A young woman is tempted to explore her feelings about corporal punishment

From OTD

By Joanna Jones.

How did I get into corporal punishment?

Well I guess it started about five years ago when I was twenty-two. My big sister was getting married and I, along with a couple of her best friends, were tasked with organising the hen night. Her friends could be a bit wild; I think my sister hoped I would be a voice of semi-sanity and prevent things going too far over the top. If so, she was I suspect sadly mistaken.

However, while a story in itself, the excesses of her hen night are not what this tale is about.

As part of the preparation for her hen night, of course, we wanted some of the usual lewd items and ended up looking in some suitable shops in the Soho area of London.

It was in one of these shops something happened that, perhaps, it would be no underestimate to say, changed my life forever, certainly in recognising and acknowledging things about myself as well as finding the man who I expect will one day be my husband.

When we first entered the shop we were assaulted by the usual garish displays and we headed for the section full of accessories, such as some “Learner plates” with some rather sexy images on them, and we also found some rather disgusting earrings. The shop also had a fairly large selection of ‘S and M’ stuff and we wondered on the merits of taking a small whip sort of thing. At the back there was a set of stairs and it was marked ‘role play’. Thinking there may be some outfits, and it had occurred to us to all dress up as nurses or wild schoolgirls, we trooped up. Half the area was full of outfits, some far too explicit for use at any hen night, in my view, and we did indeed find some suitable, rather short, dresses that were supposedly nurse-like.

There was a second half of the room which was round a display and a little more private, being quite well screened from the racks of outfits. There were a couple of comfortable seats and some ring binders, sort of like catalogues.

Inside was some information on more outfits (clearly more expensive and made to order) but also on scenarios to use them in, such as naughty school boy/girl punishments as well as other scenarios where one participant headed towards a seemingly inevitable spanking. I found myself looking at it almost engrossed when a fairly young, and to me quite attractive, man asked me if I needed some help. I reckoned him to be in his mid to late twenties.

I blushed and asked what exactly the folder was. He explained that the shop also did role play punishments where people came to have their bottoms, or more rarely hands (or even feet), smacked. This was usually carried out by one of the older shop staff, who could act as a headmaster/mistress, angry boss, or whatever. The book was for ideas and included the sorts of costumes and implements they had available or could obtain. There were some rooms on the floor above which were used for those who wished to indulge in such ‘games’.

My sister’s friends had come across by this point, and one commented: “You mean people pay to have a spanking? Gosh, that is seriously weird.”

The shop assistant replied: “You’d be surprised how popular it is.”

Even then I admit my interest was piqued. However, it was clear that both the others could not imagine anything more crazy and I joined in having a laugh about it and the ‘weirdos’ who enjoyed it as we bought our outfits and exited the shop.

Over the next few weeks I found my thoughts occasionally returning to that shop but, with my sister’s wedding now occupying almost all my spare time, it was more of the fleeting variety. However, as life returned to normal, my thoughts returned more and more to that shop in Soho.

I kept wondering what it was really like to be told to stick out one’s bottom or hand to be hit. Was it really as painful as it was claimed? I remembered there were some old comic annuals belonging to my father in my grandmother’s house and being surprised at the frequency in which kids, usually boys, were bent over at school, or put over an angry father’s knee. Nothing like that had ever happened to me. I lived as part of a different generation!

Suddenly the contents of my computer search history had a whole new set of words, and I found various spanking sites with stories, some fictional and others purporting to be true reminiscences, that further fuelled my imagination. At work I managed to ‘innocently’ twist the conversation to schools in the ‘bad old days’ and found that two older colleagues had experienced the cane on their trousers. One said it had not been too bad. The other admitted to getting it twice and said the six of the best he got the second time, for being too friendly with a girl, was agony. The girl concerned had got three on her hands and been in floods of tears after her experience, something he always felt rather guilty about. All this stimulated my imagination further.

It was perhaps nearly two months after the first visit when, on a whim, I took a detour on the underground and found myself looking in the window of the shop.

However, I felt suddenly very nervous and rather than going in I went to the coffee shop across the road.

As I sipped my latte, I asked myself questions such as: What was I doing here? And: Did I really want to find out what a sore backside was like that much? Eventually I resolved that I was being silly and, finishing my coffee, I returned to the underground promising myself to put the shop, its activities, and the man who I’d talked to out of my mind.

I cleared my favourites and search history in my web browser before going to bed. However, I did not sleep well that night, tossing, turning and wondering why I had been so scared. Eventually I got to sleep promising I would soon forget about it.

Of course I did not and within days was back to the stories on the Internet. The following Saturday afternoon I found myself staring in the shop window again. Taking a deep breath I opened the door and perused the various accessories on the ground floor. There were two staff present: an older lady and the younger man I’d talked to the last time.

I must have blindly examined half the items before I summoned the courage to climb the stairs, even then saying to myself it was just to look at the outfits again, especially some of the more explicit ones that I’d rather ignored the last time.

However, once up there I found myself gravitating slowly but surely to the catalogues, and, looking through them, I saw they were full of ideas for scenarios one could act out. The shop was fairly busy and I felt embarrassed, but no-one else seemed interested or disturbed me.

It must have been quarter of an hour before the younger man appeared and asked me if I needed any help. Panicking, I blushed and said no.

He just smiled enigmatically and cocked his head. The rational part of me said he must have seen others behaving as I was and I took a deep breath.

“I was curious,” I admitted. “I keep wondering what it would be like to be punished as a naughty schoolgirl.”

I was blushing again.

“Painful!” He said. “But oddly satisfying.”

I looked at him. “You’ve tried it?” I blurted out.

“Both been spanked and spanked others,” he replied. “I probably wouldn’t have a job here otherwise.”

I looked at him incredulously, unsure what to say.

Eventually he said: “I have a break, do you want a coffee? We could go to the shop you went to the last time you were outside.”

I looked at him, shocked.

It was his turn to redden. “I watched you from the counter, and remembered you from before.” He looked at the floor as he said shyly: “We don’t get many customers as beautiful as you, especially looking in this section.”

I found myself blushing again as I wondered if he meant it particularly to me, or whether it was the sort of thing he said to many young women. His look would indicate he was a genuine shy guy, and one who I did find attractive. I agreed to the coffee.

The coffee lasted much longer than any break I would have got away with at work, but perhaps he was part working. He was happy to answer almost any question about the shop’s side business and I soon had a fairly good idea of what would happen if I took the plunge.

I got a shock when he mentioned the cost, and I realised that it was not going to be a cheap experience! I was not sure I could afford it, let alone should afford it.

Dominic, the young man, explained why it was not cheap and it seemed not unreasonable. However, I could see why most of the clients were apparently well heeled professionals!

Eventually he asked how serious I was, and what sort of scenario most “interested” me. I told him it was more the strict headmistress thing, and he said he could perhaps see if he could get something arranged for me that was more reasonable.

I took a breath as I realised that if I agreed to him asking I was really going to have to do it. I think I stared at my Latte for well over a minute before looking him in the eye and saying: “Please.”

I waited nervously back in the catalogue area, while Dominic discussed my situation, I presume with the older woman and a middle-aged man who were both on the counter as we returned. Eventually he came back upstairs with a bit of a smile. He had two alternatives for me. I could be caned at about half the price he had said, but it would be as simple as possible. The ‘scenario’ would be ‘not wearing my uniform’ so I could just wear ordinary clothes.

He blushed as he gave the second alternative. He had his own fantasy about being punished with a girl for some joint offence, such as smoking. If I went along with that then the cost would be lower still, as it would be free (part of his staff ‘perk’) so I would only need to pay for a cane (it was a rule that, for hygiene safety, all participants must provide their own implements, apparently). Further he was happy to pay for that making it totally free.

I pondered, but came to the conclusion that I was not ready to share the experience. I said as much to him, but also that if I coped then maybe the next time. I also thanked him.

He was very philosophical about it and asked when. Normally people booked, but there was a free slot more or less now. Otherwise I could come back for a slot tomorrow, Sunday, or the following Saturday. Apparently there were weekday slots in the evening but they were booked well in advance. During the day, of course, I was working so that was not an option.

The realisation that I could have what I’d been dreaming about right now certainly concentrated the mind. There was a strong temptation now that it came to it to put it off, but I knew there was no excuse and doing that would be a way to postpone again. I steeled myself to go for it.

Dominic smiled and then brought out a sheet of paper. It was a kind of contract, with various options. First he went through various disclaimers. I had to initial each one to say I understood the risks and was doing this as a fully consenting adult. I showed him my photo driving licence as a proof of age. He then got to the ‘interesting’ bit, with a list of questions about the scenario itself, what level of undress, what cane, how many strokes et cetera.

First he asked me if I wanted to use my real name or a play name. He strongly suggested I adopt such a play name as that separated the fantasy from the reality. I agreed and chose to be Joanna Hawkins.

Dominic then told me they had strict rules for first time ‘players’. I either had to go for no restraints or have a stop word. He said it was best to go for no restraints as it was more realistic. I could leave if it was too much, which the “headmistress” would tell me was accepting school expulsion. It was also psychologically harder to actually leave than say the stop word, in his view.

I agreed, although at that point could not imagine needing either.

I had a few palpitations as he asked me whether I wanted it on my trousers, knickers or bare. He told me I could be ordered to totally strip or just my bottom.

I thought long and hard. In most of my mental fantasies I had been a naughty girl and been ordered to lift my school skirt and pull my knickers down for whatever punishment my mind was imagining. However, my dreams had included everything from a paddling over jeans to being ordered to strip completely, including by Dominic, not that I was going to tell him that! I knew that ‘knickers down’ was not very ‘realistic’ but despite that I finally opted for bare bottom.

The choice of implement and number of strokes was next. There were again rules for first timers and Dominic warned me that as I was opting for a ‘cold caning’ (I had read on the internet about the concept of a ‘warm up spanking’ but had no idea at the time of the difference that actually makes) I would appreciate the reasons for them soon enough.

I really wanted a ‘six of the best’, so was limited to either a ‘full length’ (3 foot) junior cane or a shorter rod, of around 2 1/2 foot length and senior cane thickness. These were of a lighter ‘kooboo’ rattan, rather than so called ‘dragon’ rattan which, while apparently equally flexible, was denser, therefore more painful. I had not appreciated that subtlety before. Dominic suggested that a shorter junior cane, that I could have on my hands at a later date if so inclined, would be enough for my first experience, but I was rather stubborn and wanted the ‘worst’ experience I was allowed to receive.

I felt a frisson of nervous excitement run through me as I examined the two canes I could choose, as Dominic described the differences in their ‘feel’. Eventually I chose the sting of the junior cane.

The next question was what position; over a chair, over the desk, hands behind knees, legs straight touching toes, gripping ankles. There seemed to be quite a list! He suggested I really would be better to have something to hold on to. I shrugged and left it to the headmistress to decide. “Best to have a few surprises to make it more realistic,” I said.

Finally there was the question of how sympathetic I wanted the ‘headmistress’ to be. These ranged from very sympathetic, in which case she would be kindly but firm in application of the punishment and there would be no additional strokes for standing et cetera, to very strict when she would be like a dragon in her behaviour towards me and even the slightest misdemeanour would see my punishment increased. However, once again my choices were limited as a first timer to the more sympathetic end. Eventually I chose the middle of the three levels available, which apparently meant I could get an extra or repeat stroke if I really disobeyed her, but she would be very patient in getting to that point.

All done, I paid for my experience, and the cane, of course. I then waited nervously as Dominic took my scenario to the manageress, the middle-aged woman who I’d seen on the till but not really talked to. One item of ‘reality’ was that she was essentially as remote to me as a Head would be to a pupil making a first visit to her office.

A few minutes later he came back and escorted me through a door onto a sort of landing. There was an open door marked ‘Private’, behind which there were some stairs going up, and a second door, which he opened. Inside was a plainly furnished room with a chair and a single bed. There was a small en-suite off it and a large full length mirror.

“This is your room for the next hour and a half or so.” He said. “You can relax and recover in here after.”

“Recover?” I asked a little nervously.

Dominic looked at me carefully. “A ‘cold caning’ is very intense. You will want some time to yourself after, rather than facing the world.”

He paused and then continued: “Are you sure you know what you want?”

I smiled sheepishly as I replied: “Not really, but I won’t know until I try it!”

Dominic looked at me a long time before finally saying: “There’s no disgrace leaving part way through; about a third do so on their first time. That’s why we’re so careful not to allow people to let their imagination get the better of them. I don’t believe it is possible to describe how it feels to be caned until you experience it.”

‘Gee. Thanks!’ I thought as I absorbed that. Of course I knew it was going to be painful but all his talk of how painful was beginning to unnerve me.

Dominic gave me a sheet of paper which had the ‘plot’ on it. He said I should read it and he’d come back in about five minutes once everything was ready.

Alone in my room I read the plot; roughly, it was that I had turned up out of uniform a week early thinking it was the day of a school A-level geography trip in the country where the uniform would get muddy. As a result of my carelessness I’d been sent to see the headmistress, ‘Mrs Smith’.

It did not take long to read. And I soon started wondering what I had let myself in for. Why was I doing this? A question I pondered for the umpteenth time. However, what I remember most is my body tingling in nervous anticipation, or was it dread?

Finally Dominic knocked and said: “Mrs Smith wants to see you in her office.”

I gulped and nervously followed him out, and he pointed me up the stairs. A notice on the inside wall near the bottom said: “You are in role from here!”

Dominic closed the door at the bottom of the stairs after watching me climb the first few steps, calling: “Good Luck!” As he did so.

I was too absorbed in what I was doing to acknowledge him. As I went up, I reminded myself I was now a sixth-former in trouble, though it did not seem quite real as I climbed up to the second floor landing. On the right was a door with a label marked: “Headmistress”.

This was it. Nervously I tapped on the door. A deepish woman’s voice intoned: “Come!”

I was definitely beginning to feel more like a naughty girl as I opened the door and crept into a moderately sized room with a desk in the middle. I noticed a large cupboard to one side, which I knew now would contain ‘my’ cane.

Behind the desk was indeed the shop manageress. However, with a smart business suit on and sitting behind the desk it was very easy to imagine her as a headteacher. She had a steely look as I closed the door, went slowly over to the desk and passed her the note.

I stood nervously fidgeting as she opened it. She glanced at it and said: “Joanna Hawkins?”

“Yes, Miss.” I replied.

“Well Joanna, stand up straight and keep still while I read this note!” She ordered.

I found myself complying. However, I was still chewing my lip nervously as she slowly perused the letter, technically from my form master.

Finally she put it down.

“Well, girl, according to your form master your lack of uniform is a careless mistake.”

“Yes, miss.” I replied nervously. “I am very sorry.”

Acting the part here was simple. Her attitude was quite intimidating as she glared across the desk.

She then embarked on a long lecture about failure to read notes properly. How did I expect to get good exam results if my planning was so woeful, was one question, for example. My nervous contributions were limited to a few more statements along the lines of: “Yes Miss”, “No Miss”, “Sorry Miss.”

As a result of the lecture, by the time she got to the punishment element I was essentially totally in role, anticipating miserably my ‘well deserved’ desserts.

“Your form master thinks, given your previous record, I should be lenient with you.” She glared over the desk up at me as she paused. “However, I disagree. You need a short sharp shock, girl, and one that will ensure no others are so careless to arrive for normal classes in such a disgraceful state of dress.”

I was standing desperately trying not to fidget as she sealed the fate that I had requested. “I think a caning is what is needed; six of the best!”

She paused, waiting for a reaction.

“Please Miss, I am very sorry.” I replied, staring at the table. My nerves had me tingling and my heart was in my mouth as the reality of what was happening sank in.

Any plea in my last apology was of course ignored. “I think a little poetic justice might be appropriate. Since nothing you are wearing is part of your uniform you can strip the lot off. Get yourself down to your bra and knickers!” She ordered. “Then stand facing the wall with your hands on your head.”

I gasped as that was a little more than I thought I’d signed up for. I suspect Dominic had told her I was up for a surprise or two. Briefly I wondered whether to object. However, under her piercing glare my hands went involuntarily to my jacket and I shrugged it off. Once I’d started undressing she started apparently looking at some paperwork on her desk, leaving me to my own thoughts.

Despite her apparent inattention, I am sure she kept a close eye on me over the next few minutes. Whatever the case I felt acutely self-conscious as I stripped off my jumper and top, then finally trousers and placed them on a chair at the side of the room.

As I made to turn to the wall she called out: “Those socks are hardly regulation! Get them off too.”

I did not dare argue and soon my pale cream socks lay on my thick jeans, leaving me standing, nose to the wall, clad in a plain white bra and some pink cotton polka-dot knickers. Normally, if I was going out on the town, I would make the effort to match my underwear as it made me feel more confident, but for day-to-day use I was more practical. Perhaps I should have considered the potential outcome of my actions that morning, but I never really expected to get this far.

Whether true or not, I could imagine ‘Mrs Smith’ examining my scantily clad body. I was a size 10 and proud of my narrow waist, and fairly happy with my bust size. However, my reverie as I finally pressed my nose to the wall and placed my hands on my head was rudely interrupted as she said: “Those are not regulation knickers either. Something for you to think on as you consider your stupidity, young lady.”

I had at least five minutes standing facing that wall as my dread increased. Was she going to order me to take my knickers down, or was she going to further humiliate me by doing it for me, I wondered.

After a few minutes I heard her moving around, and began to turn.

“Face that wall and don’t move girl. I expect you to do exactly as you are told.” She ordered angrily.

I hastily complied. As I waited, nose touching the wall and hands on head, I heard the cupboard click, a small clatter of wood on wood before a clunk told me the door had been closed again.

There was a pause, then a high pitched whistle, which I knew was the cane scything through the air. Suddenly I felt very panicky; very soon that whistle would end with a crack as the bamboo landed on my lily white buttocks.

Buttocks that were ‘virginal’ as far as experiencing any form of real punishment.

As I was contemplating that, I felt her approach and with a sudden motion she had pulled my knickers to my ankles.

My sense of vulnerability increased as I remained nose to the wall.

I heard her back at her desk, presumably clearing a few things out the way.

“Turn around, step out of those knickers and bend over the desk.”

Heart thumping, I dropped my hands and bent down to unhook the thin cotton garment from my ankles. Soon its polka-dots decorated the top of the pile where I’d put the rest of my clothes.

I then noticed her looking at me rather stonily. She was holding the cane. When I’d examined it with Dominic it had all seemed rather abstract. Not any more. There was a vicious weapon in her hand, one that was about to inflict itself upon my bottom.

Partly out of embarrassment in my near naked state, I got across the now clear desk quickly.

I gripped the far side and waited. Briefly, I wondered what I looked like, clad only in my bra with my bottom sticking out. My legs were straight and, despite the fact that ‘Mrs Smith’ had no doubt seen it all before, I consciously kept them together.

“Now, Hawkins, hold tight until I have given you your punishment.”

As the cane touched my bottom for the first time, I gripped the table tighter and screwed my eyes shut. Once again I wondered why I was doing this.

A few more taps, then a high-pitched whistle and a ‘thwip’ as the cane bit into my rear for the first time.

For a brief second I had that ‘Is that it?’ sensation before the sting blotted all else from my mind.

“Ooo-oh!” I screeched.

I found a gentle hand on my back, and a firm, “Don’t move girl” in my ear. After a few seconds, once I guess she reckoned I was not at risk of standing, the gentle touch on my shoulder blades disappeared, to be followed a few seconds later by an altogether less gentle touch on my backside as the second cut swished in.

I was concentrating harder, with my hands gripping much more tightly and teeth clenched. However a “Nnnngh” escaped as the sting impaled my senses.

The third followed quickly with another swish and thwip. Another “Nnnnngh”. This was far, far more painful than I expected. I was struggling already with the temptation to stand and leave. However that would be an admission of failure and I was not going allow myself to be defeated.

Thwip.

“Aaaaah,” I gasped as the fourth strike branded my rear. I felt a tear damping my eye.

Why am I nearly crying, I asked myself? I asked for this. In fact, why did I want this and why was I not running out of the room rather than sticking my bare bum out for this woman to whack?

Truth was, other than some desire to see it through, and some deep inexplicable desire to experience it, I had no understanding myself what I was really doing over that desk.

Thwip.

A fifth stroke, accompanied by a pained yelp, broke my thoughts. The overriding pain was the only sensation I was aware of. I wished I’d taken Dominic’s advice on the shorter cane. However, there was now only one to go.

There had been a long gap between the fourth and fifth blow, and I realised she was doing the same for that final stroke. I desperately wanted to get up from that desk but having got so far there was no way I was moving till it was over.

Finally a higher pitched whistle and more of a ‘crack’ than a ‘thwip’.

I confess I screamed as that final hard cut branded the middle of my already sore bum. I also stood up immediately and danced on the spot with my hands on my bum, oblivious to all else.

Once I calmed down a little, I was told that I should in future stay down until told to rise, but she would let me off this time.

She asked me if I understood, and I readily agreed. To be honest I think I would have agreed to almost anything that did not involve bending back over the desk again!

At her order, I slowly got dressed. Pulling up my knickers and jeans was not a pain-free exercise! Finally, after a final admonishment not to appear in her office again, I made my way painfully back down the stairs and into the private room, locking it behind me.

Dominic was right. I needed time to myself. Time to reflect. Time to let the adrenalin coursing though me subside. Time to strip off my jeans and knickers again and probe the damage inflicted, look at it in the mirror, and try to massage some of the pain away.

In the mirror, I saw for the first time the six stripes tightly clustered in the middle of my rear; as I probed them gently, I could feel the ridges of each.

Gradually the pain subsided and a feeling of relief filled me that I’d seen it through, replaced with an altogether different urge which I needed to satisfy lying carefully on my side on the bed. Once I had a quick shower, I knew my time to use the room was nearly up. Oddly, sitting as I dressed again at the end was not so bad, as ‘Mrs Smith’ had left the base of my bottom unmarked.

As I reflected, the intensity of my feelings and reactions surprised me; perhaps it was not surprising as the intensity of the stinging pain that rod inflicted had been a complete shock. However, I knew then I was hooked; there was a mix of pleasure in the pain that was something special. The chances of me being a ‘naughty schoolgirl’ again were very high indeed!

Dominic was waiting for me downstairs. He nervously asked me how it went. I told him if he wanted to know I would tell him over dinner that night after he was finished. A first date that has led to a happy (if more than sometimes painful) relationship for both of us!

The End

© Joanna Jones 2011 From OTD