The Ritual
by Alex Birch

M/f

 As she entered the bedroom, her throat tightened and the trembling began.
It had always been the same, would always be the same, and there was no
point in fighting it.  She stared into the full length mirror as always
before slowly unfastening her dress, letting it drop slowly down around her
ankles.  She stepped out of it, her eyes never leaving the mirror as she
performed the same operation with her slip and then her pantyhose.  She
looked at herself in the mirror once more contemplating her body as she
stood like a statue in just her bra and knickers.

 Swallowing hard she reached behind and unfastened the clasp of her
brassiere, then slid it off and put it on the chair, all the time staring in
the mirror at her large breasts with the pale pink nipples, breasts now
heaving in time with her excited breathing.  Slowly she pulled her knickers
down and stepped out of them, kicking them to one side as she gazed almost
critically through the mirror at the sparse covering of hair protecting her
sex .

 Five minutes he always gave her.  Five minutes to get herself completely
naked and in position before he walked through that bedroom door, cane in
hand.  If he walked in and found her unready, and it had only happened once,
the punishment would be doubled. She had never wanted to repeat that
experience.  It was usually twelve strokes anyway.
 Swallowing hard once more she turned and knelt up on the bed, her bottom
towards the mirror, then pulled forward the two pillows over which she would
lie, raising her bottom higher for punishment.  Before taking up the
position she reached into her bedside cabinet and took out a hand mirror
which she placed beside her on the bed.

 Imagining she could hear his footsteps on the stairs, she rested her
stomach across the two pillows bringing her knees up as far as she could so
that her bottom was fully elevated then she reached for the hand mirror
beside her and looked at the reflection of her rear through the tall mirror
behind her.  As always she found the spectacle exciting and very lewd,
bringing her knees just a little further up so that the angle widened her
bottom cheeks.  She gasped aloud as she gazed at the view that he must have
seen every time he punished her and wondered if it had ever aroused him.
Between the plump,stretched cheeks of her bottom, the tiny wrinkled button
of her anus was offered up and, underneath, the tight salmon pink slit of
her vagina seemed to almost demand attention.  She felt her heart begin to
beat even faster.  She had taken about four minutes so far and there would
normally be one minute for her to lie in this demeaning position as she
contemplated her wickedness and her humiliation as every private place a
modest girl possessed was graphically displayed.  She put the small mirror
away and lay forward, her head resting on her arms as he had always
demanded.

 She thought about what always happened next.  He always walked into the
room quietly without knocking and cast his gaze over her as she lay there
with her bottom raised, trembling with fear and anticipation.  Nothing was
said unless he found fault with her posture or state of readiness and then
it was one terse word... 'double!'.  She would tense her buttocks as she
felt the cold rattan laid against the cheeks of her backside and then,
seconds later, she would try to suppress a scream as a line of burning fire
raced across her bare bottom.  He would pause then for maybe half a minute
as she absorbed the full pain and terror of that first stroke before
revisiting his target with the second.  She never knew if he would lay the
next over a the first weal or on a new patch of virgin skin which added to
the fear and torment in her mind.  As the caning continued and the pain
began to mount it was all she could do to hug the soft coverlet, burying her
head into her arms in order to suppress the wild scream that was striving to
be released.  Screaming was not permitted and usually led to additional
strokes.  Woe betide her too if her self discipline failed and she rolled
over onto her side for then the punishment would begin again.  She had
trained herself to bite into her wrists and absorb the dreadful, sickening
agony of the caning, almost crying with joy when she heard him sit down on
the bedside chair having spoken just four words 'Five minutes crying time!'
for now she knew it was over.

 This meant she now had five minutes to lie, unmoving, in this degrading
position as he sat and watched while the pain and humiliation of her beating
sank in.  Five minutes where she was allowed to open her heart and her lungs
to cry out all her shame and her naughtiness as he watched in silence.  It
was five minutes which she always put to good use, weeping her heart out at
the pain and indignity she had suffered and was suffering.  Five minutes
while she reflected on the misdeeds which had brought her to this state.
Five minutes too where the violent agony of her caning began to diminish
slightly, becoming a pervasive warmth which spread like a forest fire across
her buttocks and into her loins where sudden, shameful and unexpected
feelings began to vie with the dreadful pain and embarrassment.  She would
cry and blush in her shame and agony before he said tersely 'Get up!'

 Then she would climb painfully from the bed and dry her eyes for now she
was expected to be back in control and attentive.  She would stand facing
him with her hands on her head, still completely naked, as he lectured her
on her misdeeds and tell her that even worse would follow should she
misbehave again.  Then, the lecture over, she would get into her night
clothes as he watched impassively and clamber into bed regardless of the
time of day.  She would stay in bed until the following morning with no
meals.  Tomorrow he would kiss and cuddle her with a tear in his eye but
tonight, content with proceedings, he would rise from the chair and leave
her room without a word.
 She lay still as she contemplated his arrival.  There would be about ten
seconds now and she could almost hear his footsteps on the stairs ...nine,
eight, seven... then brrrrrrrr!!! ...the doorbell rang!!

 She nearly had a heart attack as she clambered from the bed and looked at
her watch.  11am ..Oh God, they were early.  She shouted down through the
bedroom window and, flustered, began to climb back into her clothes.
Through the open window she heard her son's cheerful reply and the lively
giggling of her two young granddaughters.  Her face lit up with delight for
to see her son and daughter -in-law and the two beautiful girls brought
warmth into her lonely life.  How times had changed, she thought, for the
two youngsters had grown into lovely children without experiencing even a
punishing hand in their lives.  Spanking to them was some word in history
books from a bygone age.  .

 Before finishing her dressing she reached into the bedside cabinet once
more and found the creased sepia photograph of a slim stern man with swept
back hair and a neatly waxed moustache.  She kissed it tenderly as she
always did, a tear not far away, as she replaced the photograph of her
father in the drawer.  Still tense with excitement and before replacing her
knickers, she explored betwen her legs and found as always after these
re-enactments that despite her sixty eight years she was extremely moist.
She reached for a tissue and dried herself before replacing her underwear.
Moving now to her bedroom door, she allowed herself a guilty smile.  Perhaps
those wonderful little girls standing on her doorstep had everything going
for them but they WERE  missing something exciting in their lives which
could never be explained logically.
  Perhaps they would find out for themselves one day across the lap of a
lover or husband  but they sure as hell weren't going to find out from
Grandma!