{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!