Part 4 - Tom's Story

Part 4 - Tom's Story - The Gymnastics Coach

By Adrianne Bloom
bloom10001@hotmail.com

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This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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Tom’s story

The Gymnastics Coach

Part 1

During one of the most fortunate times of my life, in the nineteen sixties, I was employed as a gym instructor at an exclusive girl’s boarding school. I had just left the navy and I was seeking a career away from the horrors of war that would still make use of my skills in a fulfilling and worthwhile way. I had seen as much action as I needed in Burma, Korea and North Africa and was looking forward to a peacetime occupation. I was surprised when my application was successful; I had not thought I stood a chance of becoming a male teacher at an all girl school, especially as the job would entail such physical and intimate contact; but my credentials were impeccable, my experience was impressive and the school wanted to show a progressive and modern face to the world.

Ms Hogarth, the head teacher, particularly wanted me to train a gymnastics team. She had identified some gymnastic potential in the fourth and fifth years and felt there was talent enough there to form a team able to compete at championship level. The school was unimpressive in most other respects and this was part of her campaign to attract more students. She demanded that I not allow the girls any consideration just because of gender, that I should deal with them as I would any navy recruit and that I should use whatever methods I thought appropriate to get them up to scratch. I was to have carte blanche regarding their discipline but, she insisted, the school must be represented at the next forthcoming championships.

My first encounter with the girls was on my first day. I had a double gym session with the fourth year girls at the end of that afternoon. They were the motliest bunch of fifteen year olds I had ever seen, of all shapes and sizes and I wondered where Mrs Hogarth had observed the talent she spoke about. I knew I had a challenge ahead of me and that, if I had any chance of placing a team in the championships, my first job would be to weed out the fat, unhealthy, clumsy, or lazy and concentrate my attention on those that stood any chance of success. So, to see what they could do, I put the entire class through a routine of circuits including running, sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups, squats and abdominal crunches. I worked them hard, never letting them rest and pushed them to their limits. I could judge from this exercise those that were hopeless and extracted them from the group as soon as I detected their weakness. Eventually I was left with a bunch of ten that, although they were sweating and breathless at the end, seemed to be still enjoying themselves and had energy left to continue. These I put into two teams to set one against the other in a relay.

I addressed both teams.

“Before we start this relay there is something you should know. I have been charged by your headmistress to select a team that is skilled and trained sufficiently to represent the school without disgrace at the forthcoming gymnastics championship. You are the lucky ones, but the championship is only eight months away. If we are to have any chance at all I will need to drive you very hard. I have some considerable experience of training young people and I know not only what you can take, but also what you need. I believe in the carrot and stick method of motivation. The carrot in this case will be the glory that I expect you will bring to the school following your success; the stick is that I intend to introduce a regime of discipline, fully sanctioned by Mrs Hogarth I might add; that will, no doubt, come as some surprise to you. This relay will end with a winning team and a losing team. Just to emphasise the fact that losing is not an option for any of my teams, the losers will receive a painful lesson. To be precise I intend to spank your bottoms.”

A collective gasp went around the group. I continued.

“I have a special size eleven plimsoll that is very effective for this purpose. Have no doubt about it that five of you girls will be leaving this gym today with very, very sore bottoms indeed. So you had better make sure that you are on the winning side.”

Once the enormity of the message had sunk in they all started chattering and protesting at the same time. I was holding the trusty size eleven and slapped it down hard and noisily on the table beside me. I bellowed out “quiet” and they all shut up, shocked and now very much aware of the sound that a slab of rubber makes when slapped down onto a smooth surface.

“Good”, I resumed, “so I want no more slacking or second best. If you do any less than your absolute best in this relay you will only have yourselves to blame. And, if you are one of those that end up walking from here with a sore bottom, it will be because you have not tried hard enough. Be aware, these are my methods, they are tried and tested and they work. You will get used to this kind of treatment over time and, not only will you expect it; you will come to rely on it. It will become common practice and will make the difference between winning and losing.”

After my speech the relay got off to a good start each team was so desperate to win. Except that there was a clumsy exchange between the third and fourth in one team. The runner dropped the baton and had to pick it up. It cost them the lead. I dismissed the rest of the class off to the showers and kept the five losers back. They were very nervous and gathered in absolute silence obviously anxious of what was to come. I picked up the size eleven and sat on one of the benches; pointed to the first girl, a young looking slightly plump blonde with rosebud lips and a cute face, and said, “You’re first, let’s get on with this get over my knee.” She was hesitant and stepped forward reluctantly complaining. I cut no slack with her and ordered that she get across immediately.

It was traditional at the school that, for physical activity, the girls should wear a short navy-blue gymslip over a white blouse. I did not like this uniform and considered it unnecessary; it engendered a false modesty and did not permit free movement. This was going to change and I had already decided would be replaced by a simple white tea-shirt and navy blue knickers. For the time being though here was this fifteen year old across my knee with her gym-slipped bottom in the air awaiting her very first spanking from me. Her plump legs looked pale from where they extended below the dark hem of her navy skirt and were coloured with a light pinkness from her recent exertions. I could easily imagine how red her bottom would become after a few slaps with the slipper. I did not hesitate to raise the end of her skirt and fold it over her back. Two glorious plump buttocks clad in navy-blue knickers were presented like jellies before me.

I gently tapped the slipper against one of the orbs and watched the plumpness bounce and wobble. I could feel the girl tremble. Then I brought the slipper back and slapped it down hard. She let out a squeal. I did the same to the other cheek; it had the same effect. I continued to slap the girl’s alternate cheeks one after the other with just a few seconds between. I had my hand on her back holding her down and could feel ripples of tension flowing down her spine as each painful slap landed. She continued to wriggle, protest and cry out, even attempting to get off my lap except that I pushed her back, as the walloping progressed.

After a while her cries became more insistent and she was pleading for me to stop. Some twenty or so spanks to each side later, I began to pull down her knickers. There was some protest and she brought her right hand back trying to prevent it. I took this arm in my left hand and held it behind her back while at the same time pushing her further over my knee. Then I opened my legs and brought my right leg out to entrap both of hers. She was now powerless to prevent me in any way at all. Her knickers came down revealing a most luscious pair of bright pink buttocks. They looked sore and swollen and I could not resist stroking them. They were very hot to the touch and the swelling had made the young skin delightfully smooth. The pinkness stood out against her fair skin and I decided then that I should not stop until her bottom, and those of all the other girls in the group, was scarlet red and glowing like a beacon before we were finished.

The slipper made a much brighter noise descending onto bare skin, testimony to the more acute sting it was delivering. I then proceeded to wallop her as hard and as fast as I could, stinging spank after stinging spank to both her cheeks landed one after the other. My arm was going up and down like a trip hammer and the slipper splattered, spread and wrapped itself around as it landed on her bare skin. The other girls were dumfounded as they watched their friend being spanked hard in this way knowing it would be their turn next. Her cries were desperate, her legs were going like a grasshopper’s and she was drumming her fists on the ground and begging me to stop. I spanked every inch of her naked bottom, the tops, and sides and underneath and did not stop until it was the colour of ripe tomatoes. This was the colour I wanted so I let her up. She gingerly uncurled herself from my lap and, with difficulty, was able to stand. She was crying deep sobs from the heart and the tears tumbled down her face. She looked pitiful standing there rubbing her bottom like fury and hopping from leg to leg.

“Now go and stand over there were I can see you”, I ordered, pointing to the wall opposite. “Stand there with your hands on your head and your skirt raised up. I want to be able to see your bare bottom at all times. And don’t you dare rub it or you’ll be back over my knee for some more.”

I was very strict; I wanted this first lesson to be a hard one so there would be no doubt that I was in charge. It had undoubtedly worked as the remaining girls were aghast with shock at what they had just witnessed and all looked very nervous. I watched with satisfaction as the punished girl shuffled to the opposite wall. Her knickers were still around her knees so she could only take small steps and this made her cherry cheeks bounce delightfully.

“So, who’s to be next”, I said “it doesn’t really matter as your all going to get the same treatment?”

A tall dark haired girl stepped forward, surprisingly eagerly. During the circuit training she had stood out as being one of the most elegant and graceful and I had already singled her out as being one of the most promising with gymnastic potential. It had surprised me when she had dropped the baton; it looked almost as if it had been done deliberately.

Without being asked she raised her own gymslip and, like a cat uncurling, placed herself across my knees and presented her perfectly defined, round globes for treatment with the slipper. Whereas the previous girl had a floppy bottom, this one was firm, round and with a deep crease down the centre. The slipper made hardly any indentation as I pressed it home in preparation for the first slap, neither was there any tremor of nervousness from the girl. The spanking commenced with hard regular slaps that grew in speed and intensity. She did not kick up the same kind of fuss as her predecessor; neither did she squeal or howl. Only the gentlest of murmurs, almost a purring, was uttered from her as the blows rained down. I wondered if the spanking was having any effect so I slapped her harder and faster than the previous girl, and after a while began to detect some squirming.

Time to take off the knickers, I thought and, as I began to put my fingers under the waist band, she lifted up her hips to make it easy for me. Her composure, her lack of complaint and her compliance led me to believe, either that she felt she deserved punishment and was anxious to atone, or that she enjoyed what was happening. Her bottom had a lovely glow by now and her skin was perfectly smooth and tight. I began to stroke and palm her cheeks, this caused her to purr some more. I felt I had no need to restrain her so resumed the spanking to her bare cheeks with renewed vigour.

I spanked her as hard as I could with no let up and her cheeks soon turned scarlet. Apart from when I delivered particularly nasty slaps to the side of her cheeks that made her flinch and must have stung like hell; she was taking it stoically and not complaining. So I concentrated on the sides and gave her ten, one after the other, to each side. She made as if to rub both sides but I prevented it and gave a further ten to each side for her trouble.

“Oh please, no more, not just there” she pleaded.

So I hugged her closely with my left arm around her body, put my left knee between her legs so that she was straddling my leg and put my right leg over both of hers trapping them. I was wearing shorts and so her vagina was now in close contact with my thigh. Then, with all my strength and as fast as I could, I slapped the right side of her buttocks twenty times. She was moaning, wriggling like a mad thing, and clutching the side of the bench by the time I finished. Very quickly and before she had a chance to react, I got her to her feet, tumbled her around facing the other way and, with the same technique, this time putting my right knee between her legs and my left leg holding them down, slapped the sides of the left buttock very hard twenty times. At the end I paused. She was breathing hard by then and gently rocking, slightly compressing her thighs and rubbing herself forward and back along my leg.

“OK, up you get, over to the wall with you” I announced.

“Oh please Sir, just a few more. I haven’t learned my lesson yet,” is how she responded.

“Come on, up you get girl, I’ve three more to give a good spanking to. You can come back later after prep if you feel you deserve more. Perhaps a caning is what you need.”

“Oh yes please Sir, I am so lazy I really do need something severe to motivate me.”

That was that. Only one day in the job and already I had a wanton to deal with. I commanded that she should go to the wall and reluctantly but gracefully she obeyed to join the other.

The remaining girls were duly spanked very hard, like the first and they reacted accordingly with various degrees of crying and snivelling and begging me to stop. In the end though there were five beautiful pairs of scarlet posteriors, swollen and glowing like flaming beacons lined up against the far wall. I took my time to enjoy the site; five teenage girls, naked from the waist, danced before me. Ten globes of varying size and shape quivered and jiggled as each girl hopped from leg to leg. They must all have desperately wanted to rub, as sometimes their hands were hovering dangerously close to their scalding cheeks. I was hoping that one of them would succumb, then I would be able to put her over my knee again; but none did and eventually I had to let them go. They slowly pulled up their knickers and ran off, still snivelling, to the showers.

All except one; the second girl that I had punished, the tall dark haired one, the wanton, hung around. She was still facing the wall with her bottom exposed.

“Why are you still here” I asked?

“You said I was to be caned later”, she demurely offered.

“Yes, after prep. Now run along and join your friends in the showers. I will cane you, if you think you deserve it, but later. I want you to prepare yourself properly and to anticipate what’s to come; a caning is no frivolous matter you know, not the way I give it, and you need to ready yourself for the sting of the whippy rod to your naked buttocks. You need to contemplate the fact that it will hurt dreadfully and be a shock to your system and it would not be good for you straight after energetic exercise and particularly not after a sound slippering.”

“My prep will be finished by eight thirty; shall I come to see you then?”

“Make it nine. Lights out is at ten o clock so, after your ordeal, you’ll be able to go straight to bed. Now here’s what I want you to do. Between now and then, prepare your mind, have your supper and do your prep, wash and get ready for bed and put your pyjamas on, nothing underneath mind, then come to my quarters in the old stable block, I’ll be waiting for you at nine. Then you will be thoroughly caned you have my word for it. Now run along with you. Oh what’s your name incidentally?” I asked.

“Maureen O’Hara” she replied.

“Ok then Maureen O’Hara; you can call me Mr Preston. Now run along.”

I needed to do some preparation as well before she returned. This was to be her first caning and I wanted it to be a good one. I wanted this to be an experience she would remember. I had a collection of canes that I had acquired from my travels but they had not been used for some time and I wanted to soak them well, at least for the few hours before she arrived. I also wanted to construct some kind of whipping bench. I had not been expecting to cane any of the girls so soon and, although I had given some thought to how it might work, needed to build a device that would hold a body securely during the rigours of a caning.

My quarters were above the stables and it was there that I expected to find what I wanted. There was also a spare room at the back, perfect for the purpose, that I had already considered asking Ms Hogarth if I could turn it into a punishment room.

My first job was to soak the canes; in Burma they always use the canes wet as it makes them sting that much more. I found an old milk churn and filled it with water, then selected and immersed my favourite canes. I had a thin, flexible wand of dark rattan with many hard knuckles about an inch apart all down its length. It delivered an excruciatingly painful sting that, even though it was not long lasting, made thin dark welts and was just right for some initial stripes over thin material. I would start off with this over the girl’s pyjamas.

I would have to consider my next selection very carefully; this was not to be a flogging after all. I certainly wanted the girl to squeal, cry out and jump about; I also wanted her to experience varying degrees of chastisement. I wanted her to have something to tell the other girls when she returned to the dormitory. No doubt she would need to sleep lying on her stomach; but I did not want to put her in the infirmary. So for my second cane I chose a young sapling of rattan about four feet long, still somewhat green and very flexible. It was as thick as my middle finger and had a nasty knuckle at the business end that snapped home viciously. It was a good cane for following through as it wrapped around nicely and, although it raised the blood rapidly, was not so heavy that it broke the skin; at least not with the number of strokes I was intending to give. I also considered finishing off with a heavier weapon, but rejected the idea as being too severe for a first caning.

My next job was to construct a bench. I found a wide riding saddle in the stable that, without all the tack, made a splendid bolster. At the back of the gym was an old vaulting horse minus its padding but still with four robust, independently adjustable, legs. I dragged this into, what already in my own mind I was calling, the punishment room, and began my construction. When it was finished I had a solid device that would hold a young girl comfortably in a bent over position, with her bottom raised higher than her head and with her feet off the ground and that, with a few strategically placed tethering straps, might be fully secured unable to offer any kind of resistance.

I admired my work and had to admit that I was getting quite excited at the prospect that lay ahead.

Later that evening I watched out the window as Maureen O’Hara nervously walked across to the stable block five minutes early. I tried to imagine what had been going on in her mind since I had last dealt with her and the anxiety that she must have been feeling. The anticipation of a sound caning on her bare bottom would have filled her with trepidation and, if her previous behaviour was anything to go by, a degree of sexual stimulation as well. To magnify her anxiety I made her wait outside in her pyjamas until the exact time of her appointment.

She was a beautiful site under the light as I opened the door. Her pyjamas were cream coloured and obviously a few years old as they were very thin and a few sizes too small. Her body filled them out nicely and the top button of the jacket was undone showing an inch of cleavage, the shape of her hard nipples was visible through the material. I bade her to go ahead so that I could admire the fluidity of her buttocks as she moved. Two perfectly round globes, just right for a good caning, swayed gently as she walked through the stables and out to the punishment room. When she first set eyes on the whipping bench a trembling shudder went through her. The room was bare otherwise apart from a stool and the milk churn containing the canes.

I looked her straight in the eye and spoke gently and firmly to her as I told her of the methods I would use and described what lay ahead. I watched her face as various emotions crossed it; there was terror, fear, eagerness and excitement. She bit her bottom lip as I told her of the thin cane with the ferocious sting that I would use to warm her up. There was fear in her eyes as I told her of the groups of six strokes that would be delivered in quick succession and how she would not be allowed up until all had been received or the group would be repeated. There was wonderment in her eyes as I described how the whipping bench would hold her tight and how the tethers would bind her and excitement gleamed in her eyes when I told her how naked she would be as she was being thrashed. At one point I removed the thin cane from the water and swished it through the air a few times, the song it sang was sharp and bitter. She jumped back quivering then pressed her thighs together tightly as though stifling the desire to urinate. She was picturing every stage of her forthcoming ordeal and by the time I had described everything in vivid detail she was trembling with anticipation, excited and anxious to begin.

I ordered her to touch her toes. She had a dancer’s flexibility and there was no problem for her to get down with absolutely straight legs. Her pyjama jacket fell forward covering her head and revealing a beautiful back with a deep spinal indentation. Her buttocks were still covered by thin trousers and the material was pulled tightly between the cleft. Two beautifully rounded globes were presented, offered for treatment with the thin cane.

I lined up the stroke so that the tip of the cane touched the centre of her right cheek, tapping it lightly against the thin covering of her pyjamas. Then brought the cane back high in the air and delivered six strokes with a flick of the wrist and in very quick succession. In a flash she was up howling and hopping from leg to leg, frantically rubbing at her bottom and clawing at the flesh.

With tears already welling in her eyes she danced and exclaimed, “Oh jeez, God that hurt, how can something hurt that much, I can’t possibly take any more like that?”

I reminded her of the rules and how that group would not count.

“The whole point of this exercise, Maureen O’Hara, is discipline. You must learn to control your instincts. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much you want to jump up and rub at the pain, you must resist the temptation and endure it. Now shall we give it another try, but this time you will keep your position until I instruct you otherwise?”

Where the wet cane had landed, the thin material had become semi-transparent and I could see red stripes appearing and beginning to turn purple beneath. I was intending to decorate her bottom with crossed diagonal lines. I ordered her over again, she obeyed reluctantly and I moved to her other side.

Again I lined up the shot, this time with my left hand; I am ambidextrous and just as accurate with both hands.

Six more strokes whistled through the air and, although she just about managed to keep position, she still cried out and jumped about sucking through her teeth. Her bent over position was retained though, so I counted that group.

“Good, now hold that position, endure the pain. This is the way to achieve control.” I encouraged her.

I went back to the other side.

“Now brace yourself for another six.”

I delivered more strokes but put a broader flick in the movement as the cane descended adding speed to the impact of the cut. She nearly jumped up but stumbled on one leg and hovered there. Her fingers left her toes and she stood on one leg, still bent over, but with her arms stretched out at her sides. She hopped about like that for some seconds then resumed the position. Her buttocks were quivering in spasms and she was drawing deep gulps of breath.

“I ought to not accept that Maureen. Do you call that control? Do you think you deserve that I allow that group?”

“Oh please, please Mr Preston, I’m trying so hard,” she gasped. “Please let that one count.”

“Yes, I think you are; but rules are rules, so just six more from the other side and, provided that you can endure these, we’ll put that cane away and move onto something more severe.”

I moved over to her right side. I did not want to soften in my resolve and so I was determined that these last strokes would be good ones.

Her movements became more controlled, her body was stable and her fingers were touching her toes once more. I delivered the final six, again with a broad flick. The cane whistled through the air and bounced off her offered cheeks with six hard whacks. She held her position. Her buttocks were a frenzy of quivering but her legs remained straight and her fingers did not move from her toes. I noticed a gentle shuddering at her shoulders and realised she was crying.

“Right Maureen O’Hara, some corner time for you I think, and some time to recover; up you get and go and stand in that far corner.”

She slowly uncurled and stood there snivelling. She looked pathetic with her knees together and slightly bent and her back somewhat stooped. She must have been in great pain, beyond the kind of pain that a simple rubbing would help, she trembled and her arms were at her sides as though she did not know what to do with them. Tears were streaming down her face and the sobs came in gulps.

“Go to that corner; face the corner with your hands on your head and your elbows touching the walls. Stick your bottom out. We’ll also have those trousers down for the next bit; it will be on the bare as I want it to have the maximum effect” .I also wanted to admire my handiwork.

I let her settle before I bared her bottom. All through the caning I had wanted to take her trousers down but resisted the temptation as I wanted to savour the moment when the bare skin was revealed. I also felt it was important for her to appreciate the significance of having her bottom bared. So I waited until the sobs had subsided and came up behind her.

“I am now going to remove your pyjama trousers” I announced.

I squatted down so that my eyes were level with the deep cleft between her buttocks. The seat of her pants was damp from the wet cane and the material was transparent, even so I was anxious to see the bare skin. I brought my hands round to the front of her waist and unfastened the single button that joined her pyjamas there. Slowly I drew the garment down. The sight was delicious. Both hemispheres were swollen and still red from the earlier spanking. I could feel the heat radiating from them on my face. Diagonally across them from the left and from the right, deep angry red wheels formed a waffle iron pattern. Where they crossed and matching the positions of the hard knuckles of the cane, purple spots of hard blood formed under the skin. I traced the lines of the wheels with my fingers and gently pinched the tender spots. Then I covered both her globes with my two hands and felt the pattern of pain etched out below. Finally I placed both my palms under both orbs and made to lift them as though I was testing their weight. The swelling was more extreme underneath and the skin tighter and deeper in colour. It was as though her cheeks had become balloons full of blood and gravity was pulling them down.

I could have spent hours stroking, pinching and palming those beautiful globes. The appreciation of a well thrashed teenage girl’s bottom is one of life’s exquisite indulgences, a rare thing to be savoured; but there was work to be done.

I admired the vision of her standing there in the corner until she had stopped crying. The cream top to her pyjamas was pulled up by the raising of her arms to her head so ended just above her waist. Below that the roundness and fullness of her buttocks, now decorated with criss-crossed crimson marks, drew my eyes and I contemplated the loveliness of this vision. Her long legs were moving constantly; they twitched, they bent at the knee, first one then the other, they separated then moved together again with a compression of the thighs. I knew that this girl’s centre of being radiated from her bottom through her entire body. I longed to get her up on the bench, to see her dangling, defensive and submissive, writhing under more strokes of the cane.

“Right then Maureen shall we proceed to the next stage? Please remove your pyjama top and place it with the trousers on that stool.”

She modestly removed the top attempting to cover her breast with one arm across her chest and the other covering her vagina.

“Stand and face me here, and keep those hands on your head.”

I scrutinised her entire body as she stood with down cast eyes. For a fifteen year old she was quite well developed. Her breasts were like large pairs and just as firm, with erect dark nipples jutting proudly forth. Her stomach was flat and a trimmed triangle of pubic hair decorated the place between her legs. She seemed perfectly at ease and had recovered from her ordeal. I ordered her to the bench.

She stood on an eighteen inch high wooden box that I had placed there and bent forward at the waist placing her abdomen on the saddle. Some adjustment to lower the front legs of the horse brought her onto tip toe with her head down low. I had adapted a broad saddle strap and used it to secure her waist and hold her down. A simple strap behind and by her calves prevented too much kicking and wrist cuffs at the front legs held her arms in place. I worked quickly as I adjusted the straps and talked gently to her advising her of what I was about to do. I removed the box on which she stood and then she was ready, hanging limply, bent at the waist, legs dangling with her bottom in the air, perfectly placed for some good hard strokes with the cane.

The caning commenced with parallel stripes. I was intending to draw twelve lines equally spaced from the top of her cheeks to finish just where her legs began. Each stroke was delivered with my full weight behind from over my shoulder. One by one they landed with a viscous whoosh and a crack, thirty seconds allowed between, letting the pain to build. On contact the girl let out a squeal followed by a sharp intake of breath and a spasmodic twitching of the legs. As the strokes got lower and ventured onto that extremely sensitive area at the base of the curve, the squeals became more pleading and the twitching more frantic. By the time the twelfth went home her body was writhing and she was begging for no more.

I duplicated this pattern from the other side, following through with the cane and making sure that the hard knuckle at the end bit home with a sharp crack. Her body was a frenzy of activity. Her legs were thrashing around and her head was spinning like a whirling dervish. Her screams were pitiful, imploring me to stop and begging for it to end. At the twenty fourth’ stroke I was in danger of breaking the skin; it was now so thin and swollen at the base that the wheels were beginning to open. I put the cane away and took some time to scrutinise her buttocks.

I spent ages examining the punished cheeks in detail. Two very swollen globes were a mass of red and purple stripes. I was very proud of my markings. On top of the background colour of tomato red, a waffle iron pattern of thin dark red raised wheels and purple spots was etched. On top of this twenty four thick maroon welts formed a painful mosaic, on the lower welts spots of blood were forming. The globes were hard and heavy when I pated them from beneath. As I separated her cheeks I could see that the lips of her sex were engorged with blood and beads of moisture collected around her pubic hair. I longed to be able to put my fingers between her labia to feel the moisture there, but that was just too much of a violation so early on in my career. Later, maybe later, if I played my cards right I might be able to persuade some of the girls to enjoy such pleasures.

It was ten minutes before ten-o-clock and lights out. I had to get Maureen O’Hara back to her dormitory. I removed her restraints and lowered the horse. She stood on unstable legs so I supported her around the shoulders. She placed her head on my chest and snuggled into my jacket grasping me around the waist. She pressed her breasts into my shirt and straddled my leg with her own gripping it tightly between her thighs.

“Time for bed Maureen, come along now” I said kissing her head and enjoying the fragrance of her hair.

“Oh must I; can’t I just stay here like this?” She sighed and kissed my shirt.

“Come along now; let’s get those pyjamas back on.” I stroked her back and shoulders then ventured a hand down to her bottom. She sighed.

This girl was feeling love, possibly for the first time. I would have to watch out.

Part 2

Word of the caning I had given rapidly got around the school; Maureen O’Hara had been proud to show off her stripes, first of all, to those in her dormitory, and then to just about anyone in the school that cared to ask. Ms Hogarth soon got wind of it and came to compliment me on my methods. Her only provision was an insistence that I should always punish the girls on the bare and that I should not waste my time spanking them with knickers in place. This disappointed me somewhat as I always looked forward to slowly revealing punished red cheeks. I decided that, in some cases when the bottom was particularly shapely, I would have to make an exception to Ms Hogarth’s rule.

I took the opportunity to suggest that I turn the back room of the stable into a punishment room. Ms Hogarth’s enthusiasm for the idea encouraged me to get to work fashioning the room with hooks and racks for paddles, canes and straps.

After my session with Maureen O’Hara I had replaced the saddle and the tack back into the stable; but acquired a Western style saddle. It was not considered proper that a young lady should ride Western style and so I was able to acquire it on a permanent basis. I used the same old vaulting horse as a base and constructed a fine whipping bench with many more features for holding a girl in different positions for chastisement. I also decided to install two mirrors front and back so that, not only could I view the torment on the face of the girl being chastised, she would be forced to watch as her own bottom was being striped.

As for the girls, well there were those that feared my methods and would go to any lengths to avoid getting on my wrong side; but there were others that blatantly courted the opportunity of a good hiding. Usually a sound slippering on their bare bottoms was enough to sate their appetites but there were some, particularly among the more senior girls, where sterner methods were necessary. There was a group of girls in the fifth year, all members of my gymnastics team and so frequent recipients of my attention; that became stimulated when watching others being punished. Except when their antics became disruptive, I would indulge them as they were all very pretty girls with nice figures and bottoms. I knew what they wanted so I used the opportunity to be imaginative in my dealings with them. I figured that exhibitionism and voyeurism were essential to their excitement so I made sure that, whenever fully deserved, I used public humiliation as part of the punishment. It was not unusual, following a particularly severe punishment, for any of the girls to be denied knickers for a week and you would see them walking around the school with their skirts pinned up and their red or striped bottom on view. Sometimes they would even be forced to wear a sign drawing attention to the naughty bottom on display.

At other times I would have an entire group of girls up before me. By then the gym kit had been modified to the much more sensible idea of just a tea shirt and knickers. I would gain much pleasure from having them all remove their knickers and then marching them around the gym with their chests pushed out in regimental fashion. I would drill them like this, sometimes for a half hour or more while holding the thin cane and feeling it flex in my wrist knowing it would be used on them all later. Or I would swish it down across their lovely round bare bottoms as they paraded past; the ferocious sting it gave made them squeal and jump. Then I would cane them all, one after the other, up on the bench, eighteen strokes apiece, and drill them again, but this time with striped bottoms.

Maureen O’Hara continued to be a regular; it got to the point where she would just ask if she might see me later and I would give her what she wanted. Luckily for me the relationship did not develop any further than punishment and a cuddle, although there would be times when, as well as giving her a good thrashing, she would need me to finger, stroke and probe her labia and tickle her clitoris until she came. She always liked it and it seemed to satisfy her appetite, for a while at least.

Ms Hogarth was so pleased with my performance with the gym team, and the demeanour of the girls in general, that she appointed me as Punishment Officer and I was called upon to handle discipline within the school in general.

I introduced a system that made it much easier for the teachers to control their class without the disruption that on-the-spot punishments caused. If any of the girls misbehaved they would be given a punishment note that would be redeemed by me on a Friday evening. It worked well as, if a note was issued on a Monday say, you could be sure that the girl would be on her best behaviour all week lest she receive another. Inevitably though, there would always be some that had gained a number of notes through the week. I was particularly hard on those.

There was no prep on Friday so the majority of the girls would be getting ready for the week-end; but at seven thirty there would always be a nervous line in their pyjamas waiting to redeem their notes. What they would be thinking as they listened to their friends being dealt with was their business but my paddles, straps, slipper and canes were given frequent use and many tearful girls staggered back to the dormitory with very, very sore bottoms indeed.

My reputation as a disciplinarian went from strength to strength and even some of the teachers personally sought my methods. I made special arrangements for them as it was deemed not good for moral if they had to line up alongside the other girls, so I dealt with them on Sunday morning after chapel. There were quite a few that felt a need to be punished on a regular basis. One in particular, Mademoiselle Chesnot the French teacher, felt so guilty about masturbating, which she practiced frequently, that she became a regular visitor. Mademoiselle Chesnot spent just about every Sunday morning in the back room behind the stables demonstrating to me how she pleasured herself. I would punish her for it and she would then feel the need to masturbate again and so I would punish her some more. The cycle would continue with the severity of the punishments increasing each time; so she would be spanked, paddled and thrashed so much so that she could hardly walk by the end. The marks would still be there from one Sunday to the next. I even threatened her with public humiliation in an effort to cure her; but that excited her so much that I felt it would be counter effective.

Then Kimberley arrived at the school. Kimberley Stanton-Granger, who was so impressive and had such attributes that she excelled at everything and brought such a good reputation to the school, mostly for her skills at tennis winning one award after another, that she soon became the favourite of Ms Hogarth and, after just one term, was made Head-Girl. She was so immaculate that I never had cause to deal with her of my own accord; but she did seek me out one Saturday afternoon. She arrived at my quarters without an appointment carrying her own stout wooden hairbrush. She had just finished playing tennis and was dressed in a short white pleated skirt. Under the pretext that she had been off-hand with the umpire, she insisted that I put her over my knee for a full half hour bare bottom hairbrush spanking. She certainly got what she wanted. That was her way; she needed to be in control even when it came to being punished.

To give you some idea of what she was like, she even proposed to Ms Hogarth that she become my apprentice to eventually become the deputy Punishment Officer. Ms Hogarth had no objection; on the contrary she thought it splendid that a girl should take such initiative. To be honest, I was in such high demand by then that I was neglecting the gymnastics team. It was getting close to the day of the championship and the team really needed more attention; so I welcomed the opportunity to off-load some of my disciplinarian duties. It was agreed that, given her lack of experience with a cane, Kimberley should take over the duties for the lesser offences where just a spanking was necessary; so, whenever a girl needed to be put over the knee, it was Kimberley’s knee over which they went. Her enthusiasm for the role was boundless and, whereas I might have delivered say twenty or so slaps with a slipper and otherwise let the girl off with a firm tongue wagging; if a girl went before Kimberley she would be sure of a good half hour session with many kinds of paddles being used and would be leaving in tears with a very swollen red and blistered bottom.

To say that she enjoyed her work would be an understatement; she positively relished it. She would experiment and devise different methods to ensure that the spankings would be effective and as painful as possible. She preferred using a paddle and would construct her own out of different materials to see which gave the more ferocious sting. I remember once finding her in the hobbies room. She had fashioned a paddle out of whalebone and was sanding it down to a flexible thinness and polishing it smooth. On another occasion she consulted me about the size and distribution of holes in the Spencer paddle and if many smaller holes closer together might be more effective than larger holes wider apart. It was all to do with surface area she reasoned and her intention, it seemed, was to devise the most effective paddle of all.

She achieved her objective, as she always did, and came up with a weapon made of whalebone that was eighteen inches long and four wide, wafer thin and flexible, with a cylindrical handle and three rows of quarter inch holes drilled either side of the centre line along its length. From observation I can testify to its effectiveness for, the first time it was used on a girl, she was howling from the very first stroke; but still had to endure the full half hour session. Her poor buttocks were bloody by the end and she had to spend two days in the infirmary to recover. Ms Hogarth had to have words with Kimberley on this occasion to temper her enthusiasm lest too many days be lost to the infirmary.

Kimberley constantly badgered me to let her use a cane; but I was loath to let her, I feared that she might do some permanent damage. I approached Mademoiselle Chesnot though during one of our Sunday morning sessions, she had expressed an interest in being watched while she was being caned. The humiliation of the Head Girl witnessing her punishment had a perverted appeal for her and the idea that she should even receive a few strokes under my guidance and supervision gave added stimulus. Kimberley was thrilled when I told her that Mademoiselle Chesnot, for whom she had tremendous regard and found stunningly attractive, had agreed to be our victim.

In the Punishment Room on the next Sunday morning Kimberley was eagerly awaiting the arrival of her French teacher and getting impatient for her to arrive. She had been fidgeting all morning and playing around with the whipping bench. She had positioned a leather cushion where the bottom should be and then been through all the canes, picking them out of the brine bath, swishing them about and trying practice strokes against the leather cushion.

“Relax Kimberley,” I said, “Mademoiselle will be in the confessional for ages yet. With the anticipation of this session ahead of her she’ll have been masturbating like crazy all week and, you know what Father Victor is like, he’ll want her to have described every orgasm in vivid detail before he’ll give her absolution.”

“Well she had better be ready to atone for her sins as well” Kimberley replied, “because I can’t wait to wrap a few strokes with this beauty around those cute bare cheeks of hers when she gets here.” She was brandishing the whippy knuckled cane at the time.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself now Kimberley; remember your roll here is as an observer. I will let you give her a spanking with your special paddle; but don’t go too far with it. It’s much better you know to leave the skin a little pale so that you can see where the strokes land when giving your first caning. Also I’m not going to let you use that whippy cane this time; it is very effective, but not easy to use. You have to be accurate and that takes practice; otherwise you will thrash around all over the place. What I propose is that you start off with a good firm paddling. She won’t have experienced your new paddle so it will come as quite a surprise to her. Then I will do some criss-cross caning with that cane and you can finish off with some good hard strokes with a conventional cane.“

“Can I put her over my knee?” Kimberley was gleefully anticipating the event. “The idea of elegant Mademoiselle Chesnot draped across my lap having her bare bottom spanked really turns me on.”

“Yes, I think humiliation of that nature is exactly what she needs.”

Mademoiselle Chesnot arrived dressed in the manner that I insisted on for all of the teachers receiving correction; a thin cotton skirt or dress, no panties, no tights, stockings or garter belt, a loose fitting top and no bra. She was nervous, flustered and already her nipples were forcing their way through the fabric of her thin top. Kimberley had adopted a stern pose standing on one side of the whipping bench, her legs apart and she was tapping the palm of her hand with the paddle.

“So Mademoiselle Chesnot, we meet again” I addressed her sternly. “No doubt you have been indulging in that disgusting habit once again. How many times is it this time?”

“Oh Monsieur, I have been particularly bad this week, it ‘as been fifteen times since last I am here.”

“Good Lord!” I pretended to be shocked, “That’s almost twice as many as last time. What have you to say for yourself?”

“I am so sorry; I just could not ‘elp myself.”

I had always found her French accent so endearing, particularly when she was being contrite.

“I ‘ave pleasured myself each morning and night before going to sleep, and I ‘ave ‘ad extra this morning, after confession.”

“You are incorrigible, you know that don’t you? Father Victor gives you absolution and then you commit the very sin that he has absolved you of without any thought of contrition. Well this morning there is something special planned for you. You will notice that our esteemed Head Girl is present. Miss Stanton-Granger is here to give you a taste of her special paddle. I am sure that you will have heard all about it from some of the girls; so now you will get the chance to experience it yourself. What’s more you will be nude when she spanks you over her knee and I will be watching. So off with those clothes, all of them, I want you nude and over the Head Girls knee. Come on, now, at once.”

I enjoyed the sessions with Mademoiselle Chesnot; she was always very compliant and did not complain. On this occasion, with no more than a sideways glance at Kimberley and a Gallic shrug, she began to disrobe. It took no more than her pulling her jumper over her head with a shake of her hair, an unbuttoning of her skirt at the waist and stepping out of it and kicking off her shoes and there she was, totally naked. She stood unabashed facing me. I noticed Kimberley’s eyes were fixed on Mademoiselle’s lovely posterior; she was licking her lips and tapping the paddle excitedly onto the palm of her hand. I had seen Mademoiselle naked before of course but, knowing the enthusiasm for the way Kimberley did these things, was now looking forward to watching her writhe from a damn good spanking from the Head Girl. Kimberley eventually managed to tare her eyes away and took up her position on the stool with her left leg supported with her heel on the top rung; she was wearing a short tennis skirt, so ample bare thigh showed, then she ordered the young French teacher over her knee.

Mademoiselle was a petite lady in her mid-twenties. She was slim with small breasts but had a lovely round bottom with a voluptuous overhang. She had to stand on tiptoe to reach Kimberley’s thigh and bend over it. Kimberley pushed her over some more so that her toes were off the ground. In preparation she tapped the paddle against the lower section of Mademoiselle’s buttocks by the fatty overhang. Eighteen inches of perforated whalebone covered both her globes. I could tell that Kimberley was enjoying this as she continued to gently tap the paddle much longer than was necessary. The paddle resonated as Kimberley tapped it gently up and down and Mademoiselle’s skin appeared to ripple in harmony; yet it remained perfectly resilient and firm and seemed almost to stick to the highly polished wafer thin surface as it was drawn away. I watched, fascinated, as the otherwise smooth skin vibrated in tune with the flexible hard bone. I remained standing, wanting to view the event from all angles. Then without much force at all and more a flick of the wrist Kimberley brought the paddle back and slapped it down hard onto the bare skin.

“Oh Mon Dieu”, Mademoiselle cried out, more in surprise than real pain.

Whereas she had been quite relaxed and hanging limp before, now needing to come to terms with the ferocious sting of this paddle; she stiffened and prepared for the next slap. A rectangle of red began to form across both of her cheeks.

Again the paddle was drawn back, another flick of the wrist and CRACK, the ivory bone landed on bare skin. This time the effect was more pronounced and sent Mademoiselle’s legs into a frenzy of kicking.

“Oh Mon Dieu, c’est terrible”.

I enjoyed watching as the petite Frenchwoman kicked and squirmed. Kimberley too was enjoying herself; her eyes were wide, bright and totally fixed on the two reddening globes. The paddle came back again and again, and each time as it landed with a flick of the wrist, a pistol shot crack of pain sent the young French teacher into convulsions. In her distress all English was forgotten and she expressed the pain and torment she was going through in her native language.

Kimberley spanked every inch of the woman’s bare bottom with enthusiasm and deliberately placed painful spanks where it hurt most; all the time she was scolding and reminding her of her humiliating position.

“So this is what a naughty French bottom looks like when it’s being spanked; just like an English one really, nice and red and swollen,” Kimberley joyfully exclaimed. “Just you wait until I tell all the girls that I spanked the haughty Mademoiselle Chesnot and that she wriggled and squirmed just like everyone else. And why was I spanking her? Because she’d been a dirty little girl and been indulging herself just like the rest of us. I can’t wait to tell them how I took my paddle to her naughty bare bum and spanked her ‘till she squirmed and she was begging me to stop.”

After ten minutes or so of spanking, Kimberley put the paddle down resting it along Mademoiselle’s back. The frantic struggling ceased and the French woman sighed with relief. Kimberley then encircled her thin waist with her left arm and got her fingers down between the spanked woman’s legs. Her right hand started stroking the punished cheeks with circular movements of her palm while the fingers of her other hand ventured between the lips of her labia. Mademoiselle let out a gasp and then began purring. Slowly and in time with each other the hand and the fingers stroked and probed.

“Is this what you like? Is this why I am punishing you? Is it for this kind of pleasure?”

“Oh oui, cela est exactement que je desire”, purred the French woman lustily.

Kimberley continuously stroked the red cheeks with her palm and slid her fingers in and out probing the woman’s clitoris and causing her body to jerk as though sparks of electricity ran through it. After a while Mademoiselle Chesnot’s breathing became quicker and shallow, her legs moved wider apart and just when it seemed that she might climax, Kimberley picked up the paddle and delivered six almighty swats to the base of the overhang and left the climax hanging.

“Come on up you get, corner time and reflection for you.” She let the teacher down and hustled her to the corner. Mademoiselle was in such an acute state of sexual stimulation now, that with her legs on the ground, she could hardly keep them still. She continued to quiver and moan as she stood in the corner.

“Get those legs slightly apart now, quickly. Stand perfectly still. Hands on your head; come on stick that bottom out.” Kimberley commanded in quick urgent demands.

For one so indulgent, Mademoiselle’s frustration must have been overwhelming.

I admired Kimberley’s work; she had caught the climax at just the right time and also been surprisingly controlled with the spanking. Although the woman’s buttocks were scarlet red and swollen, they were not bruised and I had no doubt that cane marks would still be clearly visible.

I discussed with Kimberley how we should proceed. It was her view that I had been too obliging in allowing the indulgent mademoiselle to satisfy herself during our sessions and that a more meaningful method for her correction would be to have her brought to the edge of climax while still being punished. She offered a collection of vibrators that she had confiscated from the girls and suggested that these be used on the lusty French woman while I caned her.

I had equipped the room with various hooks in the rafters from which a young woman might be securely suspended. We bound her wrists with cuffs and attached these to hooks spaced wide apart; then spread her legs with a spreader bar.

Kimberley produced the vibrators. I was amazed that girls at the school had access to such things. They were of all shapes and sizes, some so huge or long that it was difficult to believe they were intended for human use.

“Surely these are not designed to be used by fifteen year old virgins,” I asked Kimberley?

“Oh Mister Preston, come on, please!” She indignantly replied. “You’d be hard pushed to find a virgin in this school above the third year.”

She selected one, not the largest as that looked like it belonged more in a stud farm, but still quite a beastly looking thing.

“This” she said, “I confiscated when I found it stuck up the anus of one of the third year students. She had an even bigger one up the front at the time.”

I realised then how naïve my knowledge of the girls must be.

We returned our attention to Mademoiselle Chesnot who was stretched and spread awaiting further treatment. She looked ready and defiant with her arms and legs out wide and her proud chin matching the erect dark nipples on her small breasts.

I selected the whippy cane with the hard knuckles and swished it through the air. I always enjoyed the sound it made, it was so severe. Kimberley chose one of the vibrators; the one that had already visited a girls rear end, and we got to work.

I took up my position behind the suspended woman so that I could deliver quick hard strokes up to the overhang of her buttocks. Kimberley switched on the vibrator and began inserting it between the woman’s labia. Immediately she began moaning and her knees bent against the stretcher bar. I commenced the caning with quick sharp whips of the knuckled rod up to her sensitive and already punished skin. She began yelping and her legs became a frenzy of stretching and buckling. I would pause while Kimberley got to work with the vibrator. We proceeded to alternate with me decorating her nates with a criss-cross of thin purple welts; each one produced a yowl from her lips. Kimberley introduced different vibrators of varying types and sizes. I ventured down to the tops of her thighs; the result was more urgent pleadings with desperation in her voice. She was a mix of emotions, to me she was pleading for it to stop; to Kimberley she was begging for more. We continued like this for a while, rapid strokes of the cane followed by penetrating movement with the vibrators and, just when we noticed a change to her breathing and an increase to the urgency in her voice, we would stop and let things subside.

Kimberley found the whole procedure very amusing and was making comments about the control we had over this unfortunate woman.

“Now you’re going to come, and then you’re not. Horrible stinging strokes, then lovely luscious pleasure; what will it be next Miss Chestnut, pleasure or pain?”

Kimberley, by using the nick-name the girls had for their French teacher had gone too far. I needed to redress the status quo.

“That’s enough Kimberley; I think that we can allow Mademoiselle Chesnot some satisfaction now. Furthermore I think that you should put the vibrators away; instead here’s a chance to practice your French; soixante neuf. Let’s get her down I want to see your tongue at work instead.”

“That’s not right,” exclaimed Kimberley, “why do I have to do it? Why can’t you?”

“Do as I say Kimberley, I’m sure that you don’t want me to turn the tables; would you like to be over Mademoiselles lap while she uses the paddle on you?”

Clearly Kimberley was not ready for that, so we lifted the desperate woman down from the hooks and sat her on the stool. She winced as her bottom touched the hard wood top. We kept the stretcher bar in place and fastened her arms behind her back. Then Kimberley, despite her earlier objection, enthusiastically knelt down before her and got to work with her tongue and was eventually lapping away like a cat at the cream. An invisible bond united them as Kimberley licked, stroked the other woman’s legs and, with her hands around the back of the stool, pinched at that part of her bottom that overlapped the seat of the stool. I was standing at the back stroking Mademoiselle’s breasts and squeezing her nipples. Within minutes, far too soon for my liking as I was enjoying watching Kimberley at work, the woman began moaning and opening her legs wide. Then, with a mounting display of ecstasy her body shuddered, she trembled, tried to bring her knees together but the spacer would not give, gave out a cry like a strangled cat and then, breathless, fell off the stool almost suffocating Kimberley.

During all of our sessions on Sunday mornings, Mademoiselle Chesnot had never displayed her orgasms quite like that before.

There was even better to come.

I reminded her that pleasure like that could not possibly go unpunished and sent her to the corner while we prepared the whipping bench. The stretcher bar, still in place, gave her a comical walk as she went.

Kimberley needed to prepare the bench and bring it back to practical application and then she selected a cane from the brine bath. The one she chose was a beauty I had brought back from Korea. It had been cut while still young; a perfectly straight rod of forty inches long, cut at the root that with a bulbous curve that made a splendid handle. It was the approximate width of a thumb at the handle but tapered to the diameter of an index finger. The first knuckle was just one inch from the business end but was otherwise absolutely smooth. I complimented her on her choice of weapon. We lifted Mademoiselle up onto the bench and draped her over the saddle.

I always prefer to cane girls with their legs together when they are bent over at the waist and, while I was removing the stretcher bar, Kimberley exclaimed that our victim should have something to squeeze against whilst being caned. So she selected one of the biggest vibrators from her collection, switched it on, inserted it into the teacher’s vagina and we secured her legs tightly together. Kimberley was now ready to deliver her first caning. It turned out to be one of the most exquisite that Mademoiselle had ever endured.

She was already moaning and pressing her thighs together before the whipping even started; but once Kimberley had lined up her shot and taken a step back, she followed through with an almighty corker of a stroke that whistled through the air and wrapped itself around the French woman’s nates; she was a quivering frenzy of activity. Her head was back, her back arched like a bow and her legs pulled desperately against the retaining straps. She let out a blood curdling howl and we thought that we might have to gag her in case the rest of the school became disturbed.

Kimberley lined up the next stroke and, in a similar way, brought the cane back then powered forward with a flourish that made the cane whistle and strike home with a resounding thwack. Mademoiselle cried out loud and began praying in French, begging the Lord for mercy.

Kimberley was really enjoying it; her lips were full and red; between strokes she could not help from touching herself between her legs. She was breathing through her mouth and was grunting with the effort she put behind each stroke. With all the strength of her formidable tennis champion’s back-hand she was certainly making a fine job of thrashing her teacher. After just a few strokes the French woman was reduced to a blubbering mess, imploring and begging for the punishment to stop. In between the surreptitious fingering of her own vagina, Kimberley continued to just beat her unmercifully, stroke after excruciating stroke. The punished woman pulled frantically at her bonds, her legs were kicking as though in electric shock at each stroke and her head spun out of control. I watched her face in the mirror and her expression was a grimace of contorted agony.

After a while of thrashing and frenzy, calmness descended upon Mademoiselle and her expression changed. The grimace changed to an angelic smile, one of sheer pleasure and ecstasy. The muscles in her legs became taught and her toes began to curl. Within the confines of her tethering, her back began to arch and her arms pulled against the wrist cuffs. Although Kimberley continued to beat her, the strokes seemed meaningless against some other inner rapture she was experiencing. Mademoiselle was slowly reaching an orgasm so complete that it overcame everything else that she was feeling. A low lusty growl began in the back of her throat that grew in volume and intensity. A flush came to her entire body and her skin appeared damp. The lusty growl became a wail. Despite everything that she had already been through, she appeared possessed of something that she could no longer endure. Her body began to quiver, the wailing stopped and she suddenly went rigid. Kimberley ceased the caning worried that she had gone too far, I became anxious too. Mademoiselle Chesnot was both silent and rigid; her mouth gaped wide and she appeared unable to breathe. Then she let out a gasp, a tiny escape of breath, and then a howl of pleasure and ecstasy the likes of which we had never heard before. She closed her eyes tightly and, when she opened them again, they were filled with tears. Then she relaxed completely and totally.

Kimberley and Mademoiselle Chesnot indulged their Sunday morning sessions together after that; I was not needed any more. That gave me more time to devote my attention to the gymnastics team. I whipped them into shape, quite literally and some of them still displayed deep purple welts to their upper thighs during the parallel bar routines. Whether or not the judges awarded them points out of sympathy I will never know; but they all came home proudly with silver medals. I thrashed them all thoroughly for not achieving gold; but Ms Hogarth was proud of the girls and what they had achieved under my tutelage and guidance. She was equally proud when Kimberley Stanton-Granger was declared the regional schoolgirl tennis champion. It brought many enquiries from rich parents wanting to board their daughters at the school; and for the first time in fifteen years, every place was taken at the start of that winter term and the waiting list extended well into the next year.

My time at the school extended a further five years; but by then the number of pupils was so vast that the school lost some of its uniqueness and the family atmosphere that I had enjoyed so much. I decided to seek new challenges. I will always remember though, with fondness, my experiences there and the pleasure I gained reddening and striping so many cute little bottoms as frequently as I did. I would like to think though that the girls and the staff there at the time will also remember my time for being one when fulfilment, pleasure and satisfaction were the order of the day.

12,035 words

(The End)