{ASSTR 28} Sweet Revenge Sweetly Backfires
{Big Billie} (spank F/M, F/F, M/f, M/F, sex)
Part 1: A Bum Rap
I will never forget that day in early September 1958. I was a student at a co-
educational grammar school in south London and it was the first day back after the
summer vacation. This was my 'O' level year, and it would culminate in my taking
Ordinary Level GCE (General Certificate of Education) examinations administered by
the Metropolitan Universities Joint Matriculation Board. I was a scholarly, bookish sort
of chap, and my academic prowess had already earned me the captaincy of my form.
My ambition was to continue my studies at school and then to go on to university; but
without good results in those all important, externally assessed 'O' levels my
application for the sixth form would almost certainly be refused. I had a twin sister, in
the same class as me, with the same aspirations.
My name is Bill Brennan, and my sister's name is Frances although family and friends
have always called her Fanny. If family background helps to secure educational
success (which it does) we were both well placed. Our father was the Professor of
Ancient History at one of the colleges of London University and our mother, after the
birth of her six children, went on to become the deputy head teacher at a top convent
school for girls. Our large detached house, located in a green, pleasant, leafy suburb
was well linked, via buses and tube trains, to central London. As well as two adequate
incomes from our parents' employment there was also inherited wealth in the family
and our lifestyle was pleasant if not opulent. The house was full of books and, despite
the somewhat disruptive presence of my three younger sisters and of my little
brother, its ethos was urbane, scholarly, literary, and cultured.
It was in this pleasant domestic residence that Fanny and I rose from our beds to go
to school on that early autumn morning; we washed, put on our school uniforms and
packed our satchels. I felt apprehensive at the opportunities and threats of the coming
academic year but otherwise reasonably confident and optimistic. After all, it was now
more than a decade since the end of the Second World War and the subsequent post-
war privations and rationing. Harold Macmillan was our fatherly, if rather bumbling,
Conservative Prime Minister, and he was a good old egg, a reasonable sort of chap,
pretty pink and moderate as conservatives went; he was soon to tell us that we had
never had it so good, and, on the whole, he was right. As for the future, my parents
had explained to me that there was a shortage of well qualified graduates in job
markets, and that if I could once acquire a good degree from a top university it would
almost certainly lead on to a meal ticket for life.
The school was a Church of England foundation with a lot of endowed wealth and
property, and it had a formidable academic reputation. What was unusual, however,
was that both girls and boys were admitted, and they were mixed up together in the
same classes. (Oh yes, my dear American readers, I know that happened all of the
time in your country when Eisenhower was your President; but in England it was quite
rare, especially for selective "grammar" schools with a high academic reputation.) Our
family were practising Catholics, but nevertheless, on the basis of our performances in
the competitive entrance examinations, both Fanny and I had been admitted to this
prestigious institute at the age of 11.
Another anomaly was that at other grammar schools there was often a "fast track"
stream of the more able students who attempted their 'O' levels in their fourth year.
At our school, however, everyone studied for five years before being admitted to the
sixth form at the age of 16. They could then leave with their 'A' (Advanced) Levels
after two years, but sometimes stayed on for a year longer until they were 19, if, for
example, they wanted to attempt entry to Oxford or Cambridge. Thus, as we took an
underground train to our prestigious academy on that fateful September day, Fanny
and I were both eager 15 going on 16 year olds.
After morning assembly we were directed to the 5A form room. The headmaster
himself showed us the way, and then delivered a short address. There were five fifth
year classes, he said, and, on academic results so far, we were the best of them. He
therefore expected some excellent performances in our forthcoming examinations,
and, after that, he looked forward to most of us proceeding on to the sixth form and
to good universities. Then he asked a girl in the front row to fetch our new form
teacher from the staff room. The teacher's name, he declared, was Miss Singleton.
Now I had been taught by a number of females for my first 4 years at secondary
school, but this was the first time that I had ever been allocated a woman as my form
mistress. I envisaged some bossy old harridan, specially chosen by the head to whip
us into shape and to make sure that we, the class on which he was pinning many of
his hopes, would not foul up our forthcoming examinations. As I was soon to discover,
however, the "bossy" and the "whipping into shape" bits of this imagined scenario
were spot on, but the "old harridan" assumption was wrong.
Miss Singleton was young, very young to be given such a responsible position. On that
day, I was later to discover, she was a mere 22 years old. The headmaster, however,
told us that she had gained a double first "cum laude" in Mathematics and Physics at
Cambridge University and a distinction in her PGCE (Postgraduate Certificate in
Education). A glittering career had lain before her as a top academic and scientist,
added the head, but she had chosen instead the career of a secondary school teacher.
Last year the 'O' level results in mathematics and science had been disappointing, and
he was looking to improve them significantly by drafting in this youthful but
accomplished lady.
Then the headmaster returned to his study and Miss Singleton began to address us.
As she did so I scrutinised her carefully. She was a tall, slim, elegant lady whose
figure reminded me of the youthful Katherine Hepburn. She wore chic, stylish glasses
with small oval lenses and black, thick rims. These were clearly for reading and close-
up use, however, and now, as she scrutinised her scholars, they dangled between her
breasts from a cord.
Miss Singleton's hair was strawberry blonde; it was long, but currently tied up into a
bun. Her dress was grey and schoolmarmish and her stockings thick and black. Very
little skin was exposed except on her face, and that was pink and white, with,
displayed prominently around the nose, delicious auburn freckles that had been
roused to prominence by recent exposure to the summer sun. In her official capacity
as a teacher Miss Singleton was clearly trying very hard to hide her youth, her nubility
and her beauty. Indeed, she seemed to be consciously attempting to look like a
frump. But hey, I thought. Strip this lady down to a revealing bikini and she could
seriously over-excite me.
Suddenly my pleasant reveries were rudely broken into.
"Mr. Brennan!"
"Yes, ma'am?"
"What am I talking about?"
"I,....I....."
"Precisely. You don't know do you?"
"No, ma'am."
"Come here! Come on! Out to the front!"
Well, it was a fair cop, I suppose. My mind had been wandering when I should have
been paying attention, and I had no idea what was going on. But how was it that Miss
Singleton knew my name? And what was she going to do with me now?
Well, the answer to the first of these questions I worked out pretty quickly; but the
solution to the second came even faster.
"Face the class, please, Mr. Brennan, and kindly touch your toes. Come along! Stretch
and bend! Legs straight!"
Crack!!!
Before I could work out what was happening an ear-splitting report, as if a rifle had
been discharged, echoed around the classroom and I felt a sharp and excruciating
sting, right across the meat of my bottom, a little above the thighs, in the region
between my bum hole and the back of my scrotum.
"Right! Back to you seat, please!"
It was not until about 4 seconds later, as I straightened up and walked back to my
seat, that the full impact hit me; the initial sharp sting was supplemented by a painful
and intense tingling and I realised that I had had my bum smacked, and smacked
very hard. It was ringing like a bell and what I wanted to do at that moment, more
than anything else in the world, was to rub it. But no, I thought. I took my smack in
shocked silence and now, however much it stings and tingles, I am not going to
publicly acknowledge that this lady has got to me.
Before I had returned to my seat Miss Singleton's voice barked out again.
"Miss Brennan! What are you smiling at?"
"No... Nothing, miss."
"Don't lie to me, girl! Come out here!"
Like me, Fanny is of a blonde and fair complexion, but her cheeks now blushed to a
deep, embarrassed red.
"Come along! Face the class! Touch your toes! So you think a smack on the bottom is
funny, do you? Well then! Two slaps should be twice as amusing, shouldn't it?"
I watched in enraged and helpless fascination as Miss Singleton raised the hem of
Fanny's tunic and placed it over her back. Then she picked up from the open drawer of
her desk the implement of correction, and I saw for the first time what it was: a
fearsome looking double tailed strap or Scottish tawse about 15 inches long.
Crack!!!
After the raising of her tunic poor Fanny had only a pair of thin knickers to protect her
from that wicked, flailing strap. If anything, Miss Singleton slapped Fanny even harder
than she had slapped me, and the crack that rang out was even crisper and sharper.
Fanny took a sizzling wallop, and unlike me she was unable to endure it in silence.
"Aiyeee!!!"
Fanny's high pitched scream was almost as loud as the crack of the tawse. Then over
the next few seconds, as the initial sting was supplemented by the sharp tingling, she
started to cry out, loudly and helplessly, as if in the throes of an orgasm.
"Oh! Oh!! Oh!!!"
Crack!!!
This second slap, Fanny told me afterwards, was even harder than the first one, and
landed on top of it. Its effect on the victim, as its sting was incrementally added to
that from slap number 1, was even more dramatic.
"Aaaaaaaagh!!!"
Fanny was howling at the top of her voice. Then, unable to control herself, she leapt
up straight and started massaging the cheeks of her bottom vigorously with the palms
of both hands while dancing from one leg to the other. She did not even give her tunic
time to fall back over her bottom with the result that, as she capered around first this
way and then that, the lads of the class, when she turned away from them, got a good
eyeful of her beknickered bottom and the backs of her bare thighs.
"Right! Anyone else?" asked Miss Singleton after she had signalled Fanny to return to
her desk.
Unsurprisingly, she was met with an awed silence.
Our teacher then went on to describe the disciplinary regime that she intended to
inflict upon us during that academic year.
First she introduced us to the tawse, or "Stinger" as she affectionately called it.
Then she told us that she was implementing a system of merits and demerits for all
class members. Insubordination, breaches of the school rules and, in particular,
laziness and lack of effort, would be awarded "demerits." If we were good, however,
we could earn "merits," and each merit would cancel out a demerit. Anyone with 3 or
more demerits in the same week would take the tawse on Friday afternoons. For the
boys it would be 12 swats, and for the girl's, because they would be taking it directly
onto their knickers, it would be 8.
"So beware!" warned Miss Singleton. "You have just seen the dramatic effect of a
couple of slaps from Stinger. I suspect that very few of you would like to take the full
measure. So work hard. Avoid demerits. Earn merits. That is how to avoid trouble."
At home that evening Fanny and I had a mutual bottom inspection. By then any marks
on my bum had disappeared, but Fanny's rump was displaying two overlapping
reddish-blue stripes across the meatiest part of both buttocks, just above her thighs in
the area between her pussy and her bum hole.
Then we tried to work out exactly what had been going on. From the beginning Miss
Singleton had known who we both were and had hailed us by name, in contrast to
every other member of the class whose identity she had had to enquire about. She
had clearly, therefore, found out who we were in advance, and must have been
gunning for us before she ever came into our form room.
The conclusion was clear and inexorable. Miss Singleton had wanted to hit that class
hard, and to make an immediate impression. She wanted to stamp her authority on us
from the start, and for this she needed a couple of fall guys. I was the form captain, a
good, hardworking lad who never caused any trouble. Fanny was a quiet, well-
behaved girl with a most pleasant manner and attitude and an excellent disciplinary
record. Yet we had both been strapped, and strapped hard, me for very little reason
and Fanny for no reason at all. To the onlookers the implication was clear; if the good,
hard-working form captain and the best behaved girl in the class could take such
sharp and humiliating punishment for very little, or no, reason, then anyone could,
and anyone had better watch out.
As an opening gambit it proved deadly effective. But what about justice?
I was prepared to forgive and forget my own tawsing. After all, I was day-dreaming
when I should have been paying attention. I had displayed a lack of courtesy and
respect to my new teacher; my comeuppance may have been excessive but there was
at least some justification for it.
But what about Fanny? She has always been a virtuous and well governed lady, and
she now swore to me on her word of honour that she had neither smiled nor laughed
during my punishment. Indeed, she added, she had been appalled at Miss Singleton's
treatment of me. She was thus completely innocent of the charge against her, and,
indeed, of any wrong doing. Yet Miss Singleton had officiously and unjustly branded
her a liar, and had welted her so hard that, several hours later, there were still stripes
cut into her bottom. Fanny had taken a bum rap, and had also been deeply
humiliated. She had been made to cry out in pain, and to display her bare thighs and
scantily-clad, beknickered bottom to a load of gawping, excited, sexually stimulated
pubescent boys.
Actually, now that her ordeal was over, Fanny was more or less O.K. with it. "At least
it has given Miss Goody Two-Shoes a welcome bit of street cred," she remarked with a
rueful grin. Then she gingerly rubbed her striped bottom in an exaggerated and
theatrical fashion, as if to admit that the joke was on her. "And from what you tell
me," she added archly, "my saucy and revealing pants dance has probably won me a
few much needed male admirers."
That, however, was not my view. Fanny's comeuppance was no joke to me. I love my
twin sister more than life itself, and I was not prepared to see her so strictly and
unjustly used without doing something about it. On that September evening, in the
sitting room of our suburban house in south London, I swore a solemn vow to myself
and I resolved to keep it to the death wherever it led. One day, even if it were years
into the future, I would get even with the slap-happy Miss Singleton; I would have my
revenge, and I would make her pay for what she had done to Fanny.
After the trauma of our first day in 5A the academic year 1958-9 passed fairly
uneventfully, and very successfully, for Fanny and me.
Miss Singleton implemented her system of discipline as she had promised to do. She
was fairly free with her award of demerits, and she clearly enjoyed wielding the tawse,
both onto the bums of the girls, and, even more so, of the boys.
On the other hand, not that many students took the strap; on average I would say
that it was applied to about 2 or 3 rumps a week at most.
Miss Singleton was, apart from her lapse with Fanny on Day 1, a scrupulously fair lady
and her punishments thereafter were appropriate and measured. She had deliberately
made an example of Fanny and me, and she had hit us very hard. After that, no-one
ever again caught it so severely.
Our teacher was also very generous in awarding merits, especially to students who
were in danger of the strap and were actively seeking to avoid it. Thus, offers to fetch
the crate of free milk at mid-morning break, to carry away the empties, to put away
equipment or to help in other ways were invariably welcomed and rewarded. The
message was clear. If you were lazy, rude, cheeky or uncooperative you caught it; if
you were industrious, pleasant, compliant, deferential and helpful you did not. By the
end of the year Miss Singleton had the class eating out of her hand, and the
examination results demonstrated the success of her pedagogic regime.
Clearly, what was going on was a power game, and Miss Singleton was a shrewd and
expert practitioner. For example, she made frequent jokes and innuendoes about what
she referred to, in an amused tone, as the "spankings" that she dished out. Stinger
was frequently wielded in a mock comical fashion whenever our teacher was berating
us for any reason. Then, when the strap really was wielded in anger the punishment of
the victim was invariably accompanied by wry digs and teases. Throughout the week,
people who had amassed 3 demerits were reminded, in humorous fashion, of their
likely fate, and so on. By these methods Miss Singleton got the class on side. The line,
eventually accepted by most class members, was that a "spanking" as she called it
was painful for the victim but really quite amusing for everyone else. It made a useful
contribution to class discipline, it added a bit of spice and interest to the school week,
and it provided the audience with a saucy laugh and a giggle on Friday afternoons.
The result was that the victims were mocked not only by Miss Singleton but also by
their classmates. Yet to take one of Miss Singleton's tawsings was certainly no joke for
the victim. It stung and tingled like hell and was also very humiliating. Most people
went to great lengths to avoid it, and the concomitant ribbing and teasing.
In all of this, of course, there was a potent, if superficially latent, sexual content. Many
of the lads, in particular, got raging hard-ons when they witnessed the tawsing of the
girls. Wow! I must admit that on that one I was to be numbered among the over-
excited. Big, strapping, lusty 15 and 16 year old ladies strapped across the bottom
while wearing thin, skimpy knickers! The girls were made to face the class, so you
could not actually see the blows landing; but, even so, the girls' facial expressions and
the sharp, sexy crack of smooth, shiny leather onto thin, navy blue knicker fabric was
a real turn-on.
On the other hand, not many of the girls got tawsed, and those that did could have
easily avoided it if they had been prepared to toe the line, eat humble pie, and strive
for merits. After Day 1, for example, Fanny was never again chastised.
As for me, I grew to respect Miss Singleton, and I was always courteous, polite and
obedient to her. However, in accordance with the spirit of the vow I had made to
myself, I never abased myself before her in order to avoid discipline. The result was
that I took the tawse a further 5 times during my 'O' level year. I sensed a distinct
sexual element to it all, and Miss Singleton, I thought, thoroughly enjoyed teasing and
tawsing me. As for me, on each and every one of the sixty times that the strap
slammed against my quivering bum cheeks I reaffirmed to myself the oath I had
sworn on that September evening: "This stings, and I deserve it," I kept saying to
myself. "But Fanny took worse than this, and she was innocent. One day, one day,
Miss Singleton, I warn you, there will be a reckoning!"
Part 2: Miss Singleton’s Secret
I have always been an avid reader of detective fiction and at that age I fancied myself
as an amateur sleuth. So one night, after school, I followed Miss Singleton home and
noted her address. Then I checked the electoral roll for that address in our local
library. Two electors lived there:
Singleton, Mary J.
Singleton, Elizabeth A.
Well I knew from the school staff list that Miss Singleton’s initials were E.A. so the
second elector was her. But who was the first? I staked the joint out, as they say in
American crime stories, and discovered that Mary J. Singleton was a lady in her mid to
late 30s. I also found out that there was a young girl, aged about 8, who was part of
the ménage.
In the summer vacation after my “O” Level examinations I continued my researches
into the Singleton household. I was interested in why Elizabeth Singleton, a
distinguished young academic with top honours from one of our best universities,
should want a job as a secondary school teacher when she could have aimed much
higher. In addition, why was there no man around? And who was the young girl? The
obvious explanation was that Mary Singleton was the mother of Miss Singleton and the
little girl. But she did not seem old enough to have a daughter into her twenties.
I decided to investigate the little girl and I followed her one day when she left the
house. She went into the local newsagent’s shop and I did too. As we waited next to
each other in the queue I said to her, “Hey, aren’t you the little girl who lives with
Miss Singleton.”
“Yes, that’s right,” she said.
“Miss Singleton was my form mistress last year. She has been teaching me
Mathematics. She is very good.”
“Yes. She would be. My sister is very clever. She went to Cambridge, you know.”
By which time the little girl had reached the top of the queue.
“Hello, Angela,” said the newsagent. “What can I do for you today?”
Well, that seemed clear enough. But I was still not entirely satisfied. I was also
intrigued by the vivacious little girl; she was quite delightful, with mischievous eyes
and the same strawberry blonde hair and milk white complexion as Miss Singleton
herself. Was this lively little person, I thought, really Miss Singleton’s sister? If so,
there was a big age gap between them. And, in that case, who had fathered them
both and where was that father?
A few weeks later I went to our local Register Office and purchased copies of the birth
certificates for Elizabeth A. and Angela Singleton. Mary Jane Singleton, I noted, was
recorded as the mother of Elizabeth Ann; but there was no father’s name. There was
also no father’s name for Angela Catherine Singleton.
The real shock, however, was that the record showed that Angela’s mother was not
Mary but Elizabeth. I could also tell by comparing the dates of birth on both
certificates that Elizabeth was a mere fourteen years old when her daughter was born.
I then purchased a copy of Mary Jane’s birth certificate. This showed that she herself
was only fifteen when she gave birth to Elizabeth.
This was a scenario similar to some I had encountered in detective stories. A girl falls
pregnant in her teens and the teenage father disappears. Then the girl’s illegitimate
child (in this case Miss Singleton) herself falls pregnant and, in her teens, gives birth
to an illegitimate child of her own (in this case Angela). The teenage father again
disappears. To prevent scandal the younger child’s grandmother acts out the part of
the mother and the real mother is presented, to the younger child and to the world, as
the younger child’s sister.
Well, then, just a few weeks after Ms Singleton had taken up her tawse and inflicted
her final 12 of the best onto my quivering bum cheeks I had her at my mercy. All that
I had to do was to leak out her dark family secret and in those less tolerant years of
the mid-20th century that would have cooked her goose nicely for her.
But hey! No! I am not a complete bastard and I did not want to utterly ruin the lady.
And how could any young gentleman act the complete cad and traumatise sweet,
innocent young Angela?
I was also working up a lot of sympathy for Miss Singleton. True, she was living in a
large and expensive house in a select neighbourhood. Her mother, I deduced, must be
quite a wealthy lady and she had probably seen to it that her daughter got a first rate
education. But even so Miss Singleton has done very well to win such prestigious
academic honours after the traumas of teenage pregnancy and premature
motherhood. She must be a very feisty lady, I mused, and I like feisty ladies.
So I decided to mull things over for a while. I still wanted retribution for the wrong
inflicted on Fanny; but I wanted Miss Singleton’s comeuppance to be proportional to
her offence and not vindictive or savage. And in any case, there was in no rush.
Part 3: Angela Singleton
Then I got lucky. Angela Singleton was the same age as my younger sister Clare and I
found out that the girls went to the same primary school. From there, in November
1960, they both successfully applied for entry to St. Mary and St. John’s Girls’
Grammar School, which they joined in September 1961, a month before Fanny and I
went off to Oxford University, me to read English at St. Bede’s College and Fanny to
study Modern Languages at St. Agatha’s.
In mid-December 1961 when I arrived home after the Michaelmas Term I got a
surprise. There sitting in our living room with Clare was Angela.
“Hello,” I said. “You are Miss Singleton’s sister aren’t you? What brings you here?”
Well it seemed from the two girls’ explanations that there had been seven girls from
their primary school who had gone on to St. Mary and St. John’s. When they arrived,
however, they were streamed according to how they had performed in the entrance
examinations and, needless to say, our bright young clever clogs were the only two of
the seven to be put into the top stream. The new school was more formal and scarier
than Primary School; this had thrown them together and they were now firm friends.
Over the next few years Angela became a fixture at our home. She frequently slept
over and I got to know here very well. Indeed, dear reader, as you will soon learn, we
became dangerously intimate.
During Oxford University’s Easter Vacation in 1962 Angela spent her twelfth birthday
with her family and after that visited us to continue the celebrations. As ever, she
merged easily into our large house and the older family members in particular made
quite a fuss of her. Among other gifts there was a card from me and, for a present, a
small silver necklace. As jewellery goes it was not expensive; but it was more than I
should have spent and also an overly personal gift. “Oh, yes!” I thought to myself. “I
like this young lady. She is beginning to get to me.”
A few days later I was sitting at my desk in my study bedroom when there was a
knock at the door. It was Angela and she had come to thank me for the necklace.
Soon we were chatting amiably. I explained about how I knew her sister, and told how
Miss Singleton used to strap us. “Wow!” I said ruefully. “That lady has a strong right
arm! She used to really sizzle my bum for me!”
Angela was stimulated and amused by my anecdotes about Elizabeth’s disciplinary
exploits. “Ouch!” she exclaimed. “You mean she whacks the girls too? Right onto their
knickers? I am glad I am not at that school! I bet that really stings!”
“You think that it’s funny, don’t you, you little minx? Well, I don’t blame you. Now that
it’s all over I can see the joke myself. Don’t you tease me too much, though.
Remember, it’s the right time of the year to give you your birthday spanking!”
I then went on to explain the US tradition of giving a birthday girl the same number of
slaps on the bum as the years of her age.
Part 4: Birthday Spanks
That week I attended mass on Saturday night, and thus, on the Sunday morning, I
was home alone while the rest of the family went to church.
The doorbell rang and I answered it. There standing in the porch was Angela.
“Hello!” she said. She was trying to be chirpy but it did not come off and she sounded
nervous. “I’ve come for my birthday spanking!”
Oh ladies! Please! Explain it to me. What goes on in your minds? How old are you
when you start your scheming and your plans to entrap young men? I had thought
that my discussion with Angela a few days before had been harmless fun, if slightly
risqué. How wrong I was! Angela, as I now know, even in these, the tenderest years
of her youth, had fixed on me as the man that she wanted and had decided to make
her play.
Not, of course, that I was an innocent victim. I was a young man of 19 and I had
bought a young girl 7 years my junior a highly intimate and romantically charged gift.
Could I really claim to be without stain of sin or impure desires? “Oh well,” I thought.
“For better or for worse the wheel is now in spin so let’s play the game.”
“Okay,” I said. “You had better come up to my bedroom.”
By the time we got there I was nervous too. Fearful of a sudden return of the family,
even though they were not due for another hour or so, I locked the bedroom door.
Then I sat on the bed.
“Okay, young lady,” I said. “Over my knee!” And I sounded and felt nervous and
awkward.
But I need not have worried. Angela was growing in confidence now that she had
made it to my bedroom and had not been sent packing from the doorstep and she
took control of the arrangements. She was wearing a blouse and flared skirt and her
legs were bare. She moved to my right hand side and then, raising her skirt over her
back, she draped herself across my lap thus presenting to my excited gaze her two
milk white thighs and her pert little bottom tightly encased in thin navy blue gym
knickers.
“Are you sure that you want to go through with this, Angela?”
“Yes, of course. Get on with it!”
So okay, I thought. That is what I will do. By now, however, my cock had leapt to
attention. It was as stiff as a poker and pushing hard into Angela’s groin, pressing
itself upward against the downward gravitational weight of her tummy, thighs and
crotch.
I flattened my right hand and, holding it as stiff and open as I could I raised it high in
the air. Then, aiming at the sexiest and meatiest part of Angela’s bottom I brought the
flat of my hand down crisply and sharply slap across both buttocks in the region
between the pussy and the bum hole.
Crack!
“Ouch!” cried Angela. “That stung!” Her tone, however, was cheerful. She had a smile
on her face and she sounded amused. She realised, I think, that I had no intention of
taking her out of her comfort zone or of pushing her anywhere near to her pain
threshold. I liked her too much to really hurt her, as she well knew, and for both of us
this was merely a saucy but innocuous play spanking.
“Yes, I know,” I answered, hamming it up. “It’s supposed to.”
Meanwhile the impact of the spank pushed Angela’s crotch all the more forcefully into
my lap and caused her to wriggle against my stiff, rampant cock.
I left my flattened hand where it had landed for several seconds, pressing it into
Angela’s nubile bum flesh and luxuriating in the sensations. My palm and fingers were
tingling pleasantly and the tight, taut feel of Angela’s meaty young rump pushing
against them drove me to distraction.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Angela’s spanking proceeded in a sedate and decorous fashion. After each crisp slap I
continued to leave my hand where it had landed, not raising it again until it had
enjoyed for several seconds the voluptuous nubility of Angela’s plump, quivering bum
cheeks. Meanwhile, Angela’s loins jerked violently up and down, rubbing tantalisingly
against my excited, throbbing cock and frenulum and bringing me to the brink of
orgasm.
Then suddenly and all too quickly the delightful sport was over.
“Okay, young lady, that’s your dozen. Up you get! You had better be off. The family
will be back from Church soon.”
As I led her from the bedroom Angela asked me, “Don’t I get kisses as well as
spanks?”
“No,” I answered. “It’s birthday spanks and Christmas kisses. Come back then if you
want them. Now go on! Be off with you!” And I gave her a final saucy little tap on the
rump to send her on her way.
Part 5: Christmas Kisses
Over the summer of 1962 I read Nabokov’s Lolita and pondered over my relationship
with Angela. I reached no very definite conclusion except that I liked her, that I would
never do anything to hurt her, and that I would never hurt her to get back at her
mother for her unjust punishment of Fanny. “Hey, Bill,” I thought to myself. “You lack
the killer instinct! Revenge is a dish best served up cold and you don’t do salads!”
I was confused and disorientated. This young girl was winning her way into my heart
and I did not know what I could do about it with wit and safety. In England, then as
now, the age of consent for girls was 16. Angela was way under age and a very
tempting piece of jailbait. During her birthday spanking I had been excited almost to
orgasm while she was over my knee. If similar scenarios occurred in future would I be
able to resist the criminal opportunities so invitingly dangled before me?
Then the inevitable happened. One cold, wet, dark afternoon in mid-December Angela
came to my room for her Christmas kisses. I tried to deny her but she wheedled and
cajoled; and, of course, I wanted to kiss her.
Soon we were both lying facing each other on the bed and in the dark. In an attempt
to regularise the kisses Angela had brought some mistletoe with her, which she stuck
to the bedhead with sticky tape.
“Right,” she said. “A dozen kisses, please. Go on, one for each year.”
Well! A hot blooded, sexually frustrated teenage boy and a lively, vivacious, attractive,
willing young temptress! This, I thought, is unlikely to stop at kissing.
And I was right.
We started off slowly and awkwardly. This may seem incredible to you, dear reader,
but for several years I had dedicated myself to study and to getting into Oxford. I had
never had a proper girlfriend and I had never kissed a girl in a sexual way. As for
Angela, she, too, was a naïve and inexperienced virgin.
So it was during the third kiss that our tongues became entwined, and on our fifth kiss
that we started, as we were kissing, to explore each other’s bodies with our hands. By
kiss number eight, however, we had got the hang of it. Our kisses were lasting longer
and longer, we were holding each other in tight embraces and I was beginning to
finger the small developing breasts, the lower back, the tummy, the loins and the
inner thighs of my partner. The last few kisses were hot and passionate and there was
a lot of what is usually called heavy petting.
When it was over we lay together, snuggling into each other.
“Bill.”
“Yes, love.”
“I’m your girlfriend aren’t I?”
“Yes, you are. But we can do nothing about it. You are way under age and even what
we have done up to now could easily earn me a police caution or worse.”
This legal aspect had clearly not occurred to Angela until then and she pondered it
soberly.
“Well,” she said simply. “I love you. I can’t help it.”
This declaration caught me completely unawares and, to me deep surprise, it moved
me immensely. All the previous summer I had been mulling over and analysing my
relationship with Angela. Yet until that moment never had this simple, shining,
blinding truth been revealed to me. I loved Angela! I was fascinated, enchanted and
captivated by this vivacious, lively, teasing little scamp. My heart leapt in my breast
and tears welled up my eyes as the truth hit me.
“I know,” I said. I love you too. But, love, we will just have to be very restrained and
very patient. I don’t want to get you into trouble and I don’t want to end up in jail.”
So we agreed that we would, for the next few years, curb out romance as far as we
were able. We resolved, as far as we could, to limit our amorous activities to what was
safe, and to what we could get up to at the time of Angela’s birthday and at
Christmas.
“Okay, then,” agreed Angela, “but I want a Christmas spanking before I go away.”
So, of course, Angela got her Christmas spanking. Like her previous spanking it was
delivered affectionately. It did not sting her much and she took it with equanimity.
This was more than I did. I was already fired up by our lascivious and voluptuous
kisses, and this time the pressure and the rhythmic rubbing of my beloved’s crotch
against my stiff, rampant cock made me ejaculate into my underpants. I shot wodge
after wodge of sticky, creamy spunk into my encased lap, and my loins jerked
violently. Luckily Angela, naïve virgin that she was, was too innocent to realise what
had happened.
I got Angela to her feet and I rose from my sitting position on the bed with my face
flushed with excitement and embarrassment. Then, as last time, I gave Angela a
saucy farewell tap across the bum.
“Go on! Be off with you, madam! I’ll see you again at Easter. I’ll give you kisses but
don’t ask for a birthday spanking. Next birthday you will be a big teenager and big
teenagers get spanked on the bare bum!”
Part 6: Birthday Shenanigans
I was sitting at my desk in my study bedroom at home. It was the Easter vacation and
I was deep in study of the English novel in the eighteenth century. The family had
gone out for the day on a visit to a National Trust property but there is a lot of reading
required for a degree in English literature, so I had opted out to concentrate on my
studies.
Then, suddenly, I was interrupted by a knock on my bedroom door. When I answered
it I found Angela standing on the landing outside my door wearing a dressing gown.
“Hello, Bill!” She greeted me cheerfully. “The back door was open so I let myself in. I
am on a sleepover here tonight, so I have just put my bag in my bedroom.”
“Greetings!” I replied hospitably. Then, looking rather apprehensively at her daring
and dishabille boudoir garment I motioned her in.
“You know why I’m here, of course. I’ve come for my birthday spanks and kisses.”
“Well you can have the kisses,” I replied uneasily. “I promised you those. But I’m not
so sure about the spanks. I think you’re a bit too big for them now.”
Angela’s riposte to this completely stunned me. Her dressing gown was held around
her waist with a belt tied into a bow. But not for long! Angela reached out her right
hand, took one of the loose ends of the bow and tugged it, slowly and seductively,
away from her body. The bow was pulled open, the belt came away from her body and
Angela allowed her dressing gown to fall open giving me a revealing glimpse of bare,
tempting flesh.
“Too big?”
Then, raising her hands, she took hold of the dressing gown around the tops of her
arms, pulled it back over her shoulders and let it drop onto the carpet. Then the
titillating little minx looked me straight in the eyes and smiled sweetly.
“Am I really?” she asked innocently as she stood there in front of me, completely
naked.
Well, this was my epiphany with Angela, the sudden and unexpected revelation of a
blindingly obvious truth that had previously been hidden. The nude birthday girl
standing so provocatively before me was no longer a child; her nakedness revealed
that she was blossoming rapidly into a meaty and sexually desirable young lady. Her
developing breasts were still quite small, but her thighs were long and nubile, and her
figure had taken on the characteristic hourglass shape of a mature woman. I gawped,
open mouthed and helpless, at the voluptuous, white-skinned beauty displayed before
me. From Angela’s face I slowly worked my eyes down her body to scrutinise her pert
breasts and nipples, her waist, her loins, and, finally, the tops of her naked thighs and
the tantalising little clump of strawberry blonde pubic hair that sprouted invitingly
from her pussy.
I was entranced but also shocked and taken aback. Angela was blatantly flaunting
herself before me, smiling triumphantly at my embarrassment and discomfiture. For a
long time I gazed at her, numb and helpless; but then my fierce sexual desire was
supplemented by outraged anger. This little madam, I mused, is far too forward. She
needs to be slapped down; and I felt an overwhelming desire to spank her, and to
spank her hard.
“Very well, young lady, you have asked for this in more ways than one. Over my knee,
please.” And Angela duly placed her naked body in the required position, with her
firm, bare, meaty rump perfectly positioned to receive chastisement from my
descending right hand.
I flattened my hand and held it as stiff as I could. Then I brought it down as hard as I
could, right across the back of Angela’s perineum, between her pussy and her bum
hole, onto the juiciest and meatiest part of her upturned derriere.
Crack!!!
The crisp crack as hard horny hand struck soft, yielding bottom rang out loud around
the room. Angela’s plump white bum flesh wobbled and quivered deliciously and her
wispy auburn pussy hairs were scattered every which way by the breeze from my
descending hand. My fingers and palm tingled sharply from the force of the impact,
but this must have been nothing to the tingle delivered to Angela’s quivering buttocks.
“Wow!” I thought to myself. “That must have really stung!” And I gazed with
satisfaction at the red imprint made by my palm and fingers into the nubile white
meat.
Angela, however, uttered no sound at the violent indignity inflicted upon her. This was
the first time ever that I had spanked her hard and I anticipated an outraged reaction.
But I did not get one. Instead, my beloved submitted to her chastisement meekly and
in silence.
Now this compliant submission further enraged me. I had given it all that I had with
that first spank and it seemed that my efforts were in vain. So I gave Angela another
one, and again I gave it to her good and hard, slap across both bare buttocks.
Crack!!!
The smack was to exactly the same piece of arse as the first one, and added to the
escalating stinging and tingling.
And so it went on as I delivered a total of thirteen sizzling spanks across the meaty
naked globes of Angela’s bare, upturned rump. And they were no mere birthday
spanks either. They were sharp and disciplinary to punish her for her brazen and
coquettish forwardness. This was the lady that I loved and I hated to see her act like a
tart at such an early stage of our relationship. “I will enforce virtuous and well
governed behaviour,” I thought to myself as each slap struck home. “I will teach you
to always remember you are a lady! This is your father’s job but since he isn’t around
I’ll do the work for him! Take that, you flirtatious young hussy!” And at each slap
Angela’s rump reddened and shuddered, her public ringlets flew, and the sharp high-
pitched cracks echoed loud around the room.
After Angela had taken the last of her thirteen spanks there was an embarrassing
pause in the action as she continued to lie draped across my knee in silent submission
and I wondered what on earth I should do next. Meanwhile my saucy trip-hammering
of Angela’s bare butt had driven me into paroxysms of sexual desire. Thirteen times
my right hand had felt Angela’s taut, youthful, nubile bum flesh yielding to and then
pushing back against its firm, loud slaps, and my palm and fingers had been
deliciously tickled by the wispy fur ball of strawberry blonde pussy hair that was
nestled between my lady’s unshaven haven. All of this was more temptation than any
healthy young male could take with equanimity and my cock stood rock hard and
erect in my underpants, pushing hard against the fabric of my trousers and into
Angela’s navel.
Well, I had tried to teach Angela a short, sharp, sexy lesson and, on the positive side,
I certainly seemed to have slapped the cockiness out of her. But, on the other hand,
her saucy spanking had dangerously stimulated her sexual desires. She could clearly
feel my rock hard cock pushing into her and she decided to strike while the iron was
hot.
First Angela turned over so that she was sitting on my knee. Then she moved her face
close to mine and, holding me with deep and intense eye contact, gave me a sweet,
beautiful, romantic smile. Then she slowly opened her pouting lips and gently pressed
them against mine, kissing me very gently on the mouth.
“Ouch!” she said. “That stung! Well done! I never thought you had it in you!”
Actually, neither did I. But I never said that. Instead I said nothing as I continued to
gaze helplessly into the fair freckled face of this bewitching Lolita-type seductress.
“Yes,” continued Angela. “I didn’t see that coming! Wow!” and she leant forward onto
the backs of her thighs and ruefully rubbed her reddened rump with the flats of her
hands. “But now, what about my birthday kisses?” And she pushed her lips into mine
again, this time more forcibly, and gave me a long, lingering kiss that slowly escalated
into a delicate, delicious “Frenchie” as she artfully worked her long, probing sensitive
tongue into my mouth.
Well, dear reader. You get the picture. I am only a mortal man, and on that day I was
a very young and a very frustrated one. Angela was making me an offer that I could
not refuse and, as her kisses continued, I entered into the spirit of them and met her
invading tongue with mine. Then I lay back on the bed, pulling Angela on top of me.
Yes. That’s right. There I was, on the bed, entwined in an intimate embrace with a
completely naked young lady. And soon I was naked too.
Then the serious love-making started. Angela and I had done a bit of heavy petting
before, of course, but that was over clothing and never skin to skin.
I started off with an assault above the waist, kneading and moulding Angela’s nude
breasts; my lover, however, was more daring and she began to gently tweak the
naked tip of my bare cock, which was still in a state of bone hard erection with the
foreskin pulled up the stiff and engorged shaft and the sensitive purple nerve-enriched
glans fully exposed.
Now we were lying on our sides, face to face, with our heads on the pillows of the bed.
Angela’s nipples by now were hard and erect under my caressing flicks and teases as I
began to explore her lower charms. With my right hand still working at her left breast
I moved my left hand over her right shoulder blade and down her spine to the small of
her back. Then I pushed my fingers into the little dimples to each side at the base of
her spine, rubbing the flesh with a circular motion. Soon my hand was cupping her
recently spanked right buttock and my fingers gave it a sharp little tap.
Angela wriggled and nestled her naked body closer in to mine.
“Hey,” she cried out in quiet mock outrage. “That stings!”
At this I giggled and moved my hand lower down her bottom and between its cheeks,
lightly fingering her pussy lips from the rear and playfully twirling her short pubic hairs
with my forefinger. This elicited a low, ecstatic groan from Angela, and she opened her
legs, thus presenting her defenceless pudenda to my lascivious, probing fingers. Soon
the fingers went into the inviting slot between the two meaty little pads of her labial
lips, tickling and teasing the clitoris that was nestled into the red inner flesh towards
the top of her vulva. Angela groaned again and, as her arousal became more and
more intense, her honey pot got stickier and stickier from the flow of her lubricating
juices. Gasping rhythmically Angela then climbed on top of me, thrust her pouting
pussy lips towards my stiff, rampant cock, and before I knew it my sensitive purple
cockhead was nestled tightly into the entrance to her pussy.
I had been straining all of my efforts to curb my overwhelming desire to go into my
lover, but that delicious first taste of Nirvana, of the greatest pleasure that a woman
can grant to a man, broke my resistance. I pushed upwards into Angela with all of my
strength while she, at the same time, brought the full weight of her body down onto
my rampant privy member. The use of internal tampons had already made a breach in
Angela’s hymen, but the breach was by no means big enough to entertain a full sized
cock, engorged and rampant. The result was than my energetic penile assault on
Angela’s virtue broke straight through what was left of her maidenhead. I felt it crack
and tear. As my cock penetrated the inner creases of Angela’s vulva she gave a squeal
of pain as if in acknowledgement that she was a maiden no more, and that the prize
of her virginity was mine.
I spent the rest of that day in bed with Angela, and we made love another three
times. Now that she had got what she wanted she was a sweet lover, gentle,
romantic, generous and giving. Our first fuck had dissipated some of my wild and
uncontrollable lust but it was not totally satisfactory for my lover. I got better with
experience and practice, however, and by the end of these jousts of Venus my
improved skills and techniques, coupled with Angela’s hot passionate nature, were
sufficient to bring her as well as me to orgasm. Then, at about 6 p.m. that evening, as
we lay snuggled up in bed together, we heard the family motor car pulling into the
drive and Angela had to collect up her clothes in haste and scoot back rapidly to her
bedroom.
Over the next few days a maelstrom of fierce emotions raged within my breast.
Angela was the first girl I had ever known carnally and the intense, violent pleasures
of our coupling left me shocked and confused. Then there was the knowledge that my
seduction of an underage virgin made me a criminal in the eyes of the law. Worse still
Angela told me that she had been menstruating regularly for about a year; she was a
biologically mature, fully functioning woman and she might well be pregnant.
I agonised over this last possibility and developed a number of thoughts on it. Firstly,
if Angela were to be pregnant I vowed not to desert her. I would take whatever rap
the law handed down to me and, after that and when she was legally old enough, I
would do my best to marry her. Most important of all I did not want any child of mine
destroyed in the womb: as a good Catholic I vowed that I would fight any idea of an
abortion tooth and nail.
Then I thought of where a love child, if there were one, would leave my still
remembered vow to get even with Miss Singleton for unjustly tawsing Fanny. Well, I
did not need to ponder on that one for very long. Wherever this ended I had got into
the knickers of Miss Singleton’s only daughter and had comprehensively deflowered
her and robbed her of her cherry. If Angela really were pregnant that, I concluded,
would be revenge enough and to spare. Angela would be the third generation of her
family to have been put in the family way as an unmarried teenager, and, in those
less liberated times, the shame and embarrassment of her mother would be worth a
lot more than a couple of slaps with the strap across my sister’s rump.
But if Angela were not pregnant, I concluded, Miss Singleton stood in need of
additional chastisement; and I now had a pretty clear idea of what that should be.
Three weeks later the family went on another trip to a National Trust property and
they took Angela with them. Meanwhile I stayed home alone again studying. During
the day Angela left the family group, surreptitiously entered a telephone kiosk and
called me. Her period had started; she was not pregnant.
Part 7: Miss Singleton’s Comeuppance
Ever since I had discovered Miss Singleton’s embarrassing secret I had been forming
an idea in my mind about how, one day, I might get back at her for what she had
done to Fanny. Now I decided to put my plans into action.
The first thing to do was to persuade Fanny to go along with my scheme, and this was
no easy task. The lass has a generous and forgiving nature and she no longer bore her
persecutor any ill will. But I was adamant; I had made a vow to myself, I asserted,
and I was not prepared to break it. The lady must be punished, and the main
punishment must be inflicted by Fanny. As last my sister grudgingly agreed to my
plans, I got her a thick leather strap, and she practised spanking cushions with it as
hard as she could.
The next thing to do was to set up the deal with Miss Singleton. When I had got into
Oxford my father had bought an old motor car for me as a reward, and, on occasions,
I used it to drive Angela back home after her visits to my sister Clare. So one night,
instead of just dropping Angela off I drove into the drive, parked the car, accompanied
her to the front door and rang the bell. Elizabeth Singleton, my old form mistress,
answered the door and I asked if I could have a word with her in private. The result
was that a bemused Angela was sent to watch the television in the living room while I
was ushered into the lounge. Soon Miss Singleton and I were sitting in armchairs and
she was asking me what I wanted.
I cut out the preliminaries and got straight down to business.
“Miss Singleton,” I replied, “I know that you are Angela’s mother.”
Well! That was certainly good for openers! Elizabeth was jolted back in her seat as
though I had punched her in the face. The blood drained from her cheeks and she
relapsed into a state of catatonic shock.
“Oh,” she said dully. “I see.”
“Okay,” I continued. “Bear that one in mind; I will return to it later. Now, Miss
Singleton, I want to take you back to September 1958, and to your very first day as a
secondary school teacher at a co-educational grammar school in south London.”
I went on to remind Elizabeth Singleton how she had unjustly punished my twin sister,
and I explained how, as Fanny’s outraged brother, I had vowed to avenge the
injustice. Elizabeth, I concluded, had a choice. She could withstand the onslaught of
pernicious rumour or she could atone for her sin by submitting to appropriate
chastisement. If she chose the road of atonement, I assured her, she could rely on my
word of honour as a courteous gentleman, and on Fanny’s word of honour as a
discreet, virtuous and well governed young lady, that we would carry her secret with
us to our graves.
“So,” I concluded. “What is it to be?”
I must admit that I enjoyed my little chat with my old form mistress just as much as
she used to enjoy teasing and tawsing me when I was a nubile fifth former. Miss
Singleton was a gifted and talented disciplinarian and she knew exactly how to put
you through it. But I felt that I was capable of slapping her into line just as effectively
as she had once slapped me and my old form mates. The dénouement of our
discussion was that Elizabeth Singleton agreed to call at our house at 11.00 on the
following Saturday, while the rest of our family were out for the day, for a meeting
with Fanny and me, and that she would bring her tawse.
Thus it was that, in the springtime of the year, at 11 o'clock one fine, sunny Saturday
morning in the early 1960s, a tall, slim, beautiful schoolmistress in her mid to late 20s
walked up the drive of a large, pleasant, detached house in the suburbs of south
London and rang the doorbell.
"Good morning, Miss Singleton! What lovely weather we have! Please, do come on in."
Despite my friendly and welcoming manner Elizabeth was apprehensive and nervous
as she entered through our front door and allowed herself to be ushered into our
sitting room.
"Tea or coffee?" I enquired brightly.
Miss Singleton opted for tea, and soon she was seated by a small coffee table while
Fanny poured the tea into bone china cups and I offered the ladies biscuits.
"I have a bedroom upstairs," I explained. "When we have finished our tea I suggest
that we go up to it for the administration of discipline. That should avert the possibility
of anyone seeing us through the windows." It will also, I thought to myself, be a sexy
and amusing turn on to spank you, my dear lady, in the room where I so recently
spanked and deflowered your daughter.
"Okay," replied Elizabeth resignedly and soon we were making our way up the stairs.
When we got to the bedroom my tone changed to that of strict disciplinarian.
"Miss Singleton, I have explained why you are here. We intend to chastise you for the
corporal punishment that you wrongly and unjustly inflicted upon my sister Frances in
September 1958. The chastisement that we have planned for you will be both
uncomfortable and embarrassing. Are you sure that you are prepared to accept it?"
"Yes, I am," replied Elizabeth.
"If you change your mind at any stage you are, of course, at liberty to leave, and to
accept, instead, the consequences of your withdrawal."
Elizabeth nodded her assent to this.
"Okay. Then will you first take off all of your clothes, please, and put them onto that
chair."
These instructions not unnaturally shocked Elizabeth, as I had intended them to; she
was flustered and her cheeks crimsoned up. Nevertheless, slowly and nervously she
made her way towards the chair, which was in a corner of the room. Meanwhile Fanny
and I sat ourselves down, side by side, on the sofa.
Next, again very nervously and tentatively, Miss Singleton began to disrobe and I
watched her striptease with avid interest. After she had removed her cardigan she
hesitated.
"Come on, Miss Singleton," I urged. "Are you going to go through with this or do you
want me to call it off?"
"No, no. I will do as you ask."
"Then get on with it. We do not have all day."
Thus encouraged, Miss Singleton pulled her flowery summer dress over her head and,
putting it onto the chair, stood before us in her bra and panties. Modern tights were
not widely available in the early 1960s, and this, for me, was a bonus, since between
her stockings and her suspenders Miss Singleton displayed, in all their naked
perfection, her two delicious, meaty, milk white thighs.
"Now the bra, ...the stockings, ...the suspender belt, ...the panties," I urged, until the
victim was totally nude, stripped to the buff, and without a stitch of clothing to protect
her modesty.
"Now come here and stand on this small red mat in front of the sofa if you please."
Well, she was slow, shy and reluctant about it but Elizabeth again obeyed, and soon
she was displaying her sumptuous nude form right in front of us and only a few feet
away.
Oh wow, dear reader! The lady was beautiful! She was now, as I have said, into her
mid to late twenties, and those few extra years had, if anything, added to her charms.
She was now less willowy, perhaps, but a little bit meatier, riper and more mature.
Elizabeth Singleton had been a stunning piece of Eve's flesh as she had stood before
form 5A in the autumn of 1958; now, a few years later, she seemed even more
alluring. Her figure was slightly fuller, her breasts slightly more pendulous, and her
thighs (or so I imagined since I had never seen them naked before) slightly more
voluptuous. The strawberry blonde hair hung down over the shoulders. The shoulders
themselves, like the face, arms and lower legs, had caught the weak early spring
sunshine and were slightly browned and freckled. In contrast, the skin on the torso,
navel and thighs was milk white. And there, rivetting my attention, were the milk
white loins and the thick downwardly pointing arrow of pale gold, auburn pubic hair, a
luxuriant clump of it that sprouted jauntily from around the pussy in indelicate and
saucy profusion. This directed my eager gaze towards the vulva and stimulated
excited and indecent thoughts as to where I wished my cock were lodged. "Oh dear,
beautiful lady," I thought, "What a pity that you are not married! You are in perfect
breeding condition!"
For a long time I gazed helplessly at the naked body of Elizabeth Singleton, and, as I
did so, my cock stood stiff and rock hard in my underpants. But at last I decided that
it was time to get on with the show.
"Right," I said briskly. "The first part of your punishment, Miss Singleton, consists of
the writing of lines. Please go and sit at the desk over there. Good. Now in front of
you will see a pad of writing paper, lined and with a margin. Have you got that?"
"Yes, here it is," said Elizabeth.
"Now can you also see a Parker fountain pen, close to a bottle of ink?"
"Yes. I have it."
"You are sentenced to one hundred lines, Miss Singleton. On hundred times you will
write out the following: "I must not slap the bottoms of innocent young ladies." You
will also number your lines in the margin from one to a hundred. Now, have you got
that?"
"Yes."
"Then off you go."
And so, for more than half an hour, Miss Singleton sat there naked at my desk,
presenting to me a fetching and ravishing view of her pendulous, gently swaying
naked breasts, each milk white globe adorned with a delicious pink nipple. And for
more than half an hour I gazed transfixed at those two glorious pendent mammaries
and their adorning teats. "How fortunate the baby," I mused, "who gets to wrap his
lips around two such succulent cherries."
The writing of the lines used up a lot of ink and half way through Elizabeth had to refill
the fountain pen. Meanwhile I watched closely, observing how her breasts moved as
she reached for the ink and dried the end of the pen with blotting paper.
At last Elizabeth signalled that her lines were complete.
"Very well, Miss Singleton, come here, please, and hand them to me."
I scrutinised Elizabeth's work in a leisurely fashion before pronouncing it satisfactory.
"Now," I said, "for the next stage of your chastisement. You were asked to bring your
tawse with you. Could I have it please?"
Miss Singleton went over to the chair onto which she had placed her clothes, retrieved
the implement of correction from her bag and handed it to me. I flicked it a few times
and heard the swishes as it cut through the air.
"Miss Singleton, you are hereby sentenced to a Biblical retribution, as laid down in the
Pentateuch of the Old Testament. In the olden days a man who, for example, stole a
goat had to restore the goat to his victim and, in addition, hand over three more
goats. You too will pay a fourfold penalty; you will get back the two slaps that you
inflicted on Frances plus another 6 slaps to make a total of eight. Is that clear?"
"Yes," replied Elizabeth dully.
"Unless he knows her intimately," I continued, "it is neither chivalrous nor proper for a
gentleman to slap a lady across her bare bottom. You chastisement will thus be
administered by my sister Frances under my direction." And I handed the tawse to
Fanny.
“Very well, Miss Singleton, please face the wall behind you, straighten your legs and
touch your toes."
This had the effect of presenting Elizabeth's bottom to the rays of sun that were
shining into the bedroom through the window behind the sofa. I observed with
satisfaction that when the victim rotated through 180 degrees as instructed, her back,
bottom and thighs were bathed in sunlight, giving me as excellent a view of them as I
had previously had of her breasts, loins and thighs when she had been facing me.
"Now, Fanny, please take up your position to the left hand side of Miss Singleton’s
bottom."
Thus far, dear reader, I have not made much mention of the role of Fanny in this
entertaining dénouement. But please bear with me. All will soon be revealed. For the
moment let me just say that my sister and I had meticulously rehearsed all of this in
advance. We knew exactly what we were going to do to chasten and humiliate Miss
Singleton, and we knew exactly how we were going to do it. Fanny had participated
enthusiastically in these rehearsals, and she was very well briefed. My only concern
was that she might bottle out when we did it for real. She is such a pleasant, kind and
easy going lass that I feared she might not have it in her to whack Miss Singleton with
the required vim and vigour. I had gone to a lot of trouble to set up this scenario and I
did not want Fanny to bottle out and rob me of my full and complete revenge.
"Come along, Miss Singleton. Stretch and bend. I want you to bend over and touch
your toes whilst keeping your legs straight. No. That still is not good enough. Fanny,
would you please give Miss Singleton a little slap of encouragement across her
bottom. Just above her thighs would be a good place.”
Fanny moved the tawse, clasped in her right hand, in front of Elizabeth’s bottom and
then flicked it sharply at the pussy meat to the inside of Elizabeth’s left buttock.
Crack!
The wicked double tailed tawse curled around the lower bottom and slapped sharply
against the naked arse meat, just where it met the pouting outer lip of the pussy. Well
Fanny had administered a sharp flick rather than a hard slap but even so the end of
the tawse inflicted two delicious little red marks onto that part of the lower left buttock
that was usually covered by the gusset of the victim’s panties.
Well Elizabeth Singleton was clearly of the opinion that she did not want to take
another one like that if she could avoid it and she began to push her fingers towards
her toes as hard as she could.
“That is a little better, Miss Singleton, but it is still not very good.” And I signalled to
Fanny to give her victim another, slightly harder, flick.
Crack!!
This time the sharp slapping leather struck across both bare buttocks just above the
thighs.
“No.” And I signalled to Fanny to administer a third flick, harder still. This flick landed
slap on top of flick number 2 and it rang out like the sharp report of a rifle.
Crack!!!
“Now listen carefully, Miss Singleton. I am asking you to keep your legs straight yet
you are beginning to bend them. Kindly obey the instructions that you are given.
Alternatively, this can go on all morning if you want it to.”
By now I could hear Elizabeth grunting sotto voce and panting in and out with short,
urgent breaths as she did her very best to obey my commands and thus, she hoped,
to avoid any more of these sharp, humiliating and infuriating little flicks.
Meanwhile, I was sitting directly behind Miss Singleton and as she bent forward and
downwards I noted her firm, muscular and shapely calves. They were beautifully
athletic and meaty, as were the long, white, nubile thighs. I also got a stunning eyeful
of Elizabeth’s derrière. She was standing with her feet slightly apart and at the top
insides of her thighs two little hollows were formed by the muscles and tendons of the
legs as the victim strained to bend over and to push her head and shoulders
downwards. I gazed entranced at the succulent pouting pussy lips and I recalled how,
thirteen years ago, Angela had made her entry into the world through those stunning
portals. I was mesmerised by the gold auburn pussy hair that sprouted from around
the labial lips and I watched intently as it twitched and quivered when struck by the
strap. Meanwhile, Elizabeth, fearful of another sharp flick from the tawse, continued to
grunt and strain in her efforts to bend over as far as she could.
“Okay,” I conceded grudgingly. “That’s just about good enough I suppose. But hold it
right there, Miss Singleton, or you will be sorry.”
And I gazed with satisfaction at the pink tingling meat across the back my victim’s
pussy.
“Now,” I continued, “Let the chastisement commence. Fanny, kindly give Miss
Singleton her first slap. Just above the thighs again, please.”
Now Fanny had rehearsed this scenario thoroughly. We had discussed it together in
great detail and she knew exactly what she had to do. The target area was the
succulent undercarriage of Miss Singleton’s rump, the plump meaty bit between the
bum hole and the pussy, across the back of the perineum. A slightly upward blow was
required to strike this cleanly with the flat of the strap, so Fanny kept her arm low as
she pulled it back. Then she brought round that strap fast and hard, in a slightly
upward arc, with all of her might. It fairly whistled through the air with an audible
swoosh and landed absolutely flush against naked, unprotected pussy meat with a
report that was so sharp and high pitched that it made my heart leap into my mouth.
CRACK!!!
Oh wow! The loud slap as the wicked double tailed tawse struck against nubile naked
bum flesh echoed loud around the room and could probably have been heard in the
street.
I watched entranced as the strap rebounded from off the naked arse meat, leaving a
thick white line as it did so. Then, over the next four or five seconds, this white stripe
blushed a deep cherry red as the initial sharp sting of the strap was supplemented by
an escalating tingling. Under the force of the blow Miss Singleton’s buttocks wobbled
and quivered deliciously and her thick clump of auburn pussy hair was fluttered and
scattered every which way by the quivering bum flesh and the breeze from the strap.
“Ah!” cried Miss Singleton. Then “Aw! Aw!! Aw!!!” as her bum began to sizzle.
As soon as I heard that high pitched slap, exploding like a fire cracker across the back
of Miss Singleton’s twat, I knew that Fanny was more than up to the job that I had
entrusted to her. I never thought that the lass had it in her but, contrary to my
expectations, she looked set to deliver a really mean, spiteful and vindictive slapping
to Miss Singleton’s quivering buttocks and to wreak revenge on her in spades. Indeed,
I was beginning to think that Fanny was, perhaps, too enthusiastic a disciplinarian,
and too strict in her chastisement. As a courteous and chivalrous gentleman I would
never have dreamt of smacking a young lady’s bare bottom that hard. Fanny,
however, had absolutely no compunctions about it. She was enjoying herself, and in
my view she was enjoying herself a little too much. But nothing could be done about it
now so I decided to get on with the show.
“One,” I counted. And I signalled to Fanny to deliver the second whack.
CRACK!!!
Fanny inflicted this second slap every bit as hard and as fast as she had inflicted the
first one. It struck home just as flush and just as sweetly onto exactly the same piece
of arse that was already ringing and stinging from slap number 1, and it was more
than Miss Singleton could bear. “Ouch!” she yelled, and she straightened up and
capered and cavorted around the room in a most comical fashion, frantically clutching
and rubbing at her beleaguered twat meat as she did so. If anything her dance was
even more lively and animated than Fanny’s had been when she had taken her two of
the best in September 1958, and Miss Singleton was clearly ashamed and
embarrassed by her display.
“I’m sorry,” she said after she had brought herself under control, “but that really
stings!”
And so Miss Singleton’s chastisement continued, in a leisurely and entertaining
fashion. She got a few more flicks from the tawse before she was bending over to my
satisfaction to receive slaps 3 and 4. I instructed Fanny to inflict them just above slaps
1 and 2 so that the disciplinarily challenged cunt meat gained a little respite. Again,
however, Miss Singleton was unable to endure the escalating stinging and tingling of
slap 4 landing exactly on top of slap 3 and she was yet again constrained to dance
helplessly around like a naked chump, clutching and rubbing at her bum.
In view of the distress caused by slaps 3 and 4 I agreed in advance to grant Elizabeth
another brief intermission for bum rubbing after slaps 5 and 6. First, however, Miss
Singleton had to adopt the position again, and to get her bum flicked with the tawse
until she got into it to my satisfaction. I then asked Fanny to deliver slaps 5 and 6
between the red weals made by slaps 1 and 2 and slaps 3 and 4.
“Aw! Aw! Aw!” squealed Elizabeth as she repeated her bum rubbing dance for the
third time. Then, yet again, she took up her position and had her arse flicked until I
was satisfied with her posture.
It was slaps 7 and 8 that had the most dramatic impact. I told Fanny to let Miss
Singleton have them as hard as she could, right across the back of the twat again,
slap onto the red marks inflicted by the first and second smacks. Oh, wow! Miss
Singleton’s pubic hairs flew, her pussy meat wobbled and quivered in the most
provocative and indecent fashion, and the lady howled plenty. I watched agog as slap
7 tingled and further reddened Elizabeth’s already red and tingling cunt meat; but I
was not able to enjoy the same sight after slap 8 since as soon as it had landed its
recipient leapt up once again and administered a most vigorous clutching and rubbing
to her well smacked arse while dancing around the room emitting a series of whoops
and yells.
I gave the victim time to compose herself and then I told her to stand in front of us
again. There she stood facing the window behind the sofa, her breasts, loins, pussy
and thighs illuminated by the spring sunshine and exposed to my eager, lascivious
stare.
I then gave Miss Singleton the pages of paper with her lines written on them.
“Now,” I said, “I want you to read out aloud all of these one hundred lines. Before
each line you are to read out its number, from one to a hundred, as recorded in the
margin. I want you to read slowly, loudly and clearly. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, off you go.”
“One. I must not slap the bottoms of innocent young ladies.
Two. I must not slap the bottoms of innocent young ladies.
Three. I must not slap the bottoms of innocent young ladies.” And so on.
It took seven or eight minutes for this exercise to be completed. I then told Miss
Singleton to keep the lines as a memento and a reminder never to abuse her position
of authority and trust as a teacher.
“Oh, and before you get dressed, Miss Singleton,” I continued. “You might like to
know that, as I have told you before, Fanny is a discreet, virtuous and well-governed
young lady and I am a courteous and chivalrous gentleman. We would never spread
malicious rumours. I am also very fond of your, er.., ‘sister’ and I would never do
anything to harm or distress her. Your secret was always safe with us. If you had been
a better poker player you could have called our bluff and avoided your chastisement.”
Miss Singleton looked me straight in the eyes. Then she turned her gaze onto Fanny.
“No,” she said. “What I did to you, Frances, was wrong, and I deserved to be punished
for it. Please forgive me.” She held out her hand in a gesture of peace and friendship
and Fanny and I both shook it cordially.
Part 8: Brief Update
All of this, dear reader, happened long, long ago. Fanny and I are now into our late
sixties, and Miss Singleton (now Mrs. Prendergast after she married Sam, the elder
brother of one of Angela’s friends) is over seventy. Even Angela, my wife, is well into
her fifties. I am now a father and a grandfather to my own children and to their kids,
and an uncle and a great uncle to Fanny’s brood. Sam and Elizabeth also have
children and and all of us maintain close family links.
Of course, the truth eventually came out about Angela. When she was eighteen she
was required to produce her birth certificate for an official purpose and her true
mother was revealed to her. Later, Elizabeth did the honest thing and told the truth to
Sam at an early stage in their relationship. Sam, bless him, took it all in his stride and
the courtship continued.
Fanny and I have never told anyone about how we stripped and smacked Angela’s
mother on that bright spring morning in the early 1960s, and neither, understandably,
has Elizabeth. But it still gives me a little frisson of sexual pleasure when I recall the
incident. After all, wouldn’t many of you gentlemen reading this now (and, I suspect,
even more of you ladies) like to strip your mother-in-law stark naked and slap her
bare arse for her!