thought it very likely that, rather than go to gaol, she would let me flog her. At any rate I would give her the choice of the alternatives and I hoped she would choose the flogging. She was a clean looking, pretty girl and my cock stirred at the thought of turning her up, and reddening her bottom.

So, I said to her: "You are a thief, and therefore you must be punished, but I will not hand you over to the police if you will consent to receive a flogging, in the same way that we flog naughty girls in England." She stopped crying and looked at me for a moment, her big black eyes wide open, as if she hardly grasped the meaning of my words, then she said, in a tone of relief: "Oh sir, rather than go to prison and lose my good character, I will consent to receive any punishment you wish to inflict on me."

"Very well," I said. "But you must understand that I will flog you soundly."

She shuddered slightly and asked, in a shaky voice "But, sir, in what way do you intend to flog me?"

"I intend to flog your bare bottom." I replied.

She blushed scarlet, and again began to cry, saying in a horrified tone: "Oh but sir; when I said I would take the punishment, I did not think you intended to inflict it upon my bare person. I thought you would flog me over my clothes. You must not strip me. I cannot bear the exposure. It would be too shameful. Oh! I cannot suffer it."

"Well, if you will not submit to me entirely, I must send for the police," I said, walking to the bell rope and taking it in my hand.

"Oh, don't ring the bell! Wait a moment. Oh! What shall I do! Oh, please don't send for the police!" she wailed in a piteous tone, stretching out her arms with an imploring gesture towards me, while the tears ran down her flushed cheeks.

"I WILL ring the bell unless you consent to take a severe flogging on your bare bottom," I said sternly.

She wrung her hands and wept bitterly; then after a few moments hesitation, she sobbed out "Oh sir, it is shameful to be laid bare...but I cannot go to prison. I must...submit. Oh! Oh!"

Then turning her back to us, she covered her blushing face with her apron, and sobbed.

The girl's horror at the idea of her bottom being exposed was deep and unfeigned, for she was evidently a very modest girl. I must confess that the sight of her distress added piquancy to the whole affair. It always affords great pleasure to a lover of the rod, to flog a female culprit who appears to feel the shame of the exposure more than the pain of the whipping.

All the time the talk had been going on, Frances has stood looking interested, but not understanding a word that was said; and she now impatiently asked what I had been saying.

I told her that I had given Annette the alternative of going to gaol or taking a flogging, and that she had chosen the flogging.

"She deserves it," said Frances emphatically, and with rather a grim smile. Then, eagerly: "Let me flog her. You know I have been longing to inflict corporal punishment, and now there is a chance for me. Do let me flog her."

I smiled, for I could quite understand her desire to whip, and resolved to let her have her wish. "All right," I said, "I will horse her on my back, and you shall flog her."

Frances looked very pleased, and at once prepared for action by taking off her gloves , hat and jacket. Then she said: "We have got no rod, and I am not going to make my hand sore by spanking her, so you must find something for me to flog her with."

I looked around the room for some instrument of punishment, and my eyes fell on a pair of small rug straps, each about a couple of feet long and half an inch wide. One of them would do very well, as it would sting the culprit's bottom sharply without bruising the flesh.

So I pointed the straps out to Frances, and told her to take one of them. Annette was still standing with her back towards us, her apron was over her head, and she was crying. Going to her, I laid my hand on her shoulder, turned her round and drew her hands away from her face, saying :The lady - my wife - is going to flog you. So you are fortunate. Your punishment will not be as severe as if I was holding the strap. Now take off your dress and stays."

"Oh if only Monsieur would please leave the room I promise not to resist Madame while she flogs me," said Annette, clasping her hands and pleading pitifully.

"I will not leave the room. I am going to hold you while you are being punished. Now remove your dress and stays, and be quick or I will ring the bell."

She hesitated a moment, and I laid my hand again on the bell-rope, then, heaving a deep sigh, she slowly, with trembling fingers, took off the two garments, and stood before us, with her head lowered and with streaming eyes. As her chemise was cut rather low at the neck , I could see the division between her small but well rounded bubbies.

I had made her partly undress because, when a woman is 'horsed' for a flogging with her dress and stays on, it is very difficult to get her petticoats turned up high enough to bare her bottom in a satisfactory way.

At one side of the room, there was a large pier glass, and opposite it a wardrobe with a long mirror, and it struck me that if I stood between the two articles of furniture, I should be able to see the whole of the girl's body reflected in the looking-glass , and thus be able to witness the flogging.

"Now, Annette, I am going to take you on my back and hold you, while Madame flogs you." So saying, I went to the sobbing girl, who trembled and shrank away from me, but made no attempt at resistance. Seizing one of her wrists in each of my hands, I drew her arms over my shoulders, and then, stooping forward, raised her feet well off the floor, "horsing" her in proper style without any difficulty, for I am six feet in height and, although she was tall, she was not heavy.

"Now, Frances," I said, "the girl will be sure to kick and struggle when she feels the strap, so you must pin up her petticoats so that they will not fall down in the middle of her punishment."

Frances rolled the culprit's petticoats, which were white and clean, up to her shoulders, and pinned the garments securely. She wore her chemise under her drawers, which were tightly stretched over her bottom by the curve of her body, and, as I was between the two mirrors, I could see everything perfectly.

As Frances began to untie the girl's drawers, she sobbed out "Oh, Madame, don't take down my drawers!" The drawers were untied and pulled down to her knees. Then she made another appeal: "Oh please leave my chemise. Leave me some modesty. Do not strip me quite bare!"

The chemise was rolled up and pinned to the petticoats, leaving the girl naked from the middle of her back to the tops of her stockings and, as she felt her last garment removed, she uttered a low wailing cry of shame.

She had a small but well shaped bottom, slender thighs and slim legs, cased in tight, clean, white cotton stockings gartered at the middle of her thighs with black ribbons. Her ankles were trim, and she was wearing neat, well polished, shoes. Her olive tinted skin was very smooth, and it appeared to be fine in texture.

Everything being ready, I told the weeping culprit, who was shivering with shame and fear, that she must try and bear her punishment with fortitude, and not attract attention by making an outcry.

Frances took the strap and twisted part of it round her hand, leaving a length of about eighteen inches to flog with.

"Now, Frances," I said, "give her a couple of dozen strokes and lay them on smartly, but not too severely. Begin at the upper part of her bottom and flog down to her thighs, then up again to her loins. Keep cool, and don't cross the cuts."

Frances whirled the strap in the air, and as I looked in the glass in front of me, I could plainly see the girl's eyes dilate with fear, and I also noticed the cheeks of her bottom contract, the smooth skin assuming a rough appearance. Crack! The long piece of leather fell smartly across the girl's bottom, and both the olive tinted cheeks were instantly marked with a long red stripe, the exact breadth of the strap, the stinging pain making the culprit start convulsively on my back, and utter a stifled cry. Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Frances swung the strap with a graceful sweep of her arm, and as skilfully as if she had been a practised flogger; laying on the strokes with equal force, in slow time, one below the other, so that the red stripes were printed on Annette's skin at almost regular distances apart.

She plunged and wriggled, whimpered and sobbed; and I could feel her body quiver, and shrink against my back each time the stinging strap struck her bottom.

I had never before 'horsed' a girl, therefore it was a novel sensation, and a pleasing one, to feel her breasts and belly rubbing against my back, and the front of her thighs rubbing my bottom as she writhed in pain. Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! She bounced about, twisting her hips from side to side; her flesh twitched at each stroke; she turned her head and looked over her shoulder, with an agonised expression on her face, as the strap hissed through the air over her bottom, then she gasped and cried, the tears running in streams down the scarlet cheeks. By this time, Frances had flogged down to the culprit's thighs, so that the whole of her bottom was prettily marked with alternate red and white stripes.

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Frances was now flogging upwards. The sharp noise made by the strap as it struck the girl's firm flesh echoed through the room. She kicked up her heels in pain, struggling hard to free her wrists from my grasp, and though she did not scream, she moaned and cried piteously:

"Oh madame! Madame! Oh, chere madame! Pas - si - fort! Oh, pas - si - fort! Oh madame ayez pitie! J'en - ai - assez ! Oh ! Oh!OHHHH!!"

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Her moans changed to low barely suppressed shrieks , and she threw her legs about so frantically that her drawers fell off completely, and in her now liberated writhes and plunges, I caught sight of the thick black hair at the junction of her thighs, her struggles becoming so violent that I had some difficulty in holding her in position.

Crack! CRACK! Frances laid on the last two strokes with a little extra force, extracting from the culprit two rather loud squeals; and now that the flogging was over, the whole surface of her bottom, from the loins to the thighs, was a bright mass of scarlet where one stripe had overlapped another.

Frances threw down the strap, and stood for a moment looking with an amused smile at the results of her handiwork, then she unpinned the girl's petticoats and let them fall. I released Annette's wrists and she stood on the floor, crying and twisting her loins with the smarting pain of her well whipped bottom. Her face was bright red and she looked very ashamed.

"Now, Annette, it is all over. You may go," I said.

She picked up her drawers, and turning aside, drew them over her legs and tied the string around her waist, then she put on her stays and dress, whimpering, sobbing, and wiping her streaming eyes with her apron, then she put her cap on straight and hurried out of the room.

Wasn't the detail exquisite!

From the Top Shelf - Stripped and spanked!

I will let our late friend Alex Birch introduce today's story.

"This spicy little tale was originally published in the American spanking magazine Corporal and was reproduced a few years back in the wonderful Anthology of Spanking Literature from Janus Publications

It must be the dream fantasy of so many Hollywood film directors who have torn out their hair over temperamental film actresses who habitually arrive late, oversleep and so on. I would guess this tale was based on Marilyn Monroe but it's a fun read anyway. Some of the terminology and prices give away how old the story is!! The appointed spanker and narrator, by the way, is no relation!

A famous film star, habitually late on set, is called to a meeting of the production team and given a shock. She is told that under the small print of her contract (which of course she left to others) she can be spanked for non performance.The story is called 'Nina Navola -stripped and spanked!' Read on:-

'You're not serious?,' she cried 'you cannot spank me, Nina Navola!. I'm an internationally famous movie star. I'll see my lawyers about this!'

Mr. Wilson answered her by saying 'We've spoken to your lawyers and they agree that we have every right to spank you. To recover the losses that the company has sustained by your habitual lateness on set, we are going to film your spanking in glorious technicolor. I am certain that many private clubs and organisations would pay $10 a ticket to see some authentic real live action of a glamorous movie star receiving a spanking.

'We have employed a Mr. Bircher to administer your spanking. He is an expert at warming a lady's bottom and I'm sure that Hot Pictures Inc. will soon have, and pardon the expression, a hot can, namely yours, on colour film. The bedroom scene we were going to film this morning will make a perfect setting for the unrehearsed spanking movie. So go over there and wait for him!'

Miss Navola stared at me in horror when I walked onto the set. She was indeed a glamorous young lady as her figure amply showed. She was dressed in a red sheath dress moulded skin tight to her body. It was difficult to walk in and she shuffled over to the bedroom set, which was already set up with cameras, lighting equipment and booms.

Nina's vital statistics were 36-25-38 and naturally I was most interested in the last of these, a queen sized ass indeed!

Asking Nina to face me, I unzipped her red sheath dress and told her to step out of it. I took the hem of her silky black slip and slowly inched it over her entire body till I removed it over her head. The cameras which had been rolling since I began undressing this glamorous movie queen were now filming Nina Navola wearing a white brassiere which was filled to capacity and seemed about to burst. A black garter belt held up her sheer stockings which encased two beautiful legs, and sexy pink panties covered her buxom ass.

Unclasping her bra, her big breasts leaped out at me, glad to be free of their encasement. Holding them for a moment to increase her humiliation I said 'Most people are interested in staring at these big tits of yours but I'm more interested in the other end!'

She was blushing furiously and close to tears. I told her to go over to the luxurious double bed and bend over the edge of it. Tying her hands and waist with cord and belt to the bed, so she could not move those parts of her anatomy, I was ready to remove her panties. I took hold of them by the waistband and pulled them right down to her knees. Ass size 38? Yeah no doubt about it, maybe even larger! Her voluptuous buns stared me in the face, just begging to be spanked. I left her black garter belt and stockings on for they would clearly frame the spanking area.

Increasing her humiliation and embarrassment still further, I let my hands roam over her buxom cheeks, kneading every inch of those pleasurable mounds to my desire.

I decided that a birch rod would be a perfect spanking tool for Nina's naked bottom, so I selcted a pliable one from my spanking case, one I believed would do the job well. Stepping up behind this glamorous movie queen whose naked backside trembled in anticipation, I raised my hand and brought the birch down with full force on Nina's creamy white mounds, and she flinched as she felt her first painful sting of the rod.

I told her this was just the beginning and that she could expect many more strokes to fall on her bare rear end.

Three times more I brought down the rod and three red stripes on her ripe bottom were now very visible to the cameras taking in every spanking scene from every angle. One camera was shooting from the left side, one from the right side of the young woman and one was right above getting an interesting top shot of Nina's wriggling bottom. One camera was placed right in front to record her pained facial expressions as she underwent this humiliating punishment. Yet another camera was trained for a below close up of her buxom rear end and it was certainly getting some rare private footage of the movie star never before seen in public!

At ten second intervals my birch rod landed precisely on her rounded mounds and she started to cry. Her once white buttocks were now bright pink as three more searing strokes descended on her striped behind and her cries of pain grew louder, the boom microphone overhead picking up every painful sound emerging from this spoilt and pampered beauty.

I continued to assault her blushing rear as she pleaded with me to stop her painful punishment and swore she would never again be late on a movie set. I told her it was too late for remorse and she should have thought of that before. With these words I again brought the birch rods down on her flaming bottom.

Each spank seared into her lower seat and her thighs were now getting their fair share. This brought agonising cries of pain from Nina and I knew the cameras were picking up every wriggle of her squirming bottom. Her long legs were still encased in sheer stockings but she had long ago kicked off her high heel shoes, her legs now flagpoles as her pink panties now waved the surrender flag, but I wasn't finished yet!

Her anguished cries filled the set of 'Sexy, Willing and Able' as its star was put through the most shame filled and painful experience of her life! Twenty five birch strokes was a goodly dose so I finished with three hard strokes to her scorched bottom then stepped back to admire my handiwork. I am sure any artist would have given me A for effort as I had truly redesigned a glamorous star's milky white bottom into a flaming cauldron of reddened flesh.

Once again my hands roamed her bottom as I touched each painful strip. Nina wailed aloud, the agony of my touch flooding through her body. I told her that, although she was the first movie queen to taste the birch rod, the same clause was now being incorporated into the contracts of other beauties whose fate would soon be a similar one.

I untied her hands and waist and told her not to rub her bottom, as further punishment, and not to let her panties drop below her knees. She shuffled across to the corner with difficulty and I speeded up the process with another sharp swish of the rods. With a loud cry of pain, she tottered a little faster, her large tits bouncing up and down and her wails were still audible five minutes after my last strokes had landed on her bare ass!

Nina Navola, who had walked onto the set as an arrogant, temperamental hussy some half hour before had been transformed by a painful, but well deserved, spanking into a whimpering submissive standing in the corner and contemplating what she had done to deserve the humiliating experience of stripping naked for a painful spanking, captured in full glorious colour for all the world to see.

The cameras got one last revealing shot of Nina's blushing ass as I told her to bend down and pull up her panties. I heard Wilson say 'Cut...and print that!'

Wilson went over to Nina, who was still sobbing in anguish, and said 'I hope you have learned your lesson from this humiliating and painful experience. Now take the rest of the day off and be back on set, on time, tomorrow. If you break any part of your contract with us again, your next punishment will be even worse!'

I asked Wilson for a print of the film and he promised to send me one. He then asked me if I had a good title for the movie and I grinned saying 'How about "Nina Navola - stripped and spanked!" '

Do you remember the old Dick Van Dyke Show episode called "How to Spank a Star"? Well, that was how!

From the Top Shelf - The New Callipygians

Today's story is rather a long one, written many years ago by the late Alex Birch. If you are like me, the term 'callipygian' is an unfamiliar one. It is used later in the story, and it means "having beautifully-shaped buttocks". Have I piqued your interest?

Jane Forrester lowered the sun visor of her silver grey Volvo estate to display the photo electric entry card as she reached the imposing gates of Chalford Manor. The ornate metal gates swung open and Jane eased the car into gear before driving down the long winding drive to the splendid Tudor mansion.

Although this was a routine Jane followed daily as Head of the Household, she always treasured the beauty of the Chalford grounds, the lawns and gardens maintained immaculately thanks to her employer's love of horticulture and her dedication to maintaining standards.

Jane had worked for the Duke and Duchess of Falmouth for nearly eight years, since she'd obtained her University degree at the age of 22. The job she held was no menial servant's role but a supervisory post which required accountancy and management skills, and was extremely well paid As with so many stately homes, part of Chalford had been opened to the public and Jane had to supervise the staff required to service the needs of the domestic household and the budget for services to the general public, restaurant and bar staff and the like.

Jane hardly saw the Duke at all, for he was content to leave the household matters to his wife, preferring instead to concentrate on his political life in the House of Lords and his love of cricket, but Jane had a regular weekly appointment with the Duchess to discuss the budgets and the immediate needs of the House. They got on well, although the Duchess chose to preserve the formality of their relationship but was no less of a kind employer for that.

As Jane neared the stately home and the staff car park, she tried to shake off a mood of foreboding and unease, for there were distressing clouds in her life at present which refused to go away. She swallowed hard as she got out of the car and switched on the alarm lock. She was anxious to discover why the Duchess had insisted on a meeting this morning, at very short notice, not on their regular Thursday. A shiver of fear ran through Jane's shapely frame as she walked up the steps of Chalford House and inserted her swipe card into the entry scanner.

Once in her private office, she picked up the internal phone and hit '0'. The dulcet tones at the other end replied immediately and Jane said "Just to let you know I'm here, Ma'am." A pause then, "Very well, Ma'am. I'll be up immediately."

Five minutes later she was sitting facing her employer in the Duchess of Falmouth's private study and her nerves were increasing. It was nothing tangible, just that her employer's face was inscrutable, not welcoming or warm.

"Thank you for complying with my request at such short notice, Jane" the Duchess said politely but coldly and Jane, mystified, replied "My pleasure, Ma'am."

"I'm sure you are wondering why I called you here today but first, forgive me, but I need to ask you a few personal questions."

Jane said, hesitantly, "Of course, Ma'am. As you wish."

The Duchess nodded. "Jane, I understand your husband lost his directorship with Ridgeway and Templeton brokers recently. Am I right?"

Jane stiffened with apprehension. Where was this going?

"He-he resigned over policy differences," she said anxiously, "it-it's just a temporary problem, Ma'am. He is considering his options."

"I think not, Jane," the Duchess' voice was hard and insistent. "I am told on good authority that due to 'irregularities' he was given the option of resigning or being fired, with the consequent publicity."

Jane's face had begun to burn with shame and rage. What right had this woman? What was going on?

"It-it was a huge misunderstanding," she faltered, "I-I'm sure it will be-"

"- and your little boy has just started at the Templeton School. My, my now THAT must be expensive."

Jane sat red faced and wide-eyed, lost for words. A growing sense of dread was beginning to consume her.

The Duchess calmly laid some invoices on the table.

"-which presumably explains why the invoices I have for food and drink for the last three months do not tie up with what is actually in the kitchens and wine stores, Jane. And, do you know, I bet if I insisted on you showing me the freezers and storage cupboards in your home, that's where we would find the difference!"

Jane stared at her employer, her face a picture of red faced shame and horror. She thought about lying then realised in an instant just how pointless that would be. She simply broke down in tears, her pretty face racked with sobs.

The Duchess looked on impassively as Jane bravely tried to pull herself together.

"I'm so sorry, Ma'am, I am so ashamed. The expenses began to overwhelm us. When James resigned, his 'golden handshake' just about paid off our debts. We had been living above our means and –oh I have been such a fool! I will of course resign immediately, Ma'am"

The Duchess stared at her coldly.

"No you won't," she said harshly, "I don't intend to give you that option. I may well fire you and then both you and your husband will be branded as thieves and neither of you will ever hold your heads up in society again. You will both be finished!" She paused and said dryly, "I may visit you at the refuge for the homeless if I have time!"

Jane stared at her, speechless with horror, but the Duchess was not finished yet.

"Now I may not fire you, because, despite this, I am very fond of you, Jane. Fond but disappointed. And so I may seek recompense in another way. You see we all have secrets and I have, shall we say, interests which I would not appreciate any but my closest friends sharing –"

She stared at Jane who, still in shock, gazed in bewilderment.

"- but I need to know I can trust you. And of course what better way is there to ensure trust than blackmail? Now the revelation of your scam might be sufficient but your husband might well be aware of your little game. So I decided I needed something a little more compelling–"

Jane sat rigid with shame and terror as the Duchess reached into a drawer then tossed some photographs over to her. The young woman's face turned white and she barely controlled the urge to retch.

"Do try not to vomit on the carpet, Jane," the Duchess said dryly, "It's just been cleaned. I can understand your distress though. You have no mystery left from the look of these! Such pronounced nipples! And I see you shave down there too. How trendy! I must say you have a lovely body –"

Jane's body racked with helpless sobs but the Duchess continued mercilessly.

" –and the boy, it's young Richard Pemberton, of course, Lady Fairford's lad! Jane, have you no shame? He is only 19! My, you're quite the cradle snatcher! Still I can I quite see the attraction, he IS a big boy for his age.! Not lacking in sexual awareness either! Just look at the third picture with your arse in the air! Jane how COULD you let him do THAT! Does your husband screw you there or-"

"MA'AM PLEEEEASE –" Jane's voice was an agonised shriek, "please I'm so sorry. I must have been mad. I'll do ANYTHING you ask, ANYTHING! Please don't shame me any more!"

"Very well, I think we understand each other, "the Duchess said grimly taking the photographs back from Jane's shaking hands," and yes I did have you followed. I suspected you were a randy little cow and I'm pleased to know I was right. You may come to appreciate that 'talent' sooner than you think."

She paused. "Now what I need is a servant – a domestic menial." She saw Jane's face fill with distress and she smiled sadistically. "Which is what you should be reduced to here and be completely humiliated but I'll spare you that. You will keep your job here – unless you try to cheat me again – but this is extra curricular. You will be available to me on at least two evenings a month, do you understand? You will not know which evenings until the last minute at which I will expect you to cancel any prior engagement and to be at the address you are given. You may make any excuse you wish but you must not tell ANYONE – including your husband, who you are with, where you are going, or what happens there. You must also do everything you are told, without question! If any of those conditions are broken, I will ruin you both. Is that clear?"

Jane bowed her head helplessly. "Yes, Ma'am' she muttered softly.

The Duchess nodded. "Very well, now get on with your work – and do it honestly from now on!"

Jane got up, nodded politely and left the room. Once outside she burst into tears and fled back to her office.

* * *

Nine days later she got the text message on her cell phone. She was given travel directions to a country house some 5 miles away and told to be there that same night by 8pm. She was to be met by the housekeeper and she was to do exactly as she was told.

In a panic she phoned her younger sister who had an apartment a couple of miles from Jane's own home.

"Lucy, it's me." She gabbled down the line desperately," look don't ask questions but I need you to cover for me tonight. I have to go out but I can't explain why to James. Look, trust me Sis! When you next talk to my husband I was at your place all evening, OK?"

She rang off and fretted for the rest of the day. She had no idea what to wear but assumed if it mattered they would have said. Anyway she could hardly wear her best ball gown to visit her sister. Later, at home, she sold the story to her husband easily enough and went upstairs to change and shower, her heart beating rapidly and her stomach churning. Strangely, for all the fear, there was a certain buzz in her lower belly, based on something the Duchess had said about her being ' a randy little cow'. Was she going to be used as a whore? What was their purpose? She took a deep breath as she changed into blouse and jeans. There was only one way to find out.

With beating heart Jane arrived at the secluded mansion with 3 minutes to spare and navigated her way up the long drive. She noticed that there were eight cars parked there and guessed with some relief that this soiree, whatever it was, did not involve a large number of people.

After a few seconds hesitation, she rang the door bell which was answered almost immediately by a woman in her fifties, dressed in a black, lace trimmed uniform dress. Her face was hard, unsmiling and she looked Jane up and down with a measured stare.

"Ah the new maid," she said sternly, "you're just about on time. Wouldn't do to be late on your first night! I'm Mrs. Bridges, Now follow me!"

Jane felt herself flush with anger. This was the kind of employee she would be summoning to HER office under normal circumstances and now she was being treated as the woman's skivvy. She remembered the warnings about absolute obedience and dutifully followed the woman into the large hallway and up a flight of stairs to a large bathroom with an ante chamber for coats and clothing.

"Right," said Mrs. Bridges, folding her arms and staring grimly at Jane, "take your clothes off!"

Jane's mouth dropped open. "P-Pardon?" she gasped.

"Not deaf are you? I said take your clothes off. You need to change into your uniform."

Jane considered a protest about the woman's presence but thought better of it. With a deep breath, her cheeks pinkening, she slipped off her fashion boots, unzipped her jeans and pulled them off, then unfastened her blouse and removed it. She stood, feeling embarrassed and vulnerable in pink bra and panties, looking round for a uniform.

"Come on, bra and panties too – everything!" the Mrs. Bridges said icily and Jane flushed angrily.

"Now just a min –" she began and the woman cut her short.

"Do you want a bad report on your first night? I don't recommend it! Come on, get naked and be quick about it – you're to take a shower and use the body oils. They want you smelling like a rose garden. Your uniform will be here when you've finished – and make sure you wash EVERYWHERE!"

Jane, angry and ashamed, gritted her teeth and took off her underwear under the woman's stern gaze. The temptation to cover her breasts and pussy were almost overwhelming but she refrained allowing the woman's gaze to take in the whole of her naked body.

"OK get in the shower and make sure you use the herbal oils. I want you downstairs in ten minutes. Your uniform will be here waiting when you've finished.

Jane luxuriated under the shower, feeling the pleasure of the herbal aromas as they cleansed every pore, then suddenly conscious of her deadline she got out and dried herself on the ample luxury bath towels provided. Feeling cleansed and refreshed she walked back into the ante room and discovered that all her clothes had gone. In their place was a pair of flat shoes and, hanging on a hook, a black pinafore – and nothing else. Her mouth open in shock, she took the sheer nylon garment off the hook and slipped it over her head. It was certainly her size, for, at the front, the garment covered her breasts and her pussy, although the pinafore skirt was so short it would reveal everything once she stood on a chair or leaned backwards.

Such niceties were academic, however, for the simple tie around the waist left her back and bottom completely bare. Jane stood, paralysed with indecision for a few seconds, horrified by how exposed she was. Then she bravely took stock and decided that her stupidity had got her into this mess and, no matter how humiliating, she had to make the best of it.

She crept self-consciously out of the cloakroom and made her way down the stairs, her head turning this way and that as she worried who might see her. As she reached the bottom of the stairs so Mrs. Bridges rounded the corner and stood arms folded in front of her.

"Ah! About time! Follow me!" she ordered, with no suggestion in her face that Jane's appearance was anything out of the ordinary and so she followed the woman into the kitchens where a large buffet had been prepared. Mrs Bridges pointed to the meals trolley by the stove.

"Load this with plates of food and take it into the meeting," she ordered. "Left out of the kitchens, down to the end of the corridor and it’s the double doors on your right."

Jane hesitated, her face a deepening red and for the first time Mrs. Bridges showed a spark of kindness and grinned.

"Afraid of who's going to see your cute bare arse, are you? Well there's only ladies here so you don't have to worry about any men letching after you. Mind you the ladies are partial to – er - I've already said too much. Now run along!"

Feeling slightly relieved, Jane pushed the trolley down the corridor ever conscious of her nudity as the chill draught blew across her bare bottom and made the hairs around her pussy tingle. Taking a deep breath she paused at the double doors and then pushed them open simultaneously. The sight that met her took her breath away and she stood, gasping like a beached whale in astonishment.

Ten elegant women sat around a large banqueting table and, as Jane's eyes scanned the table she recognised nearly all of them. The women wore nothing but diaphanous white shifts and Jane stared at their breasts, virtually nude, thrusting through the thin material. In the middle of the group was the Duchess of Falmouth. Jane had never seen her employer in other than formal business clothes and to see her almost naked was both shocking and strangely arousing. She forgot about her own state of undress, lost in admiration at the sight of a middle aged woman who looked that good without her clothes. Jane swallowed hard as she took in the other guests. She recognised a minor Duchess, a Government Minister's wife and the head of a media corporation.

Jane's eyes followed the direction of their stares and she nearly cried out in astonishment. They were looking to the head of the table where another of their number, similarly clothed, was standing by a large wooden triangular structure and holding a multi stranded leather whip. Jane recognised her as Lady Amelia Fairford, the mother of the boy in whose bed she had been so shamefully photographed. Strapped to the wooden supports was a young woman, completely naked, her back, bottom and thighs already glowing pink from the application of the whip. At that moment, the girl turned her head to the side and, even in profile, Jane recognised her as Penelope Wilton, the 22 year old supermarket heiress whose betrothal to the Prince of one of the Arab emirates had made society page news.

At that point she coughed discreetly and the women all looked towards the sound. The Duchess stared at her and beckoned her in to the room.

"Ladies, this is the new maid I was telling you about. It's been a problem replacing Maureen but Jane is good, reliable and very discreet. Aren't you, Jane!"

From the ripples of laughter it was apparent that the other guests knew precisely why Jane was there and her face deepened yet another shade. She pushed the trolley towards the table and began to lay out the plates of food, conscious, as she leaned forward, of the proximity of her bare bottom to the nearest guest. It wasn't long before a warm hand with long, gentle fingers began to caress her naked buttocks. She resisted the temptation to stiffen or turn round for she understood she was expected to tolerate this kind of attention. After a minute or so, the gentle exploration was not merely acceptable but decidedly arousing and Jane began to feel moist between her legs.

"She has a gorgeous arse, darling," the languid voice of her sensual tormentor droned as Jane turned scarlet.

"Let us complete Penny's whipping, "replied the Duchess, "and then you can all have a feel for yourselves. She is ours for the evening."

Jane swallowed hard and stood still as the fingers behind her began another exploration.

At a nod from the Duchess, the scene at the head of the table re-animated. Lady Fairford, flexing the whip in her hands, swivelled slightly before bringing it down on Penelope's naked bottom. The girl's bottom writhed and she gave a soft, gentle moan but already her elegant punisher was about to deliver the next stroke. Jane began to tremble with excitement as she watched the noblewoman, clad only in the transparent shift, swivel her body to deliver the blow. The quivering of her large breasts, the pubic hair clearly visible through the thin material , then, as her body turned to strike the blow, the sight of her magnificent plump bottom all made Jane's body tremble with excitement.

When the blow struck and the pretty nude girl writhed and cried in her bonds, Jane thought she would climax on the spot . She had never seen such a sexually exciting yet cruel tableau in all her life and she was finding it hard to breathe.

The whipping across the nude back and bottom continued for another ten minutes by which time the girl was moaning and crying and Lady Fairford's shift was damp with perspiration, her erect nipples seemingly glued to the material.

At last she put down the whip and every woman around the table applauded the performance.

The Duchess looked at Jane and smiled. "Now you see, my dear, why we need to be sure you can be relied upon. There are a few people here who are, shall we say, slightly well known – " laughter followed this " – and if the press were to discover our little predilection – "she shook her head sorrowfully. "We are the New Callipygians, Jane, dedicated to the restoration of sensual pleasure through flagellation so enjoyed by our ancestors. Everyone here is in love with the erotic pleasures of whipping, and Penelope here is just getting a little pre-nuptial experience. Arab men and their women, you understand. Of course, Jane, you are untutored in the art of receiving punishment as yet but I suspect you will take to it like a duck to water. I'm sure Lady Fairford, for one, has –er -..personal motives for wanting to take the whip to you!"

More laughter followed and Jane's eyes pricked with mortified, humiliated tears.

"Anyway," the Duchess continued, "now that we have got Penelope's little pre nuptial training out of the way, we can introduce you to our guests. Come, Jane, walk slowly round the table and let everyone get to know you!"

Biting her lip, Jane walked slowly around the banqueting table, stopping obediently at the side of each guest, eager fingers exploring the contours of her bottom and genitals as she stood to attention, trying desperately not to reveal how much she was becoming turned on by the attention. By the time she had reached half way round her pussy was soaking and aching for attention.

She reached the chair of the Duchess, now her mistress – no longer just her employer – and waited, eyes lowered for the gentle fondling to begin. Instead the Duchess pushed her chair back from the table and stared hard into Jane's eyes.

"Tonight," she announced loudly, "we will have a little break from procedure. Jane has displeased me in ways I need not discuss with you all and I intend to punish her for it. Thus before the next formal whipping of one of our members takes place, I intend to punish our new maid personally, here in front of you all! I will now take her across my lap as one would an errant child!"

Jane's eyes widened and her colour deepened. She had suspected, having seen Penelope strapped to the frame, that she might be whipped in similar fashion and had dreaded it. But even that was preferable to be turned over her employer's knee in front of all these eminent ladies and punished like a little girl.

"Oh please, Ma'am – " she cried but to no avail for willing hands assisted in helping her across her employers lap, the Duchess putting one firm hand across Jane's back as she found herself bare bottom up in the air and her face staring at the carpet.

"Gather round, ladies. Make sure you all have a good view, " the Duchess exhorted and Jane felt the tears pricking her eyes as she heard the scrape of chairs , every woman in the room rising to stand around and stare at her humiliation.

She gasped as the firm fingers of the Duchess pulled apart the skin of her bottom, exposing her anus to everyone in the room, at which there were chuckles and comments as Jane began to cry shameful tears, soon turning to gasps as a firm hand struck her bottom. For a delicately boned woman, the Duchess clearly had a technique to ensure that a spanking was something to remember for Jane was soon gasping for breath as the hard smacks whipped across the cheeks of her bottom.

She had never been physically punished and soon the burning pain was almost unbearable as she writhed and squirmed on her employer's lap. The spanking went on and on, the skilled hand skimming the crowns of both buttocks then changing angle to strike the under curve where bottom met thigh, until Jane was crying and squealing in pain then suddenly it stopped. Jane gave thanks for the sudden cessation of pain, the hot stinging blows leaving her bottom tingling and glowing, the urge to rub her burning buttocks irresistible but her hands could not reach behind.

"Celia, hand me the hairbrush!"

Jane's eyes widened in horror and she began to cry out "Oh Ma'am please I've had enough! Please not the hairbrush!" but her pleas were cut short by a solid thumping blow across her right buttock which made her scream. The hairbrush came down again and again, solid hammer blows across both her buttocks until her bottom was one churning mass of burning pain and she was writhing desperately across her employer's lap, the grip on her back tightening to ensure she did not fall off.

Despite the agony of the beating, Jane was shamefully aware that she had rarely been so sexually excited in her life particularly as she was being spanked by a woman she respected and worked for, a woman who was herself nearly naked. Lying across the almost bare thighs of the Duchess and feeling the warmth of her body was having an effect on Jane as the brush came down again and again. She sensed the feeling welling up in the pit of her stomach, the walls of her cunt swelling, her clitoris standing proud and then the climax hit her as she gasped and cried.

The beating stopped and there was much excited chatter around the table. Almost in a trance now, she felt the soft fingers of the Duchess stroking her swollen pussy.

"I knew you were a natural, you horny little bitch," the Duchess whispered, her tone amused rather than angry, "it's over. Now get up and begin serving the wine."

She got to her feet and her eyes filled with tears, her face was red and swollen and she hardly knew where to look. Yet suddenly the room swelled with applause and as she looked up there were a sea of smiling faces all appreciative of her 'performance'. She managed a smile and suddenly realised that for all their money and power, these women were here to subject themselves to similar treatment and to obtain sexual satisfaction from it. Suddenly the shame and embarrassment seemed to melt away

By the time she was dismissed for the evening and allowed to return to the bathroom, she found all her clothes back in place. She had been given permission to take another shower and as she did so, her naked body stinging with the contact of the warm water, Jane began to caress her bottom gently, rubbing the soap softly across the bright crimson buttocks. To her amazement she began to become very aroused once more but refrained from satisfying herself for she had other aims in mind.

She took gentle care in replacing her jeans the mere touch of the rough denim re-igniting the soreness in her bottom but she managed it and went back downstairs to find Mrs. Bridges waiting to let her out. The woman's grim features cracked into a smile.

"Reckon you'll do!" she said and for the first time Jane returned a friendly grin.

She got into her car, gingerly easing herself into the driving seat and suddenly burst into happy laughter. She still had her well paid job and now she had another little diversion from her domestic problems which had proved unexpectedly rewarding. Being spanked for the first time, and by the nearly naked woman she worked for, had excited her beyond reason, for she was so aroused that when she got home she was intent on having James fuck her brains out. Now she had experienced the excitement she knew she would never look back. Maybe life wasn't so bad after all!

From the Top Shelf - Your Sins Will Find You Out

Today we celebrate my blog's 10th birthday, as well as my nnth birthday. (Nope, not telling you how old I am!) In honor of the occasion, I have a very special treat for you. It's one of the late Alex Birch's own stories. He wrote a great many of them for his blog, A Taste of the Birch, and they were all done in a special way. He would take a series of pictures from Janus, Februs, or other spanking magazine, then write dialogue to go along with them. I was able to save much of his blog before it was deleted, but most of the pictures were not available, so I'm afraid you will have to use your imagination. That won't be hard to do because Alex had quite a way with words.

Your Sins Will Find You Out

(I don't think I can do this! Why does Martin's ex-wife want to see me? Jesus, she scares the pants off me! No wonder they split up! But I have to do it. What did she mean on the phone by 'You better get your miserable arse round here or else you can forget the wedding!' What has she heard? Oh Christ! Take a deep breath, Tracy...there ..done it! Oh God now what?)

"H-H-hello, Camilla, it-it's so n -"

"You can forget the false bonhomie, you miserable little bitch...or do I have to translate that for you? I'm sure you know why you're here?"

"No-I-I- have no -"

"Well think back two weeks to your office party. You know - the one Martin couldn't attend because he was working away? Remember the Sales Manager, Cliff Jordan? I'm sure you do, Tracy!"

(Oh Christ, I'm going to wet myself. How the hell does she know about THAT?")

"I -I don't know what you're talking ab-"

"Don't lie to me, you little cow! It's written all over your face . You're as guilty as hell. I knew as soon as Martin introduced you to me that your brains were in your pussy. Can't keep your knickers on or your legs closed!"

"You've got no right to -"

"Oh I've got EVERY right! We might be divorced but I still love that bloody fool in a sort of way - and I don't want him destroyed by some little airhead who drops her knickers as soon as a man looks at her!"

"I-I didn't- I-I (stammers helplessly) - you've got no proof of anything!"

"Oh but I have, you stupid little tart! What do you call this, eh? (Triumphantly flourishes a letter)

(Oh God I AM going to wet myself)

"It makes very enlightening reading, Tracy. Let me read you a section. 'Oh Tracy, I can't wait until the next time we can spend time together. The feel of your body, the touch of your warm nipples. And they are so sensitive, my darling, I...."

"STOP IT...STOP IT! " (sobbing) "Where the hell did you get that?"

(Grinning) "Remember the office cleaner in the blue overalls who came in to 'tidy up' your office last week, Tracy? Well he was a private detective paid for by me. It didn't take him long to pick the lock on your desk. You really shouldn't keep such juicy stuff lying around, my girl!"

(Weeping in self pity) "Oh God, please Camilla don't tell Martin. It was just a one off. I'd had a bit to drink and I was missing Martin and I was lonely and -"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yadda, yadda, yadda - there's no excuse for cheating on a good man and you know it, you little cow - but I'll be kind to you."

"See screwed up and ready to be thrown away instead of being sent to Martin. Now aren't I the generous one?"

(Stunned) "Oh thank you, Camilla, thank you..you won't regret...."

"Oh you BET I won't! Because in exchange for my generosity, you are going to accept my punishment. For some stupid reason, because he's weak and can't see past the obvious, Martin is deeply in love with you. Damned if I can see why! But I'm not going to ruin his delusions. So therefore I'm going to take you in hand myself, Tracy. You know rather like Professor Higgins and Eliza..except my form of training will be a little more physical!"

"Accept your...oh my God! What do you mean?"

"All in good time. Now let's have a good look at you...and I don't want any objections! Stand up straight!"

(Tracy obeys without question, shaking like a leaf)

"Let's have a good look at what you're wearing! Oh very sexy stockings! But what the hell are those knickers made of? God you are so CHEAP!"

( Damn her, she's humiliating me. I'm embarrassed and frightened to death. But it's a bit exciting too. I've never felt like this with another woman. I can't refuse her.)

"Have you seen one of these before, Tracy? I'm sure you know what it is, don't you!"

(Oh my God, I'm close to peeing now)

"You -you can't use that on me, please?" (I am almost begging. I feel pathetic)

"Oh but I can, Tracy..and I will. You see that's the trouble these days. You little chits at Comprehensive school...I'm assuming that WAS the height of your academic success, Tracy...have never seen a cane..or experienced physical discipline. And that's why you think you can behave how you like. No standards you see."

"PLEASE, Camilla...."

"Shut up and listen! At my private school, run by nuns I might add, if a girl was found in flagrante delicto , so to speak, she was soon taking her pants down again in far less pleasant circumstances. Just as you are going to be doing soon, Tracy. It could be the making of you!"

"Oh no, you can't make me -"

"Indeed, I can't. But if you want your dream wedding to take place, you'll do exactly as you're told. Now get your skirt up and lean over the desk!"

"Mmmm, glad to see you can take orders. That's a shapely little bottom, you've got there. Martin always was a bottom man. Now stick it out - you're getting half a dozen to start, over those terry towelling knickers or whatever they are!"

(Oh God, my heart is thumping but I feel sort of funny..and it's not altogether unpleasant!)

"Please don't hurt me!"

(Snorts) "Don't be ridiculous, girl. Of course I'm going to hurt you - but not half as much as your infidelity would hurt Martin!"

"Are you ready, girl. Ready for the first cane stroke of your dim, air-headed young life? Perhaps your arse will register what your brain seemingly can not. The way a bride-to-be should behave!"

"Oh please Camilla, this is torture. Please just get on with it!"

Scwiiiit, Crack!"

"Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhh, oh shit, oh Christ...oooooo that really hurts!! "

"Of course it does you little tart, and there's plenty more where THAT came from! And you better watch that language or I'll add a few more!"

"Aaaaaah..oh Camilla, pleeeeeeaaaasee..that really hurts!" (sobbing)

"Hurts? That little sting? You don't know what 'hurts' is, my girl! But you will!"

"Oh nooooooo..please..how many more?"

"As many as I like if you don't want Martin to know the truth ..and these are just the warm up!"

"Ohhhhhhhhh...God..no please..that one was so hard!"

"And there will be more to come, believe me. But I think it's time to have a look at the goods!"

"W-what do you mean?"

"I mean you can take that skirt off for a start - Now!"

"Camilla, please, I beg -"

"NOOOOWWW!!!!!!"

(Oh God, I'm getting wet. I think I'm marrying the wrong one. Martin has never controlled me like this - and I'm getting so turned on)

"Come on, you little tramp, I haven't got all day!"

"Y-yes , Camilla, I-I'm sorry."

"That's more like it. Now get back over that sofa!"

"Right, let's have these silly knickers down, shall we? Let's see what my ex-husband is getting for his money!"

"Oh Camilla, pleeeeeaaase..this is humiliating!"

"Shut up and don't be so stupid. Humiliating? Having your pants taken down by another woman? The number of men I expect you've shown this off to, I'm surprised you have any shame left!"

"Oh please, I-"

"SHUT UP! Ah now you might be a little trollop but you've got a gorgeous arse. Its just made for the whippy stick. Ah the sound of rattan on bare little trollop flesh is sheer poetry."

"Oh Camilla...noooooooooo!"

"Stick it out , thats it and ......there!"

Scwiiiiiiiiit! Crack!

"Aaaaaaaaaaaah..oh..oh..oh...that really hurts !" (weeping copiously)

"And if you keep shooting upright, I'll double the strokes. Now get back in position!"

"Yes, Camilla, I'm sorry!"

"That's better. Oh you look so lovely in that position! Bare and submissive - just the way I like little tramps. And you are wet too, you little tart!"

(Oh she can see. And she is so right. I am getting off on this )

"Stick it right out, girl. Here comes another!""

"Right, let's have a good look at this cute little arse, shall we? Mmmmm..nicely marked. I think that's probably enough of the cane. Don't want you thinking I'm a cruel bitch now, do I!" (laughs wickedly)

"Oh..thank you Camilla..I-I'll never -"

"Oh don't think I've finished with you yet, you little slut. Stand up and take the rest of your clothes off."

"Oh Camilla, pleeeeeeeeeaaasse, I -"

(Flexes the cane) "Do you want more of this, you little tart?"

"Nooooooooooooooooo-" (hurries to obey)

"You've got a nice trim figure I'll give you that! Just the kind of firm little tits Martin likes. Do you know how you look with your knickers round your ankles? Just like a little schoolgirl being punished by mommy!"

(And that's just how I feel. Damn it, I've never felt so humiliated...or turned on!)

"Please, Camilla, what -"

"Don't speak until you're spoken to! Now get across my knee - and any protests and you'll be feeling the cane again!"

(Meekly) "Yes Camilla."

"Well this certainly has its compensations, Tracy. I've always been bi-sexual - I expect you guessed - and I have rarely had the pleasure of such a juicy arse as this across my knee. There, you little madam, take THAT!" - SMAAAAACK!

"Aaaaaaaaaaahh...oooo, Camilla, my bottom is burning from the cane. That really hurts!"

"Of course it does...and its embarrassing too, isn't it, Tracy? Lying across my knee like a silly, naked little girl - which is exactly what you are!"


(Damn her - she's right. It's shameful and humiliating but why is it turning me on so much? I'm so wet down there. Maybe I've needed this for years.)

"Owwwwwwwwwwwwww, please, no more, that really hurts!"

"Shut up and take what you're given. You're getting away lightly!"

"Yes Camilla"

SMACK..SMACK...SMACK!

"Aaaaahh..oooooo..please stop, Camilla..I can't take any more! I'm on fire!"

"Of course you are, you silly girl. It wouldn't have any effect otherwise, now would it?"

"No, I suppose n -" SMACK...SMACK... SMACK! "- ahhhhhh...oh please no more!"

(Tracy is sobbing quietly now)

"Right let's run my hand over this pretty little bottom and rub it better, shall I?"

"Please Camilla do anything you want to me but don't smack me again, I beg you."

(She's getting off on this too, but I don't care. Oh her hands are so strong and gentle. It's like a man was.....oooooooo)

"Like that, don't you, you little tart? Tell me you're a little tart!"

"Oh Camilla I'm a little tart..a slut...anything..but please don't stop what you're doing."

(Contemptuous) "I knew you couldn't get enough..from anybody (pushes Tracy away and gets up)

"Oh Camilla what are you doing now?"


"I'm writing a letter to Cliff Jordan..and you are going to sign it!"

"Oh please Camilla I'll talk to him and end it. Please don't make me do this!"

"Oh no you won't! If you are going to marry my dumb and foolish ex - AND he is going to remain in blissful ignorance of what a little tart he is marrying - then I'm going to make it clear SOMEBODY knows about you two"

"Oh no Camilla please!"

"And if I get any more complaints, Martin and Jordan's wife will get a copy of a little DVD we've been recording together. See that camera high in the wall?"

"Oh God nooooooooooooooo!"

"Oh God yes. But all is not lost Tracy. When you need the kind of discipline Martin will never give you - you know where I live , don't you!"

(Breathes deeply, trying to hide excitement) "Yes Camilla"

THE END

There! We didn't need pictures after all!

From the Top Shelf - Schadenfreude

As a special treat, her's a lovely Christmas story for you by the late Alex Birch.

Schadenfreude

"Oh for God's sake, stop arguing!" The attractive blonde woman turned in the driving seat, her face flushed and angry, and glowered at the two children in the back seat.

"I didn't start it, he did," replied Karen sullenly, glaring at her younger brother who sat smirking beside her.

"I don't care who started it, you are old enough to know better. Now stop it at once or I'll tell your father!"

That's it, thought Karen, staring angrily at the woman who had now turned back to concentrate on her driving. Tell daddy, that's your only answer to everything. Karen was ten going on twenty and was heartily sick of both her seven-year-old brother, Mark, and her stepmother, Caroline, the focus of her sullen frustration. It wasn't that she hated her stepmother - there were times when they got on well - but Caroline had no understanding of children. Karen's eyes misted up as happened so often when she thought of the patience her real mother had had with them both - but she wasn't here any more. She knew how sad her father had been after mummy's death and how it taken two years before he could shake off the misery to start dating again. She had been glad when he met Caroline at an office party, strangely, for a little girl, not feeling jealous or possessive at all. She wanted daddy to be happy and it was clear Caroline made him happy. It had soon become equally clear that she made Caroline nervous. Her stepmother was never comfortable around the children and there were times when Karen found this funny, for she could play jokes and keep her stepmother on the hop. But deep inside, the little girl was hurt. She wasn't that hard to like and she'd never met an adult before who behaved as if she was on hot coals around her. She hoped that one day Caroline would become comfortable with her, try to understand...but until then....

Karen's reverie was interrupted by a sharp pinch on her thigh and an accompanying giggle from her brother. She squealed loudly and almost in reflex, smacked him over the head with her school satchel. Predictably, Mark reacted as if he had been savaged by a dog and began to bawl his head off.

Immediately, Caroline swung round in the driving seat once more, her face a mask of fury.

"What did I tell you about behaving yoursel....oh shit!" the expletive muttered in anger as, with the sound of bending metal, the car suddenly stopped, throwing the three occupants violently forward. All were strapped in and Caroline had been driving slowly behind traffic, so no personal injury was done, but the car had mounted the pavement and struck a tree with some force.

"Oh you little cow!" Caroline almost cried in frustration. "Now look what you've made me do. Your father will be furious..and it's all your fault!"

Karen sat open-mouthed at the rush of invective, tears pricking her eyes at the unfairness of it all. Mommy would never have called her such names and it wasn't her fault anyway. What was she supposed to do, let her snivelling little snit of a brother get away with it?

Caroline swung her shapely legs out of the car, clearly shaking with rage and walked round to the front of the vehicle. Karen could see the suffused glow of anger increase as her stepmother surveyed the damage. She was soon back behind the wheel.

"Well, thanks to you and your stupidity, I've now got to get the bumper fixed before your father finds out. He was furious when I scraped the garage door. Good job he's working away until Christmas Eve! Gives me a chance to get it fixed. Now you dare say a word about this, young lady, and you'll be for it!"

Karen suppressed a smile. Caroline didn't know, but she had been listening through her open bedroom window when her father had spotted the paint on the garage door. He had called Caroline out to him and promised his new wife a damn good hiding if she did anything so stupid again. Caroline had been shocked - unsure if her husband was joking, but Karen knew otherwise. She knew about her father's little 'weakness'. She had once heard snatches of conversation between her parents, three years before, and had seen mummy's flushed face when she came down to breakfast..and noticed how gingerly she'd sat down. But Karen was mature for her years, even at seven, and had never said a word. She grinned as an image of what Caroline might be in for flashed across her mind, but said nothing.

"Now I'll have to drop that car into Brettel's garage and we'll have to go home on the bus," Caroline snapped "and you can take that smile off your face, young lady - this isn't funny!"

Not for you it isn't, thought Karen, but had the good sense to keep her own counsel.

When they arrived at the garage, Caroline ordered them both out of the car. "You can come with me," she ordered, "I'm not leaving you two alone to do more damage!"

Reluctantly but obediently, both children trailed into the garage reception area and heard Caroline explain the situation to Mr Brettel. "Look I can't pay for it now," she pleaded "but I can let you have my husband's credit card number over the phone when I get home. You will? Oh that's great. And you'll have it ready tomorrow? Oh that's marvellous!"

They sat on the bus for the 30 minute journey home and while Mark made infantile conversation, Karen was still fuming. "Daddy won't like you using his credit card without permission." she muttered and that was the last straw.

"Don't you tell me what daddy will or won't like!" Caroline snapped. "This is all your fault anyway. Now I have to pay for a cab to get Mark to his piano lessons...and you're grounded, young lady!"

Karen's eyes opened in horror. "But that's not fair," she whined, " it was all his fault and I'm going to an end of term party this afternoon at Clare's and....."

"You're not going anywhere, miss," her stepmother said angrily, "you've done enough damage for one day. It's about time you learned to behave!"

The remainder of the bus ride was spent in angry silence and Karen reluctantly trailed behind Mark and her stepmother up the garden path and into the house.

"Mark, go and wash your face..quickly..and get your music together," Caroline sapped, "and you my girl, get up to your room and stay there."

Karen glared at her stepmother and stomped up the stairs, threw open her bedroom door angrily and sat on her bed. Caroline followed swiftly behind, reached inside the door and extracted the key.

"What are you doing?" Karen almost screamed and her stepmother smirked in triumph.

"Locking you in until I get back," she said triumphantly. "You don't think I'd trust you to stay there, do you?"

"But you can't do that, it's..." but the click of the lock signified all too clearly that Caroline could indeed do that. Karen sat back on her bed, pummeling her little fists in anger. Maybe twenty minutes elapsed before she heard the hoot of the taxi and the sounds of her younger brother and Caroline departing. Instead of feeling sorry for herself, a slow grin spread across her face for she had developed a skill which negated all Caroline's attempts to imprison her and which would have given her poor father a heart attack had he known about it.

She dragged her bedroom chair to a spot directly underneath the attic window of her bedroom, climbed up on it, and pushed the window open, easing her small body through the aperture and out onto the tiled roof. There was maybe a foot of tiling before the guttering and a sheer drop onto the path but Karen was as sure-footed as a cat, never once looking down as she walked like a trapeze artist across the roof to the similar structure which indicated her young brothers room. She heaved a sigh of relief to find that his window was wedged open, as she guessed it would be for her stepmother was all for fresh air being allowed to circulate in all the rooms. Without looking down at the pathway below, Karen eased open the window and slid through it into her brother's room.

Pausing only to wrinkle her nose in distaste at the mess in there,she opened his door and made her way downstairs, her first aim to get a drink from the fridge before disappearing to the end of term party at her friend's home. But when she reached the kitchen, she spied something which made her chortle with glee. Caroline had left her cell phone behind on the kitchen table.

The little girl's mind raced with possibilities and, hastily, she checked the stored numbers for Brettel's Garage. Yes!!!! She raised her palm in a high fives gesture to an imaginary friend and then reached in her pocket for a handkerchief. She turned on the kitchen radio, the station playing a predictable stream of carols and deliberately stood close to it. Then she clicked on Brettel's number and put the handkerchief over her mouth. She cleared her throat and tried for her most mature voice

"Hello, Mr Brettel...Yes Mrs Forrester here...pardon..no I'm in a store and having to shout above the music..sorry..yes I know it makes my voice sound funny. Look about the car. I've had second thoughts. When you have an estimate for the damage could you phone Mr Forrester," and she gave her father's works number in London. "I think he should be consulted before you go ahead with the work. Yes, thank you."

Putting the phone back where she'd found it, Karen gave a little squeal of delight and retraced her steps back through her brother's window and out across the roof to her own room. She decided to forego Clare's party and behave herself. This would be far more fun!

Two hours later, Caroline and Mark returned and soon she heard the key turn in her bedroom lock. Her stepmother walked in and gave an approving smile to find the little girl lying on her bed reading a magazine.

"My goodness, no howls of protest, no screaming fits?" Caroline muttered, "You must be growing up!"

Karen smiled as politely as she was able and Caroline allowed her to downstairs and rejoin the family unit. She was as good as gold for the rest of that evening and even kissed her stepmother good night before departing for bed.

The next day was Christmas Eve and Karen spent most of the morning putting decorations up, which she loved, and avoiding her little brother. She also kept a discreet eye on Caroline who was becoming ever more nervous as lunch time approached. By now the two females in the family were back on speaking terms and Caroline was fretting. "I better phone Brettel's and ask them what time the car will be finished" she muttered anxiously and Karen nearly had a fit.

"Didn't they say they'd call when it was ready?" she asked, trying to sound as casual as she could. "If you keep phoning them up, they'll just think you're..well...a woman." To her relief, Caroline managed a smile. "I suppose you are right.... sometimes" she said. "I'll leave it until after lunch."

By 2 p.m. Caroline was really stressed out. "I'm going to phone the garage," she said anxiously, "I daren't leave it any longer - your father will be back at six." Karen began frantically racking her brains for another stalling ploy when suddenly all their ears pricked up at once as a key turned in the front door.

"Daddeeeeeeeeee!" squealed Karen and Mark together, fighting each other to be first for a hug as their father walked into the hall. Caroline simply stood still in shock, her hands clasped together, her now panic stricken eyes fixed on her tall husband as he tucked a child under each arm.

"Y-you're home early," stammered Caroline, just keeping her voice steady. "I-I didn't expect you till six."

"No, well I caught an early train from London, my love," he said, his voice even but with a chilling air of menace. "You see I got a phone call from Brettel's garage about my car being in for repair....again. So I thought I'd pick it up myself and see what kind of a job he'd had to do this time."

Karen tucked her head further under her father's loving arm so that she could grin with malicious pleasure, unseen by her victim.

"I-I was going to mention..." her young stepmother sounded hapless, and for a moment Karen had a twinge of sympathy. It soon passed.

John Forrester cut his wife short, abruptly. "Later," he said tersely. "We'll discuss all that later. Let me go upstairs and change and then I can relax with a drink...and you can tell me what's been going on in my absence."

Karen reluctantly released her father's arm and shot a surreptitious glance in her young stepmother's direction. Somehow she managed not to grin but it was a giant effort. Instead she managed a phony look of sympathy. Poor Caroline looked like a woman who has just put on her best dress and then had a ton of bird shit deposited on her head. Her face expressed a kind of childlike shock and horror and Karen had to leave the room abruptly lest she burst into a fit of giggling.

When her father came downstairs again he'd changed into casual shirt and jeans and now sat with a child on each knee, each competing for his affection, while Caroline fussed around him like a nervous heifer, her eyes constantly darting toward his in mute pleas for forgiveness, frequently replenishing his whisky glass like an anxious waitress.

"So what have you all been doing while I was away," Karen's father asked, "apart from wrecking the car, of course."

Caroline flushed and looked hapless once more. This was the time for Karen's master plan to kick in. She was proud of her Machiavellian skills and knew she could play this situation like a fish on a line.

"Oh that's not nice, daddy," she said, playfully smacking his thigh,"it wasn't Caroline's fault. I think it was partly mine. I was arguing with Mark." Her stepmother looked at her, eyes wide in grateful surprise.

"But you weren't the one in the driving seat, were you pet," her father replied mildly, but with clear meaning, and she saw Caroline's face turn a deeper pink. "Anyway apart from that, what have you been up to?"

"Well, Mark went for his piano lessons and Caroline and I have been putting up decorations, haven't we?" She shot a warm smile in her stepmother's direction, a gesture of solidarity which was clearly appreciated. Great! Now she had them both on her side for what she knew would happen next.

"Good, good," her father smiled, "I'm so glad you two have been getting along."

"Oh no they haven't," giggled Mark, unable to resist what he thought was a dig at his sister, "Caroline told Karen she was naughty and locked her in her bedroom!"

"That's enough, Mark" said Karen gravely, playing the 'little mother' to perfection. "That's all forgotten and it wasn't for long."

There was a silence that seemed to last for hours until her father said, with steely anger, "You did...what, Caroline?"

Karen shot her stepmother a look of feigned sympathy, secretly delighted that her blabbermouth of a brother had played his part to perfection. Stupid little boys were so predictable. But now she was 'little miss innocent' and her stepmother was now in deeper shit, that much was clear.

"John, if only you knew how much I...." Caroline's voice was strained and anxious but her husband cut her short.

"Later, my dear. We'll discuss all this later. After the children have gone to bed."

The remainder of the evening was spent in a slightly strained atmosphere which only idiot Mark failed to pick up, scampering around as he always did with his inane prattling until he tired himself out and went off to bed, rambling about whether to hang up a pillowcase or a stocking and what time Father Christmas would come. Karen, being a big girl now who knew that Father Christmas was really daddy, was allowed to stay up much later. This Christmas Eve she did so with malicious relish. It was clear her father would prefer she went to bed as he clearly had serious business to attend to, but she was happy to pander to her stepmother's fawning attention....would she like another mince pie...a chocolate..was there anything on TV she wanted to watch. She grinned to herself, knowing it was simply Caroline's way of staving off her own nemesis just a little bit longer.

Eventually Karen tired of the teasing game, yawned and said she was going to bed, making a big point of hugging both her father and her stepmother tightly before retiring. As she hugged Caroline, she felt the fearful trembling of her young stepmother's body, and she smiled, an unseen triumphant grin.

She went up to bed and knew there would be some minutes before anything happened - and Karen was sure it would. Her father knew it was usually only ten or fifteen minutes after her head hit the pillow before Karen was in a deep sleep and he normally came up to check that both children were sound asleep. Mark would be well in the land of nod already. So she undressed for bed and sat upright, singing quietly to herself to stay awake until she heard her father's footsteps on the stairs. Quickly she got into bed and turned on her side, feigning sleep as her father walked into the room. Gently he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on her cheek before turning and leaving, checking on Mark, and then returning downstairs.

Karen shot up in bed, got out and crept to the door, opening it very carefully. She heard her father's raised voice from inside the living room and a series of sobbing replies from Caroline. Quietly she crept along the landing, careful to avoid the one creaky floorboard, and began to tiptoe down the stairs until she reached the halfway point where she could sit, hunched up, but hidden in case the living room door opened suddenly. She could hear clearly what was happening in there, for the soundproofing in the old house was not good. At first her father was talking about carelessness, the cost of repairs, dishonesty and she heard Caroline's voice cracking, apologising, almost craven in her pleas.

Then Karen sat bolt upright, her eyes wide with excitement as the conversation took a more thrilling turn.

"...and I told you what to expect if this happened again! Well now you're going to find out that I wasn't joking!"

"No, John, please, I meant to tell you. I did..it was just...."

"..and you were going to use my credit card? What have I told you about that?"

"John, please I.."

"Take your trousers and knickers off, Caroline!"

"John, please..."

"Do it!"

There was the sound of sobbing and some activity then her father;s voice again.

"Now get over my knee...and be quick about it. Come on, I've seen your bare arse plenty of times!"

Karen wondered how she managed to not giggle aloud, but she bit her lower lip and squeezed her nails into her palms, inclining her head to listen. She wanted to go to the door and peep through the keyhole but that would have been far too dangerous.

The spanking started in earnest and for the next five minutes she heard her father's heavy hand descend over and over on clearly unprotected flesh and she put her hand over her mouth to stifle a chuckle of delight, imagining the state of her young stepmother's bottom as it got redder and redder. Well she'd deserved every one, Karen thought, then sighed almost audibly as the spanking stopped. Surely it wasn't over already. That wasn't nearly enough! She heard Caroline's choking sobs as she clearly tried to come to terms with the pain and the shame of a good hiding. Then Karen brightened up as her father spoke again.

"That, my dear, is the issue of the car accounted for..and don't you EVER do anything like that again...now we come to the issue of locking my daughter in her room while you went out for two hours!"

"Oh John, please, if you only..."

"Shut up and listen. She is ten years old. What if there had been a fire? For a start you should never have left a child alone in the house and certainly not locked in her room. She could have been burned to death!"

"I-I'm sorry I didn't think..I..."

"Well you'll be thinking a lot from now on. Go to the cupboard where you'll find a stiff backed wooden hairbrush. Bring it to me!"

"Oh, John no more please, I..."

"Fetch the hairbrush!"

Karen sat on the stairs the lace of her nightdress now between her teeth as she listened. She had never heard her father in this mood before and she found it strangely exciting. This was beyond her wildest expectations!

"Now get back over my knee!"

The next sound was her stepmother's agonised cry as she responded to the sound of a dull thudding thwack. Karen almost winced in sympathy as she sat, hunched on the stairs, listening to every blow.

"If you cry out like that again, my girl.." her father's voice was a growl, "...you'll wake the kids. So if that happens the punishment will be delayed until tomorrow night, when you'll get twice as many And I'll make you stuff your panties in your mouth, Is that clear?"

"Y-Yes John, I'm sorry."

Karen had never heard her stepmother sound so meek and submissive. Nor had she heard her father sound so demanding and crude. Sticking her knickers in her mouth? Wow, how gross was that? Maybe there was some adult thing going on here she didn't understand but she had never felt so alive and excited. She was sure she would never get to sleep that night. The spanking with the hairbrush continued until Karen had counted twenty strokes and her stepmother was weeping like a baby.

Her father's voice had changed. It was gentle, soft, reassuring.

"You took those well. You see, you can be a good girl. Now you go and get the lotion out of the kitchen, get back over my knee and I'll rub it better."

There was the sound of soft, mewling consent from a woman who had been weeping buckets only seconds before. Wow but these grown-ups were odd! Karen wrinkled her nose in disgust. She was a young woman of the world and she guessed that all this 'rubbing it better' and the kitten-like noises from her stepmother were all a prelude to daddy doing that sex thing and she certainly did not want to eavesdrop on that!

Quietly she tiptoed back up the stairs and back into her bedroom, her little heart pounding in her chest. She clambered into bed and looked at her luminous alarm clock before rolling over on her side and closing her eyes. It was 3 minutes past twelve....Christmas Day already! She snuggled up in bed and smiled in contentment. Santa Claus had brought her Christmas present very early this year!

Happy Christmas, everyone!